The Year of Kai & Isa Read online

  "I'm sorry," she says after her laughter settles down. "It's just so funny sometimes watching you squirm like that. It's the one thing I could never teach you not to do. That's okay, though. You wouldn't be you if you didn't get all squirmy like that over sex talk."

  I scratch my wrist, feeling a bit squirmy like she just implied. "I'm not squirmy … I just …" I sigh. "This is all just so new to me. And while Kai and I were kissing, I couldn't help thinking about how I have no clue how experienced he is and what he expects from me."

  Her expression softens. "Kai doesn't expect anything from you, other than for you to be yourself. And that's how things should be in a relationship."

  I nod. "I know, but I still kind of wish I knew."

  She shakes her head. "You say that now, but sometimes it's better not knowing." I'm not sure if I agree with her, and she must read that all over my face, because she says, "If it bothers you that much, you can always just ask him." When I shake my head, she adds, "Or we can play a game of I Never. That's always my second plan for whenever I want to find out someone's secrets."

  "You say that like you're always trying to find out secrets about people."

  She gives a shrug, tension suddenly flowing off her. "Well, you know how nosey I can get."

  I give her a funny, puzzled look.

  While Indigo may sometimes try to pry information out of me, she always backs off whenever I ask. And I've never thought of her as nosey.

  I'm about to point all this out and ask why she looks so tense all of a sudden when Grandma Stephy enters the room.

  "Isa, I …" She struggles to get the words out, which is completely unlike Grandma Stephy, and my anxiety makes a grand appearance. "The phone … It's …" She takes a breath as she approaches the table and holds it out to me. "It's your mother, sweetie. She … She wants to talk to you."

  For a heart sputtering moment, I think I've heard her incorrectly. But as I replay her words inside my head, I drop the fork I'm holding.

  "My mom …? She's on the phone?" I have to double-check.

  Grandma Stephy nods, and Indigo whispers, "Holy freakin' crazy troll babies."

  Holy freakin' crazy troll babies is right.

  I gulp and start to reach for the phone, but then I draw back as nervousness seizes ahold of me.

  "I don't …" I can't find the words to express the fear I'm feeling.

  What if she doesn't like me?

  "Sweetie, you don't have to talk to her if you don't want to," Grandma Stephy stresses with her hand placed over the phone. "But I really think you should. It might take one worry off your mind. Plus, you're going to want to hear what she has to tell you."

  "But, how is she even on the phone?" I scratch my head. "I mean … isn't she in prison?"

  She offers me the phone. "Why don't you ask her and find out?"

  "If you don't, you'll probably regret it," Indigo adds with a pressing look.

  She's right.

  They both are.

  Sucking in a preparing breath, I reach out with trembling fingers. Then I put the phone up to my ear and utter, "Hello?"

  Silence stretches across the line, and my fear soars.

  She doesn't even like the sound of my voice.

  Then I hear the faintest, "My little superhero girl."

  The name triggers a memory so faint and worn, like a flimsy old photo tucked away in a dusty trunk.

  "Come on, my little superhero girl!" my mom calls out to me as I spin in circles in the backyard with my cape blowing behind me. "It's time to go see her."

  I smile and slam to a stop, so excited …

  I just can't remember what the excitement was about. I can't remember who we were going to see. All I know is that whoever it was, I wanted to see her.

  "Mom," I whisper, tears pooling in my eyes as emotions pour through me, some I'm not certain I've ever felt before.

  "Hey," my mom's voice floats through the line. And I recognize it, yet I don't.

  It's strange. And exciting. And terrifying.

  As more tears fill my eyes, I try to suck them back, but a few manage to escape.

  Grandma Stephy's eyes start to water, and she quickly turns around, hurries into the kitchen, and starts busying herself with cleaning up the dishes she used to make the waffles.

  Indigo gets up, too, and joins Grandma Stephy in the kitchen, helping her clean up. But she's never been one to voluntarily clean, so I'm assuming it's more to give me some privacy to talk to my mom.

