Free Web NovelChapter 177: Chapter 177 - Gone and Done
Abuela moved slowly around the kitchen, but there was nothing weak about her. She was small and thin, her back slightly bent with age, gray hair pulled tight into a bun at the back of her head. Deep lines marked her face, especially around her mouth and eyes, but those eyes were still sharp. They watched everything.
She placed the pan back on the stove and turned to look at Iyisha again.
"¿Dónde está ese hombre?" she asked, squinting slightly. "Malcolm, sí?"
Iyisha shrugged.
"I don’t know," she said, lowering her head again.
Abuela studied her for a moment, her eyes moving slowly over Iyisha’s face. Then she muttered something under her breath.
Iyisha looked up.
Abuela was already turning away, but not before glancing at Marybeth with a small grin.
"He went out in the middle of the night," Iyisha muttered.
Marybeth’s expression softened immediately.
"Oh," she said.
Abuela snorted softly from the stove.
"Ese hombre frío," she muttered, shaking her head.
Iyisha frowned slightly. She caught a few words but not all of it.
Abuela turned back toward the table, pointing the spatula lightly in Iyisha’s direction.
"Siempre así," she said. "Hombres. No hablan. Solo caminan como..." She waved her hand vaguely toward the door. "...idiotas."
Iyisha blinked.
"What does that mean?"
Marybeth snorted.
Abuela crossed her arms and looked at Iyisha like the answer should be obvious.
Marybeth leaned back in her chair, still smiling.
"She says men are always like that," she said. "They don’t talk. They just walk around like idiots."
Iyisha let out a quiet breath.
"That sounds about right."
Abuela nodded immediately, pleased someone had finally said something sensible.
"Tontita," she repeated quietly.
Marybeth leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms.
"You know she’s calling you a silly girl, right?" she said.
"I know," Iyisha muttered.
She pulled her hair back with both hands and let it fall again, clearly annoyed with herself. Then she looked at Marybeth.
"I think I messed up," she said.
Marybeth raised an eyebrow.
Iyisha stared down at the table.
"I told him... if he wanted to, we could stop. That we didn’t have to keep doing this."
She stopped there, pressing her lips together.
Marybeth watched her for a moment.
"You need to cut your losses," she said finally. "Men like Malcolm don’t play around with words."
Iyisha nodded slowly.
She already knew that.
She had cried last night after he left the room. Quietly, into the pillow where no one could hear her.
Her pride would not let her cry again now, even though her eyes were starting to sting.
She blinked hard and kept her head down.
She would not beg for his attention.
Even if it killed her.
And deep down she knew something else too.
There was nothing she could do about it anyway.
Abuela clicked her tongue as she set cups of water in front of them.
"Tsk, tsk."
Iyisha looked up and grinned at her.
Abuela always had something to say, usually a string of Spanish Iyisha only half understood. This time she only shook her head, patted Iyisha lightly on the hair, and said softly, "It’s going to be okay, mija."
Iyisha smiled gratefully as the old woman returned to the stove.
She turned back to Marybeth.
"Are you sure you’re leaving?" she asked. "Abuela’s going to be all alone."
Marybeth shrugged, watching the old woman at the counter as she dried a pan.
"I’ve got cousins here," she said. "She’ll be okay. She’s tougher than a nail."
Then she looked back at Iyisha.
"Don’t change the subject."
Iyisha breathed out a small laugh and leaned back in her chair.
"Malcolm’s going to leave when we reach New York."
Marybeth frowned, her forehead wrinkling.
"What?" she asked, confusion plain on her face.
Iyisha blinked.
"Yeah," she said slowly, a little hesitant now that she had said it out loud.
Marybeth noticed immediately and waved a hand.
"You don’t have to tell me everything," she said. "We’ve only known each other a little over a month."
She gave a sarcastic shrug.
"And you already know where my family is."
Iyisha smiled, amused.
She thought about it for a moment. New York was close now. Close enough that it did not really matter.
"Well," she said, "New York is where I’m stopping."
Marybeth watched her carefully.
"Malcolm’s going further north," Iyisha finished. "I’m staying in New York."
Marybeth stayed silent for a moment.
"You sure?" she asked.
Iyisha looked at her.
"Of course," she said.
Marybeth tapped the table lightly with her finger as she studied her.
"Malcolm is the only reason you’re still alive," she said. "You sure about letting him go?"
Iyisha rolled her eyes.
"Thank you," she said sarcastically, letting out a short laugh. "I can take care of myself."
Marybeth smiled.
"Maybe I’ll go with Malcolm," she said casually.
Iyisha rolled her eyes again.
"Go ahead."
After breakfast, Iyisha went back to the room to gather the clothes for laundry. Malcolm’s things were still scattered where he had left them.
She picked up one of his jackets.
As she lifted it, something heavy fell to the floor.
She looked down.
The book Malcolm was always reading.
Iyisha bent to pick it up.
When she lifted it, a photograph slipped loose from between the pages.
She caught it before it hit the ground.
Iyisha looked down at it and blinked.
It showed a young man.
The boy in the photograph looked barely out of his teens, just stepping into adulthood.
Iyisha turned the photo over.
There was a short message written on the back.
Stay safe.
Love, Lance.
Her eyes stayed on the name.
Lance.
The same name Malcolm always used whenever they needed a false one.
So it came from someone real.
Someone he had known.
Her chest tightened a little.
Was this the person who gave him the book?
She flipped the photograph back over and studied the young man again. Sharp jaw. Black hair cropped short. Dark eyes.
He was handsome, but nothing like Malcolm.
There was something easy about him. The way he stood in the picture, relaxed, almost playful. Like the world had not hardened him yet.
Like he still expected good things from life.
Iyisha wondered if Malcolm had ever looked like that once.
Before everything.
Before whatever had turned him into the quiet, cold man she knew now.
Her fingers lingered on the edge of the photo for a moment.
Then she slid it back into the book and closed it.
She picked up Malcolm’s jacket and gathered the rest of his clothes from the chair.
Well.
She would never know.
And she did not care anymore.
New York was close now.
Their time together was almost finished.
Her throat tightened as the thought settled in.
She bit her lip hard and forced herself to breathe through it.
She needed to be strong.
Because once they reached New York, there would be no Malcolm beside her anymore.
No one to lean on.
Just herself.
Iyisha straightened her shoulders, grabbed the pile of clothes, and walked down the hall toward the laundry.
The machine rumbled to life as she started it.
