For me.
He didn’t steal those photos just because my mother asked him nicely.
He did it to protect me.
My mom waves a hand. “It all worked out, didn’t it? There’s no reason to act so upset.”
Oh, but there is. Now that Elliot no longer has something to hold over her head, she may go astray again.
“Don’t forget,” I say. “Elliot is still having you followed.”
“Stop worrying.” She folds her hands on the table. “Elliot was bluffing.”
My stomach draws tight. She’s too blasé about this, not taking the threat seriously enough. “You don’t know that.”
“No one followed me when I drove Leon to Auckland Park, and no one followed me here.” She motions around, emphasizing her point. “You know Elliot. He’s always been all bark and no bite.”
“Mom,” I say, my voice laced with concern. “You have to be careful.”
“I am being careful. I’m not going to make the same mistake again.”
I truly hope so. “I have no idea how Elliot is going to react when he discovers the photos are gone. You destroyed them, right?”
“Straight away.”
I blow out a sigh of relief. “That’s good to know.” I continue carefully. “I was thinking. Maybe you should take up yoga or a hobby. It’s good for stress relief.”
“Thank you very much, but I don’t need to exercise or take up knitting to keep me out of mischief.”
Mischief is a light way of putting it. I still wish I could take her away from everything, but helping her run is no longer an option, not when I can’t run with her. If she disappears, Gus will torture her whereabouts out of me. Then he’ll go after Leon. He’ll threaten us with each other’s lives. Even if I’m not privy to my mom’s destination, Gus won’t simply take my word for it. He’ll go as far as he must, all the way to pulling the trigger. I can’t do that to Leon, not after everything he sacrificed for me. I can’t repay him by getting him killed. I can’t return his forgiveness by running from him.
Anyway, if I run, Leon will find me. He’s clever like that. How quickly he discovered those photos and the PI who took them is the proof. There’s nothing and no one he can’t trace by following a few electronic crumbs. In today’s world, nothing functions without technology. No matter how careful I’ll be, it’s impossible to have no electronic interaction. At some point, something will pop up in a system somewhere. Someone will see something. Someone who needs a monetary reward will talk.
There is another solution, one that sends a chill down my spine. But that’s not an option. I’ll never ask Leon to kill my stepfather. I won’t make a murderer out of my husband.
My mother flicks her fingers in front of my face. “Don’t look so despondent. We should celebrate, not mope.”
“Do you want to try a smoothie? The berries and banana one is great.”
“Why not?” She reaches inside her bag. “It’s my treat.”
I cup her hand. “That’s not necessary. I get them on the house.” I smile brightly for her benefit. “It’s part of the perks. Grab a fork and help yourself to some salad. I won’t be long.”
We share our smoothies and the lunch Leon has packed while sticking to safer subjects. I tell my mom about the tattoos I’ve designed, and she gives me the latest gossip about her neighbors and Gus’s business associates.
“We’re still having lunch on Saturday, right?” I ask when I walk her to her car fifty minutes later.
“Sure. What can I bring?”
“Nothing. Let me do the work for a change.”
She pats my cheek with a smile. “Love you, honey.”
A guy who exits the bakery looks twice as she gets into the 4x4.
“She’s married,” I say, glaring at him.
He gives a start at my aggressive tone before walking in the opposite direction. When I turn back to the car, my mom is already driving away.
I stay until six to make up for my tardy arrival, catching up with a more intricate drawing, which is a portrait of the client’s late father. After leaving the sketch on Joseph’s desk for approval, I update my progress on our electronic task management platform. If Joseph doesn’t require any changes, I’ll slip the drawing into the folder with the client’s name at reception. Annie will contact the client and set up an appointment. Joseph and I will present the work to the client during the second meeting, and if the client is happy, he’ll secure a time for Joseph to do the ink.
Before clocking out for the day, I tidy my workspace and say goodbye to Vero, who’s always the last to leave.
The house is quiet when I get home just before seven. It feels lonelier when Leon isn’t here. Maybe we should get a cat. I switch on the lights as I make my way to the kitchen, expelling the darkness. Not in the mood for cooking, I take the lasagna from the freezer and pop the casserole into the oven.
Upstairs, I exchange my jeans for comfortable yoga pants. The tattoo is healing. The skin around the ink isn’t as sensitive as it was in the beginning. From the window in the dressing room, I have a view of Zelda and Sam’s porch. They’re not sitting outside like they often do. The light in their living room window is on. I imagine them sitting together, drawing up their list of requirements for a suitable sperm donor, and the first thing that strikes me is that I’m not envious any longer. Leon has given me protection and forgiveness. He’s shown me pride and tenderness. In our own way, we’re building something. I’m not sure it can be called a marriage, but it is something.
Smiling to myself, I go downstairs and install myself at his desk. My chest is strangely light when I gather my sketchbook and pencils. It’s a huge relief that I don’t have to hide this part of me anymore. It’s an enormous comfort that he finally knows the truth. I didn’t realize how tense I was until my mom spilled the beans and Leon cracked everything open. There are still things I’m hiding, like the stash of money in the ceiling and the crimes Gus made me witness. But Leon has secrets too. He never speaks about his family or his past. There’s more behind his silence. People who traveled through Africa have stories to tell. People who sell good apps have money, but they don’t live as if their financial source is inexhaustible.
I let my inspiration take over, drawing the woman and her alien with a dark mass of turbulent space between them. The thin line of light that connects them expels the shadows just enough for the maelstrom of tortured souls to be visible in that black hole. He has his hand stretched out, reaching for her with splayed fingers, but it’s impossible to tell if he’s trying to pull her away from or into the darkness.
The click of the front door interrupts my concentration. I put down my pencil. Footsteps sound in the hallway. My heart beats in synchronicity with each one that falls on the floor, echoing with a flutter in my belly. Leon appears on the threshold, wearing his signature ripped jeans and faded T-shirt. His dark hair is tousled, which means he took the bike. His mouth pulls up on one end, his smile simultaneously hot and soft as he leans a shoulder on the doorframe.