by R. H. Herron
“ID took samples. Maybe Gordon’s, but honestly, I think he went down in that bathroom. Too much blood in the closet for him to have been moved much.”
Maybe Jojo’s blood. “She didn’t . . . I didn’t . . . Jesus, what happened there?”
Omid snapped, “How should I know? You think I know everything somehow, because I was there forty minutes longer than you were, while you were with our daughter and I was there with him?”
Laurie raised her hands and then let them drop heavily into her lap. “Take a breath.”
Sweat stood out on his forehead and dripped down his jaw. “Don’t tell me to breathe. Why wasn’t Jojo home?”
“Oh, no. You are not going to blame me for this one.”
He pushed his toe against a metal cabinet. “I’m not.”
“Because I was at work. You were scheduled to be at home, but you were at work, too. What about that?”
“I thought she was out with friends this afternoon!”
“She was.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Obviously. She was just out with friends into the night, then.”
Omid’s skin looked clammy. He was as scared as she was. She needed to remember that, or she’d stand up and start punching him. Fucking men.
“You don’t look good. Sit down.” Laurie gestured at the hospital bed, still heaped with the blankets Jojo had left behind.
“I’m fine.” But he sat, wiping his face. He breathed heavily, air rasping in and out of his lungs like he’d just gotten back from a run. “I think . . . I feel kind of dizzy.”
“Omid?” Alarmed, Laurie stood and lifted his wrist to take his pulse. His skin was wet and cold, his heartbeat thready. Diaphoresis. Green pallor. Rapid breathing. “Don’t move. Don’t you dare fucking move.”
She pushed her way through and under the curtain, not bothering to find the opening. There was no one visible in the hall, so she ran to the nurses’ station.
So many words, all of them pushing out of her, and they got bottled up in her throat. Laurie banged on the top of the counter with her fists, and two nurses jumped.
“Yes?”
“My husband . . .” she finally managed. “I think he’s having a heart attack. Bed D.”
The taller nurse snapped her fingers at the shorter one. “Get the crash cart.” She punched a button on her terminal that sent out a low tone.
In minutes Omid was hooked up to the 12-lead, then given thrombolytics and Plavix. Through all the ministrations of the medical staff, he became more and more furious. “I’m fine! It’s my daughter you should be worrying about!”
“For the love of God!” Laurie shouted over the doctor’s head. “Shut up and breathe!”
“I’m giving you some nitro now,” said the doctor. “It might cause a headache, which is a sign it’s working.”
“But my daughter.” Omid’s voice was finally lower. “Jojo. I have to be with my daughter.”
A doctor who looked too young to vote ran another strip on the 12-lead. “Mr. Ahmadi, you just had a mild myocardial infarction. You were in the right place at the right time, and I’d venture to guess that you’ll be fine. But if you don’t calm down, we’ll give you something to make you calm down, you hear me?”
Laurie watched Omid blink.
He met her gaze. With his eyes still locked on hers, Laurie said, “She’ll be fine, but she needs you to be okay. That’s your only job right now.”
They were the right words. Omid nodded at the doctor and rested his head back on the pillow tucked behind his head. He closed his eyes and sucked in a breath. His color was almost normal again.
Laurie sank into the metal chair again and pressed her own hand to her heart.
Jesus.
Her phone pinged with a text from Jojo. Where are you?
NINE
JOJO DIDN’T FUCKING get it.
Somehow, while she’d been listening to Gloria chatter, while she’d had that metal up in her junk, while she’d been so terrified she saw spots in front of her eyes, her dad had been almost dying.
The nurses had bustled around, setting him up in his room, and he just kept joking about things. But his voice sounded weak, and his face was in this weird bunched-up position, as if he could convince her it was a smile.
As soon as there was a space next to the bed, Jojo stood as close as she could to him. She took his hand carefully, making sure not to pull on the IV that went into the back of it. “I wish I could get in bed next to you.”