  My mom.

  My mom is on the phone with me.

  And I've barely said a word.

  But I can't think of what do say.

  Can barely think at all as so many emotions course through me.

  "I know this must be a little strange for you," my mom finally says after silence ticks by.

  "It is a little bit," I admit, chewing on my thumbnail. "I'm not really sure what to say."

  "That's okay," she assures me. "I don't really have a lot of time. Honestly, the only reason I was able to call you is because my lawyer pulled some strings, and I …" She gives a short pause. "But anyway, yeah, I'm lucky I get to call you, but I have to make this a quick conversation, even though I don't want to."

  "I understand," I say, trying to reassure her.

  "But I don't want you to have to understand," she mumbles. "I don't want you to have to be going through this at all … I wish you never had to go through any of it … I can only imagine … after what happened … what your childhood must've been like …" Her voice cracks with pain.

  I don't want her to be in pain. I want her to be happy.

  I want her to be free.

  "It's okay. My childhood … it wasn't that bad," I say, causing Indigo and Grandma Stephy to flick a glance in my direction. But part of me feels like I'm telling the truth. That, while a lot of crappy things happened to me when I was growing up, it could've been worse.

  Not wanting to endure their stares, I turn around in the seat and fix my gaze on the window.

  "Oh, my little superhero girl," my mom says softly. "I know there's no way that could be true … after what that awful woman did to you."

  "It's fine," I lie, not wanting her to be sad.

  "Oh, sweetie." She sighs as if just realizing something truly depressing. "I know that's not true, but we don't need to get into the details of that right now. We don't have time, unfortunately. But one day, hopefully soon, we can sit down and you can tell me everything. The whole un-sugarcoated truth."

  I nod, even though she can't see me. "Does that mean you're getting let out of prison?"

  "Nothing is officially yet," she tells me quickly. "But with some new evidence that has come forward, there's a very good chance that I'll be exonerated. It'll take a little bit, but the evidence … it should prove my innocence. Because I'm not guilty. I swear I'm not, no matter what Lynn and your father told you."

  "I know that." But her being so persistent to reassure me makes me wonder if she saw the video Lynn made. Isn't that the evidence that can free her? "The evidence … It's a video, right?"

  "It is … I haven't seen it yet, but …" She pauses. "How do you know what it is?"

  I hesitate. If she hasn't seen it, then she doesn't know how badly things got for me. I wish I could make things stay that way for her.

  "It's … Well, I think I'm in it," I say. "The video, I mean."

  "Oh." A pause. "My lawyer didn't tell me that. He just said it was Lynn confessing." Another pause. "What is it? I mean, how were you a part of the video?"

  I deliberate whether or not to tell her, whether I want her knowing about how Lynn tried to burn me alive. But I guess she'll find out eventually, so …

  "Time's up, Bella," someone says in the background.

  "Shit," my mom mutters. "All right, just give me a second."

  "Make it quick," the male voice warns. "I already let you have a minute extra."

  "Yeah, okay," she tells him then mutters under her breath, "Stupid idiot thinks he's s
o badass, even though he's got what I'm hoping is chocolate smeared all over the ass of his pants."

  I choke on a giggle. "He does?"

  "Oh yeah, he does," she tells me. "Jerry—that's the asshole's name—he's a guard here and literally has some sort of stain on the ass of his pants almost every single day. Me and some of the other women in here have started placing bets each morning on what color stain he's going to show up with. It's wild fun, let me tell you." A bit of sarcasm oozes into her voice. She hastily clears her throat. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to come off so bitter. And I don't ever want to be like that around you. When I get out of here, I want to try to have a normal mother/daughter relationship."

  "I want that, too," I say excitedly then realize she said try.

  What does that mean? That she's worried that might not happen?

  "Bella, get off the phone," the guard warns again, causing my mom to curse.

