“Sure.” I reminded myself that she was a hitchhiker, someone I had no vested interest in, someone I had no intention of concerning myself with, and anything she asked me I didn’t have to answer.
She studied me. Another moment passed before she asked, “Are you a cop?”
The question gave me pause for thought. “Would it matter if I were?”
She didn’t hesitate to reply. “Well, if you were, I might have to kill you. So yes, it might matter. To you.”
I felt myself draw back a bit. Under any other circumstances, my response might have been to make some dismissive sound, maybe laugh, but it was obvious she was quite serious. I briefly toyed with the idea of not answering her, of just dismissing her anyway. I certainly didn’t have to indulge her. Yet her very intensity suggested that her question was not prompted by mere curiosity. I fleetingly wondered about her mental state. She didn’t come across as being unbalanced; in fact, she seemed pretty normal. But acting normal and appearing normal didn’t necessarily mean a person was normal. Then again, who was I to try to define normal?
“No,” I answered. “I’m not a cop.” I held her eyes for a heartbeat before I added levelly, “At least not anymore.”
She cocked her head, but said nothing.
“What?” I asked. I began to question the wisdom of my admission. Finally I frowned at her. “Stop looking at me like that. Do I get to live or not?”
And just like that, she smiled again, a broad, uncomplicated, delighted smile that broke out like the sun breaking out from behind a cloud. “I like you, Amy,” she said. “I like you a lot.”
“Oh, I bet you say that to all the girls who save your life,” I scoffed, a bit gruffly, deliberately damping down the pleased feeling her words elicited; I didn’t want to like this girl, and I didn’t want her to like me. “Come on,” I said, “let’s get out of here. It’s hot, I’m sweaty, and I still have a couple of hours driving left.”
I pushed myself off the railing, landing with a soft thump. Kael did likewise. As we walked back toward the new trail that had led us to the bridge, I ordered my mind to think practically, to thoughts of a refreshing shower, a good meal, perhaps kicking back with a couple of beers later.
“Speaking of saving my life,” she spoke up, as her stride matched mine. “That was really something. You were fast.”
“I was scared shitless,” I told her with a sidelong glance.
“Really.”
“Yes, really.”
“You don’t strike me as someone who scares easily.”
“Don’t paint me in colors that don’t flatter me,” I told her, keeping my voice mild. “When someone is about to take an unintentional dive off a cliff, that scares me. Besides,” I added, “you also said I don’t strike you as someone who picks up hitchhikers.”
“Ah,” she said. “Touché.”
I winked at her and continued walking. A moment later, I slowed. “You know, now that we’re on the topic, I do have one question I’d like to ask you.”
We stopped at the same time, she a pace or two beyond me. She looked at me with interest.
“What are you doing out here hitching in the first place?” I was genuinely curious.
The look she gave me was the kind you give to an exceptionally stupid person who has asked an exceptionally stupid question. “I don’t have a car,” she stated blandly. And she turned and set off down the path once more.
I stood where I was a couple of moments longer and watched her walk away, before shaking my head. What had I expected?
“Right,” I muttered, and continued after her.
Chapter Ten
Eventually she speaks.
Eventually, after she is informed her mother does not wish to see her, or to have anything further to do with her; after she has been assigned someone called a guardian ad litem to represent her best interests, only then does she talk to Investigator Tanner. Tanner records her words, presumably shares them with everyone else.
Her hearing is scheduled for five days later.
She will have a court-appointed lawyer, pro bono, which she learns means the lawyer’s services are free. She is vastly relieved to hear this; she doesn’t know much about court proceedings other than what she has gleaned from a few episodes of Law & Order, but she does know that lawyers cost money, and she has none.
During the interim, having been treated and released from the hospital, she has been kept in detention; she has been told it is common for young offenders to be detained in foster homes, but she has threatened to run away from any foster home situation, and there is no other alternative. She does not mind overly much. The cinderblock cell, though small, is at least private. It is one in a rough horseshoe of eleven others in a section of the juvenile detention facility in Durham. There is a single bunk with a narrow plastic-covered mattress and surprisingly soft bedding, a stainless steel toilet and sink, and a small wooden desk and stool.
She has visitors: her court-appointed lawyer visits every day, after breakfast, to talk to her, to get to know her. Her new psychologist, appointed by the Department of Social Services, comes by every day, always just after lunch, to talk to her, to help her process her thoughts and feelings. Since she does not actually participate, she cannot say the psychologist talks with her. The woman is patient, however, and does not press.
Grace Tanner, the investigator with the sheriff’s department, comes by every other day, the times varying. She brings something with her each time: a Hershey bar, a notebook, a deck of cards, a novel. While the usual protocol is for such gifts to be returned to the gifter upon departure, in her case this does not happen; the small gifts are accepted with a whispered thank you. They do not speak of the reason for the visits, or the gifts, but the appreciation of both is conveyed through the two softly spoken words. And even though she has reverted back to her usual reticence, she finds it easier to trust the investigator’s continuing kindness and concern, rather than the psychologist’s gentle but persistent efforts at communication.