“You can’t do that.” Mom shook her head. “All the IV lines.”
God. Of course Jojo wouldn’t fit. It was just something to say to Dad. “I know.”
“Why are you wearing those sweats?” Her mother’s voice was sharp. “Where are your clothes?”
Jojo ignored her and kept facing Dad. “Are you going to be okay?”
Her father pointed to his cheek. “With a kiss I bet I will be.”
She kissed his stubble. A beeping started overhead, loud and obnoxious.
“Bed alarm!” said Dad. “You set off the bed alarm!”
“There’s a bed alarm?”
“Well, it’s a kissing alarm. It’s when the bed goes sideways, like when you tilt a pinball machine.” He had that tone he used with little kids, but Jojo didn’t mind.
Mom said seriously, “It’s to prevent falls from bed.”
Jojo ignored her. “Tell me again you’ll be okay.”
Her father’s face softened, and he squeezed her hand. “I’m going to be fine, peanut. Just fine. How about you?”
Jojo’s blood froze. For a few minutes, while watching him get admitted, while trailing behind the gurney as he was moved to a real hospital room, she’d forgotten.
She’d completely forgotten—or just managed to push away—for a few seconds why they were there, why her father had had a heart attack in the first place.
“I’m fine.”
His dark eyes, the same ones she saw in the mirror at home, lit up. “Yeah? You’re fine?”
“I mean . . .” Yeah. She was okay. Gloria had said she’d find her in a little while, once the ruckus died down. “I’m pretty sure I’m fine.”
Her father looked triumphantly at her mother. “Good. See, Laurie? She’s fine.”
There was a knock at the door, and Gloria poked her head in. “How’s it going in here? May I come in?”
Jojo’s mother started flapping her hands, ushering her in, as if Gloria had come to the house for a glass of wine. “Of course, of course. Sit down. Do you want some water? I could go look for some, I could find some cups—”
“I’m here to talk to you about the results of the kit.” Gloria’s face was smooth. Calm. That was a good sign, Jojo knew it was. Everything was fine—in a minute they’d be able to go home and go back to normal. “Is this an okay time? I can come back later if you’re still getting settled.”
“Now is good,” said Dad.
Mom nodded.
Furious birds tried to claw their way out of Jojo’s chest.
“Jojo? You ready to talk about this?”
“Yeah. Sure.”
“It came back positive for rape.”
Jojo’s stomach churned, and she wondered if she was going to be sick again.
Kevin wouldn’t have. He was kind.
He’d always been so kind.
Mom fell. She literally fell down, so that she was suddenly sitting on the floor. Jojo would have felt embarrassed about her mother’s reaction, but she was suddenly crying too hard to feel much of anything except this weird pain right in the center of her chest, just where she imagined her heart was. “Are you sure?”
Gloria nodded and held out her hand to Jojo, completely ignoring Mom, still gaping up from the floor like a fish flopped out of its bowl.
Jojo took Gloria’s hand
. She didn’t look at her father. She couldn’t. But she heard his breathing, heavy and fast behind her. He said, “Are you sure?”
“I’m afraid so. Jojo, you showed signs of abrading both externally and internally. There’s bruising and one small tear quite far up inside your vaginal wall.”
A tear? Like a rip in a tarp? She was perforated now?
“It’ll heal quickly. In terms of traumatic injury, it’s on the low side, though the emotional trauma will make it harder to process. We’re going to talk about—”
“Semen?” Dad’s voice was guttural.
Jojo wanted to die. Right then, right there.
“No,” said Gloria. “No trace.”
“Any other evidence?”
Gloria shook her head. “Nothing visible besides the trauma, though the lab will test everything. But Plan B anyway.”
Mom used the chair to drag herself up. She said, “Yes! We want that now.” She took Jojo’s other hand, and Jojo didn’t pull away.
“I have to take the abortion pill.” It wasn’t a question—Jojo stated it to see how the phrase hung in the air. The words were almost solid things, black and viscous.