  "I'm sorry, but I have to go," she says to me. "I'll try to call you again. Until then, I'll have my lawyer call and give you updates, okay?"

  "Okay," I say then grow quiet, unsure what else to say.

  Do I say I love you? I know she's my mom, and I want to get to know her more than I've wanted anything else, but I don't know her, so uttering those words to her … it feels strange.

  She must think so, too, because she says, "Talk to you soon, my little superhero girl." And then the line goes dead, either because she hung up or Jerry and his crap-stained pants hung up the phone on her.

  As I move the phone away from my ear, I convince myself it's the latter; or else I have to accept that my mom hung up on me.

  "Is everything okay?" Grandma Stephy asks from just behind me.

  I take a discreet breath, collecting myself before turning around. "I think so. She just wanted to call to tell me about the new evidence found and that there's a good chance she'll be getting out of prison."

  "Yeah, she told me that, too." She presses her lips together, eyeing me down like a hawk. "Is that all she said?"

  I nod. "Yeah, pretty much. Well, that and she was sorry about what I had to go through. And that, when she gets out, we're going to sit down and talk about everything." I scratch my wrist, unsure of why I feel twitchy for some reason. "She also mentioned the guard there always has stains on the butt of his pants. Apparently, today it was shit brown."

  Grandma Stephy's brows rise to her hairline while Indigo snorts a laugh.

  "Dude, she's just as big of a weirdo as you," Indigo remarks as she opens the fridge door.

  That gets me to smile, but then confusion webs through me.

  Do I want to be like my mom?

  I don't know her.

  I don't know anything about her.

  Grandma Stephy assesses me with concern. "Are you sure you're okay?"

  I give my best convincing nod, but I'm not even sure who I'm trying to convince.

  Everyone else. Or myself.

  I frown at the thought as my phone buzzes in my hand. I glance down, only to realize I'm still holding my grandma Stephy's phone.

  I move to hand it back to her. "Here—"

  "Oh, for the love of hell," Grandma Stephy abruptly cuts me off, her gaze darting to the window. Then she stalks off, crossing the kitchen, striding for the front door.

  I spin around in the chair, half-expecting to see Lynn standing outside the window. Nope. The only person out there is an eighty-something-year-old woman wearing a large brimmed hat and a flowery dress.

  "Who's that?" I ask in confusion.

  My grandma Stephy either ignores me or doesn't hear me as she storms out the front door and toward the woman.

  "You have some nerve showing your face here after what you did to my cookies at the goddamn banquet." Grandma Stephy stops in front of the woman, close enough to invade her personal space, and crosses her arms.

  "I didn't do a damn thing," the woman snaps, getting in Grandma Stephy's face.

  I cast a glance at Indigo, who's gawking out the window now.

  "What the heck is going on?"

  Indigo shrugs, popping a couple of chocolate chips into her mouth. "I have no idea, but old people fighting is freakin' hilarious."

  I'm about to agree with her because it is sort of amusing watching the two of them get up in each other's faces, the brim of the woman's overly large hat bumping into Grandma Stephy's face, but then the woman suddenly throws down her cane and slams her hands against Grandma Stephy, shoving her back.

  "Shit," Indigo curses, scrambling for the door as Grandma Stephy recovers her balance and charges toward the woman, her nostrils actual flaring.

  I jump to my feet to go help Indigo break up the fight, but halfway across the room, my foot catches on the edge of the shelf and I stumble forward. I still have Grandma Stephy's phone in my hand and, as I start crashing toward the floor, I decide to drop it so I can use my hands to stop myself from faceplanting.

  As I land on my hands and knees, the phone hits the hardwood floor with a smack. And of course it's screen down, because isn't that always the case?

  "Please don't let the screen be cracked," I whisper as I kneel and pick up the phone.

  I let out a breathe of relief at the sight of the crack-free screen. But my relief is short-lived as move to close the photo app that opened up during the fall.

  I don't really mean to look. I mean, it's not like I was purposefully snooping. But as my gaze briefly skims across the row of photos that popped up, one snags my attention.

