Chapter 62: Gavin

When he was eleven years old, Gavin and his grandpa spent their weekends going to the farmer’s market, or driving to Denver to visit exotic food shops so they could find a specific ingredient like shitake bacon or oatmeal flour. Then they’d haul their finds into the kitchen and cook up something delicious. Gavin’s grandfather would stir whatever was on the stove, occasionally presenting the wooden spoon to Gavin for a taste-test. “Cooking is an art, Gavin.” He’d raise an eyebrow every time he said this. “So be subtle. And be detailed.”

Gavin cherished spending time with his grandfather, and cooking was Gavin’s favorite thing to do. His dad didn’t understand why Gavin preferred cooking to playing sports, and his mom worried that he had no friends his own age. But being with his grandpa felt more natural than anything else. They’d communicate through creation and their edible science projects were all they needed to bond them together.

Then Gavin’s grandpa got cancer. At first, his prognosis was okay because it hadn’t spread to the lymph nodes. “I’m going to be just fine,” he’d said. “I’ll always be there for you, Gavin.”

“Do you promise?” Gavin had asked.

“Yup. I promise.”

At the time, Gavin was a kid and no adult had ever truly let him down. He believed what his grandfather told him, and luckily the cancer went into remission. For a while it seemed like everything would work out. But it didn’t. The cancer came back and then it killed Gavin’s grandpa in less than three months. Gavin’s mother came home from the hospital one night, climbed the stairs up to Gavin’s room, and delivered the bad news. “Grandpa passed away tonight, Hon.” She’d sat next to him on his bed, her arm around his shoulders. “I know this is hard, but we can be happy that he’s in a better place now.”

Gavin was too numb to cry. “Grandpa lied. He promised that he’d always be there for me and now he’s gone.”

“Oh, Gavin.” His mom’s voice was choked with emotion. “Grandpa didn’t lie. He’ll still always be there for you; only now, he’ll be watching down on you from heaven. That’s even better, right? You have your own personal angel.”

Gavin thought about this a lot. Was his grandpa more useful to him dead than alive? It took a major leap of faith to believe that, since there was no real evidence that his grandpa was watching over him and doing the whole guardian-angel thing. Perhaps all that was left of his grandfather was a pile of decomposing flesh and bones, a lifeless body buried in the cemetery along with all the other dead people. And there were so many dead people; if you really thought about it, all the people who had already died way outnumbered the ones still living. And what if being dead meant no after-life, no altered consciousness, and no prospect of heaven and/or hell? It was entirely possible that being dead meant being nothing, and if that was the case, was there even a point to life?

But then Gavin remembered his grandpa’s words of wisdom: Be subtle. Be detailed. Perhaps the same principles that applied to art and cooking also applied to life itself. Bigger doesn’t equal better and the after-taste is as important as what’s going down. That’s when Gavin decided that all bets were off. Death was inevitable, and since he wouldn’t know what dying was all about until his own time came, any false sense of morality, spirituality, or anxiety about the whole thing seemed silly. He might as well make the most of things while he was here, try not to get too attached to his life, and, for lack of a better metaphor, skip the salad and have seconds on dessert.

Now he stood in the bakery, bending over baby Bijou, making silly faces and kooky noises. “I can’t expect you to take her,” Elizabeth said. “Not on your day off.”

“I’m surprised Joseph didn’t take her to his nursery school,” Gavin replied.

“She’s too young, and they have strict rules about that sort of thing there. I don’t think Bijou’s even had all her shots yet.” Elizabeth sighed as she punched some bread dough, flour rising and settling on her cheeks. “I don’t trust Mitch to make sure she gets them, either. He seems to have his head in the clouds.”

“Well, you can’t let him take her away. It’s as simple as that.”

Elizabeth rubbed at her eye and a pasty white streak appeared where her hand had been, probably a mixture of flour and tears. “I don’t have a choice, Gavin. If Mitch wants to take Bijou to Florida, I can’t stop him.”

“But he lied! He told Skylar that Magda had left town, and then she showed up this morning, looking for him. She said they were leaving together and you can’t let that happen. We all know that Magda is dangerous, that Jo Beth didn’t want her baby anywhere near her.”

Elizabeth gave the bread dough a few more vigorous punches. Meanwhile, Bijou was getting fussy, strapped into her baby chair and squirming to get out. Elizabeth looked up and as soon as her eyes settled on her granddaughter, she melted. “What are you suggesting, Gavin?”

“Let me take her. My grandfather’s old cabin is pretty remote and I can hide her up there. Mitch won’t be able to find her.”

“But don’t you think he’ll figure it out eventually?” Elizabeth asked.

With any luck, Gavin thought, Mitch would be found dead, drowned in the hot tub, and the issue would be moot. For the record, Gavin had had no intention of killing Mitch. Something inside him just snapped at the way he’d been prancing around Skylar’s kitchen, shirtless and obviously satisfied from a great night of sex. Gavin knew Mitch had sex with Skylar. He could smell it on him.

But after he’d knocked Mitch out, Gavin had realized his mistake. He’d been neither subtle nor detailed, and it was too late to change what he’d done. Gavin knew that killing Mitch with his bare hands or with a kitchen utensil would be both difficult and messy, and besides, Skylar would come downstairs soon, so he had to think fast. He couldn’t let Mitch wake up, because then he’d tell her what had happened, and if she wasn’t already in Mitch’s corner she certainly would be then. He scrambled for a solution and a hot tub drowning was the best he could do.

Now that he was getting Mitch out of the way, it seemed practical to take care of Bijou as well. Two more deaths would send the family reeling, but when the dust settled, Skylar would be his again and he could skip straight to his endless, just desserts. Nothing would tie her to Black Diamond anymore but she’d be heartbroken enough that the thought of setting out on her own would be too difficult. Plus, he’d blame Bijou’s “crib death” on himself; he’d sob and pull his hair out, and Skylar would know how much he needed her support. She’d definitely come to Chicago with him then.

He unsnapped the baby chair belt from around Bijou’s waist and lifted her from her chair. “Magda said that their plane tickets are for today. Hopefully when Mitch can’t find Bijou, he’ll give up easily and just get on that plane.” Gavin bent down, grabbed the handle of Bijou’s diaper bag, and swung it over his shoulder. “It’s worth a shot, anyway.”

Elizabeth came over, ran her hand over Bijou’s downy head, and kissed the top of her nose. “Okay,” she murmured. “Take my car. It has a baby seat.”