Still, it seems that she will be detained indefinitely. With her mother’s refusal to have anything to do with her, she has nowhere to go. Until the day before her trial, when there is a knock on her cell door, and she is informed she has an unexpected visitor.
She is escorted to the visitor’s area. There she finds her lawyer, and another woman. A woman who, when she steps forward, startles her so badly she lets out a gasp. For she sees, in the guise of this woman, her own father. She soon learns the woman is her father’s sister, her aunt, a woman she has never met. Apparently, her mother would not allow it. A woman whom her mother has since contacted, and who now hopes to be awarded guardianship of her.
This is a development she could never have imagined, and for once her silence is not willful. And at her hearing the next day, her case is brought before a judge. There is much discussion; she hears the words “extenuating circumstances” with no idea of what they mean. Before the judge makes his decision, the topic of the guardianship is brought up. And eventually, the judge turns to her, and asks her if she would rather be with her aunt, in Asheville, than stay in detention.
She turns her gaze to the tall handsome woman who has the same blond hair and gray eyes she and her father share. She thinks how quickly things have happened, how quickly she has arrived at this point in time. And while she is still coming to terms with the concept of murder, she is wise enough, even at twelve, to know that the death of her father was very likely the catalyst for all of the events that brought her here, that she did not arrive by her actions alone. She has been told it will take more time than she can possibly conceive of to come to terms with what has happened, with what she has done, and what has been done to her. But she no longer feels things are as hopeless as they seemed. The woman who bears the startling resemblance to her father seems to be the harbinger of that hope.
She turns her attention back to the judge, who has been patiently waiting, and says, softly and clearly, “Yes.”
Chapter Eleven
When we reached the edge of the parking lot, Kael broke away and jogged ahead to the cinderblock building and the drink-dispensing machine that sat out front of it. Within seconds she was plugging in coins and making her selection. When the drink had clunked into the trough, she retrieved it and turned toward me.
“Catch,” she called to me, and gently lobbed the bottle in my direction.
It was a perfect throw and I caught it easily. A bottle of water, cold, already gathering condensation in the heat. I shot her a grin. She winked and turned back to the machine. She plugged in more coins and I heard the clunk again. She turned with another bottle of water in hand and walked toward me.
When she reached me, she angled her head a fraction to the right. I was briefly caught by the impression that every time she looked at me, it was as if she were reassessing me each time. The thought was interesting and rather unsettling, so I pushed it aside and thanked her for the water.
“Don’t mention it,” she said. “It’s the least I could do.”
“Huh.” I tipped my bottle to hers and tapped the caps together. “Cheers.”
The barest hint of amusement appeared in her eyes. “Cheers,” she returned.
I was certain I was failing completely at keeping my attraction to myself. And other than that kiss, which could have been taken at face value, as a way of thanking me, purely and simply, I had no idea if she was attracted to me. I gave a quick sideways glance, and was utterly surprised to not only catch her eye, but to also see her wink at me again.
My belly flipped in a shockingly pleasant way, which caused my throat to suddenly constrict and then close. I gagged and just managed to turn away from her as the mouthful of water I was swallowing spewed forth. I coughed harshly, bent over, and sprayed the mouthful onto the asphalt.
“Whoa,” I heard Kael say. “Are you okay?”
I straightened and waved my hand in that universal Yeah-I’m-fine-just-give-me-a-second gesture. I coughed a few more times as I stumbled away a couple of steps, swiping the back of my hand across my mouth. When I was sure I wasn’t in danger of asphyxiation, I arched my back and raised my head, looking off into the distance. I breathed in deeply, held the breath a moment or two, and then exhaled forcefully. I wiped my hand across the seat of my shorts, feeling embarrassed, then turned halfway around.
Kael was looking at me with concern.
“Come on,” I said, a tad roughly, before she could say a word. “Let’s get out of here.”
She gave a slight bob of her head, and followed as I moved toward the Jeep. I tossed my bottle of water onto the driver’s seat, and headed toward the rear.
“Can you give me a hand with the top?” I asked.
“You’re putting the top up?” she asked, surprised.
“It’s going to rain at some point in the near future.” With a nod, I indicated an opening I’d spied in the tree growth surrounding us that gave enough of a distant view to show storm clouds building.
“Oh,” she said. She tossed her own bottle onto the passenger seat, swung the knapsack in after it, and stepped back to assist me.
“Besides,” I added as we raised the fabric and pulled, grunting a bit with the effort, “this will keep the sun off you. Don’t want your sunburn getting worse.”
The rooftop slid up and into place and we pushed on the frame to help it along. At the front of the vehicle, I reached inside to attach one of the main roof latches. Glancing over, I saw she was contemplating me across the hood through slitted eyelids.
“My sunburn.”
“Yep,” I said as I continued to attend to the latch. “Noticed it earlier. Just looking out for you.”
A pause. “Looking out for me.”
I kept my eyes on my task. “Uh-huh. You got that latch?”