“That’s what some people call it, but all it actually does is prevent a fertilized egg from attaching.”
Fertilized egg. Horror crept up Jojo’s arms.
“She’ll take it,” Mom said.
Jojo yanked her hand away from her mother. Of course she would take the pill. But not because her mother told her to. “So what are the next steps?” She was proud of how her voice didn’t shake, even though the queasiness was rising again.
Gloria gently released Jojo’s other hand and reached for a blue folder and a brown paper bag. “It’s all in here. We start with Plan B—take it within the next twenty-four hours. You’ll have your next period on time or maybe just a little earlier, and you might bleed a little heavier. Some girls get worse cramps, but not all. Curl up with a heating pad and an Aleve.”
Mom huffed a breath. “And then what happens?”
Gloria didn’t even glance at her, just kept looking at Jojo. “Counseling. I have a list of therapists in your medical network, and you’re also always free to go out of network if you don’t mind paying out of pocket. I’ve put stars next to the ones I think you’ll like.” She flicked her gaze over Jojo’s parents. “That goes for you, too, Mom and Dad. Jojo will benefit from one-on-one counseling on her own, but we also recommend that the whole family get counseling together as well. Jojo, if you’re religious, churches can offer strong community, too. Are you . . . ?”
Jojo opened her mouth to say she wasn’t religious, but Mom said, “I was raised Catholic, and Omid’s Christian, but none of us practice—I guess we’re all kind of agnostic, but—”
Gloria interrupted smoothly, “Well, any community you share as a family is great. Do you have any other questions before I leave?”
Jojo shook her head.
Her father said, “Laurie, you should take Jojo home now.”
Mom nodded and shook hands with Gloria. “Thank you so much, Gloria. And I agree with Dad, Joshi. You need sleep. Sergeant Montgomery texted—I left my keys in the ignition, so they brought my car here. We can leave.”
Jojo shook her head at the babyish endearment—Jojo from Joanna was enough of a nickname—and at the notion that she would just be able to lie down and close her eyes peacefully.
She cleared her throat. “I won’t be able to sleep. Maybe . . . Can I have a sleeping pill?” She would need something to knock her out. Not like her mother would have any at home, though. She was the boss of the medicine cabinet and didn’t even like using Advil.
But Mom nodded. “Is Ambien too strong for her, Gloria?”
Jojo stared at her mother.
“Not a great idea. The Rohypnol, if that’s what it was in her system, has a long half-life. We’re running tests to see what it was exactly, but since it could have been any number of drugs, a narcotic alkaloid or a GHB clone, we might not ever figure it out. Best just to try to sleep naturally.” She gave a small wave and was gone.
A young cop with acne knocked on the door. “Excuse me, Chief. Ma’am. Jojo. Is this an okay time to get Jojo’s statement?”
Dad blinked. “No.”
“Okay. Um, then . . . when would be—”
“She needs to sleep first.”
“Omid!” Mom looked horrified. So like her. Always wanting to do things just right.
“I’m exhausted, Mom.”
Dad nodded. “It’ll be fine to wait.”
“No.” Mom folded her arms. “It won’t be. If she doesn’t grab what she remembers right now, if she starts to forget . . .”
Anger lit the tops of Jojo’s lungs. “I don’t remember anything.” It wasn’t true. Snippets were coming back. The street-medic meeting. Had there been weed? A car ride, she remembered the feel of motion and of light poles flashing past.
Dad closed his eyes as if he were about to go to sleep. A sudden stillness froze all of them as they waited. Mom looked like she wasn’t breathing, and even the new cop turned to stone.
Finally Dad said, “More will come back to her. We’ll let her sleep on it.”
Mom’s lips folded tight.
The officer’s voice shook. “Sir, with all due respect, it’s a 187 case. She was there. We need her statement sooner rather than later.”