  A photo that looks like me, sitting in the dark, with a bunch of red crap all over my shirt. Red crap that looks like blood.

  But it's not a photo of me—that much I know—which means it has to be a photo of that picture someone left in the mailbox. Kai mentioned the girl in it looked a lot like me, but I hadn't pictured the girl to look so strikingly similar. Sure, her eyes are a different color, and her hair is a bit darker than mine, but her facial features nearly mirror mine.

  Who the hell is this girl? And why does she look so much like me? Better yet, what was the point of sending the photo?

  Kai said there was a note on the back, but as I scroll through the photos, I don't find a picture of the note. That means, if I want to find out, I'm going to have to get the truth either from Grandma Stephy or Kai.

  As I turn around to head outside where Indigo is currently dragging a red-faced Grandma Stephy away from the old woman, I decide Kai is the best option.

  I just hope he doesn't go back to omitting the truth from me.

  Eight

  Kai

  The place where Big Doug wanted me to meet up with him is a sketchy as hell area tucked underneath a graffitied overpass and beside a grimy pond that makes the air reeks of mold. An old barrel and a tent are off to the right, and what looks like a body bag is just off to my left. I'm hoping it's just a large duffel bag. Yeah, that has to be what it is.

  And that's what I'm convincing myself when Big Doug steps out from the shadows of a cluster of nearby bushes. He has a hood pulled over his head, casting a shadow across his face, hiding his features. But Big Doug is a very large dude—hence the nickname—and his bulkiness makes him easy to recognize, which is really unfortunate for him since he's been in hiding for who the hell know what reason.

  Maybe I'm about to find out.

  "Hey," I greet as I start toward him.

  "Hey." He gives a panicked glance around as he nears me then starts to lift his hand.

  I lift mine, too, thinking he wants a high-five, but then footsteps thud from behind me and every single one of my muscles wind into knots.

  "Sorry," Big Doug mutters with an apologetic look.

  "Shit." I start to spin around, but I'm slammed from behind.

  As I stumble forward, I find myself wishing I'd brought some sort of weapon. But then my gaze falls on the asshole who slammed into me, and my worry shifts to confusion.

  Tall and bulky, the dude is dressed in all black and has a pair of handcuffs in his hand.

  An un
dercover cop?

  Why would Big Doug be working for an undercover cop?

  Or maybe he's not an undercover cop and is just some weirdo who's about to try to do who knows what with those handcuffs. Let me stress the try part.

  I prepare to bolt. I'm not super strong, but I'm hella fast. At least, that's what my old coach used to say all the time, back in the day when I actually gave a shit about sports.

  "Don't try to run," the asshole with the handcuffs warns. "As long as you don't, I won't cuff you."

  I step back but tense as I feel Big Doug crowding my space.

  I grit my teeth, curling my fingers into fists. I should've listened to Isa and never agreed to meet Big Doug.

  "What the fuck is this?" I growl out.

  The asshole in front of me has the audacity to smirk. The fucker.

  I'm one step away from throwing a punch at him when he says, "Kai Meyers, I'm an undercover agent, and I'm arresting you for auto theft, computer hacking, and illegal possession of drugs." He reaches into his pocket and flashes me his badge.

  My stomach ravels into knots as I swallow hard. "I haven't done any of those things," I lie. At one point or another, I've done all those things. But it's been a while … since Isa came into my life.

  The officer smirks. "That's what all criminals say." He holds up the handcuffs. "Now, you can come with me, or I can cuff you and drag you to my car. It's your choice."

  "Just go with him," Big Doug mutters from behind me.

  I have no idea why he turned me in like this and set me up, but it doesn't fucking matter. I'm still pissed off. More than pissed off.

  He just ruined everything good I got over the last month.

  I glare at him, wanting to punch him in the jaw.

  He has the nerve to look remorseful, but that only makes the urge to punch him grow.