Once the roof was secured, the rear window zipped, and the side windows safely stowed for attachment later, I turned to see her standing off a few feet, hands in her pockets. She was watching me with those pale eyes that now appeared dark, as if there was a storm building inside them, inside her.
“Great, thanks,” I acknowledged. “Let’s go.”
“No. Wait.” She pinned me with that roiling gaze.
I settled back on my heels, resting one hand on the spare tire, offering a patient, polite expression.
“What about my sunburn?” she asked, with a slight head tilt. Her gesture suggested curiosity, but her tone didn’t match it. There was a hardness to it, and a heat, not unlike the sun-warmed tire beneath the palm of my hand.
Okay, might as well finish what I started. “You have just enough color to suggest you’ve been out in the sun for a bit. Nothing serious.” I paused, then asked, “Do you have any sunscreen?”
She blinked. “What?”
I retained my placid demeanor. “No, of course you don’t. Why would you need it if you mostly hitch rides at night and keep yourself hidden during the day?”
She blinked again, and I saw her stiffen; her eyes narrowed. “That’s why you asked about me hitching earlier.”
I regarded her passively, my relaxed posture as unthreatening as before.
“Ex-cop, huh?” she finally said.
“Ex-cop with very good instincts,” I amended.
That storm in her eyes shifted, settled, and then died. The tension drained from her body as quickly as rainwater through a downspout. She gave me one more searching look, then, with a decisive nod, said, “Right.” She jerked her head at the Jeep. “Let’s go.”
Without another word, we both climbed in. I threw the Jeep into gear and headed for the exit. As I braked and checked for oncoming traffic, another thought occurred to me.
“Will I be dropping you off at the next city?” I inquired.
Kael’s expression was unreadable as she said, “You can drop me off here, if you like.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I said with a slight frown. “You’ve already come this far, might as well go all the way with me.”
The words rolled off my tongue as smoothly as a marble across a tabletop. I regretted them as soon as they were out of my mouth. Oh dear god. I felt myself coloring.
“Oh, I bet you say that to all the girls you pick up,” she said without missing a beat.
I pulled my sunglasses out of the neck of my T-shirt, and returned her imperturbable look with what I hoped was one of my own.
“Right,” I said, and turned my attention back to the highway.
Chapter Twelve
The discovery that her Aunt Kate is a lesbian is not nearly as surprising as the fact that it was her father’s request that should anything happen to him, his sister was to be contacted. Her mother, she is informed, was against the idea. Which is ironic, she is then told, since her mother barely cared for her at all. But in this one thing her mother had been adamant, and her father’s wishes were ignored. There was nothing in writing; her aunt had no legal ground from which to fight. Until things went horribly wrong. After which all her mother had to do was make a phone call, and things long neglected were put into motion.
It hurts her heart to know that had her father’s wishes been followed initially, none of what has happened to her would have happened. It is very difficult for her to wrap her mind around the unfairness of it. Even with the help of her weekly appointments with the therapist, whom she has slowly grown more comfortable talking to, and the warm and solid presence of her aunt, a psychologist in her own right who practices from home, and her aunt’s partner, Jillian, who is an ER nurse, she often finds herself confused and frustrated, and sometimes resentful and angry at the way things have happened. She is told this is normal, but her concept of normal is so skewed, this is no comfort at all.
After her hearing, she was remanded into custody once more. She has spent a further six months in the detention center while all the details of her sentencing, parole, and the guardianship are worked out. She then spends another month settling into her new home. And it does feel like home, certainly more th
an the one she ran from. For one thing, the door to her room has a lock on it, even though she does not use it. The safety and security that one detail imparts on the first night she discovers it creates a sense of relief so huge, it is as unexpected as it is welcome. There are regular mealtimes, during which either one or both of her caretakers are present. This is new also, since she was previously responsible for making most of her own meals, and she almost always ate alone. She is allowed two hours of television per evening, but rarely takes advantage. She prefers reading, and always has. There are few demands made of her, and those are simple: Show up for mealtimes, help with the cleanup, deliver and retrieve her laundry. Above all, do not run away. This last has almost, but not quite, become something of a joke, steeped in reality though it is. Each morning after the breakfast dishes are done, her aunt dismisses her, admonishing her blandly with, “Don’t run away, okay?”
Following her hearing, she has been placed on Level 2 probation for a period of two and a half years, which requires that she be constantly monitored. In her aunt’s house, this is not the hardship she has expected. The property consists of twenty acres of rolling hills, a tract of dense forest, and a busy little creek that intersects the property. There is a footbridge that crosses the creek, in view of the house. She spends a great deal of her time there, sitting and reading, thinking, or writing in the journal her therapist has suggested she keep. The only interruption to the routine is a weekly visit from the Juvenile Court counselor assigned to monitor her.
For the first month, this routine is enough, as she settles in, as she slowly heals. She does not wish to run, knowing full well that running now would be the height of foolishness. And she is not a foolish girl. Yet soon enough she itches; her mind and body crawl with a restlessness she has never felt before. It is not the enforced and constant supervision that has her on edge, but something she has until now never bothered to identify: She is lonely.
Falling Page 4