Jojo’s pulse quickened as her breath got tighter. A 187? Why would he say the code for murder? “Where’s Harper?”
“Honey—”
The worst words in the world came to her then. Her tongue felt thick, and her head felt too light. “Is Harper dead? Was she in that closet? Mom? Tell me.”
Dad glared at the officer. “She’s not giving her fucking statement tonight, and get the fuck out of my sight if you don’t want to be fired this fucking second.”
The acne-scarred cop ducked his head like he was bowing and left the room.
“Dad!” Jojo gasped a shallow breath.
Mom took her by the elbow, which was okay because she felt light-headed again. “No, sugar. I told you. It wasn’t Harper.”
“Harper Cunningham? Why are you talking about her?” Dad’s voice was sharp.
“But it was a murder, Mom? He said 187.”
Horrifyingly, Mom nodded. “A man. A friend of Kevin’s.”
“Not Zach.” Fear traced its way down Jojo’s gullet.
Mom blinked and then looked at Dad.
Dad pushed himself higher in bed. “You know Zachary Gordon?”
Tears started again, like she was a freaking faucet. “Tell me it wasn’t him.”
Mom’s voice was soft. “I’m so sorry, love. It was.”
“How?”
Grimacing, Mom said, “His skull was hit with something. We’re not sure what yet.”
Jojo just shook her head as the rest of the world turned into a blur, a tiny, high-pitched whine.
What had she done?
She had to remember. What had gone wrong?
She had to remember what had happened.
Mom bent so that Dad could whisper in her ear.
Jojo didn’t even strain to try to eavesdrop. She didn’t want to know anything else.
Nothing else.
TEN
THE FRONT LIGHT at home had burned out last week, and as they drove home to a totally dark house, Laurie cursed herself for not getting around to screwing in a new bulb. It was a cool night for summer, the coastal air pushing inward over the hills, and the house would have cold in its bones when they entered. Laurie wanted desperately to warm Jojo, who was still giving the occasional deep shiver. “Sorry about the porch light—”
“Yeah, I actually know my way around the house where I live.” Jojo’s voice pulsed anger, and she slammed the car door so hard that the frame of the vehi
cle rattled.
Laurie could take the anger.
She followed behind Jojo, listening to her daughter’s thumps as she made her way upstairs. They hadn’t talked about her taking a shower, but Laurie heard the water running almost immediately.
By the time she brought a mug of hot cocoa into the bathroom, the room was full of steam.
And her daughter was crying.
“Baby?”
“Go away.” The growl came from low down, knee level.
Laurie drew back the shower curtain.
Jojo was in a ball, her knees pulled to her chest, her long dark hair hanging forward. She shivered violently, even though the heat of the water stung Laurie’s skin from two feet away.
Laurie got into the tub. Fully dressed, she sat on the floor of the tub next to her daughter and wrapped her arms around her.
“I don’t want you!”
Laurie ignored her and slid closer to Jojo under the pounding water.
Jojo said something too muffled to understand and curled, sobbing, into her mother’s side.
Laurie split into two pieces.
One piece was with Jojo. All her love went into the meaningless whispers she poured over Jojo as heavily and persistently as the water that beat down on them. It’s okay. It’s all okay. It’s going to be fine. You’re okay. I love you. You’re safe.
The other piece was bright white with blind rage. It was probably just the steam, but she literally couldn’t see. Fury spiked icicles up the back of her neck, over her head, and down into her heart.
She’d kill that motherfucker. She’d shred him with her teeth and nails.
Her lips streamed love over Jojo’s head while the back part of her brain imagined Leeds’s bruised face, his battered body, as he begged for mercy she would never give. Or had it been Zach? That couldn’t be—she wouldn’t be able to hurt him someday, then.
Jojo pressed farther into her.
Laurie had to call Harper’s parents, see if they knew anything. But first Jojo.
A long time later, her daughter’s shaking slowed, and then so did her tears.