For All She Knows

by Beck, Jamie

  Not only had my son let a ton of kids trash our house and hurt his former friend, but he also had been hooking up with a girl he wasn’t even dating. I elbowed him. “Rowan Michael Gillette, what the hell is wrong with you?”

  Things could not get worse.

  “I’m sorry,” he moaned.

  “Everybody calm down.” Officer Martinez waited for my attention. “Where were you when all this was going on?”

  “Oh God.” I slapped my hand over my mouth. Rich had no real idea why I’d left. What a disaster. How amazing that I hadn’t barfed up my dinner. “I was on a date. I bolted as soon as Rowan called. I should text him or something.”

  I’d lied to my son and ignored my intuition when I saw Carter in the yard because I’d thought some man would complete my life. Decisions like those might explain why so many women in town didn’t care for me.

  “A date?” Rowan’s accusatory gaze scorched. Karma.

  “Who were you out with?” Officer Martinez asked.

  I avoided my son’s scowl. “His name is Rich Polanti and he lives in town. We met online. We were at Bistro Henri when my son called. The waiter, Alan, can confirm that.”

  Officer Martinez’s eyebrows rose, perhaps in acknowledgment of the fancy venue. “Okay. I can follow up on that later. You say your son called to tell you about the accident? About what time was that?”

  “Ten twelve. I know that for sure because I’d been counting the minutes until that date was over.” I grimaced at how cruel that sounded when I hadn’t meant it to. Nerves always made me say the wrong things, and boy, was I nervous right now. “When I left the house tonight, there were only four boys here—John, Deshaun, Eddie, and Mason. Carter was on his way inside as I was pulling out of the driveway. I’d given Rowan money for pizza, and that’s all I know.” I splayed my palm across the base of my neck, my heart squeezing again as Carter’s terrified young face flickered through my mind. They probably weren’t even at the trauma center yet. Every minute in that ambulance must seem an eternity.

  I pictured Grace straining against the seat belt to huddle protectively over her son. Imagined her leaning down to whisper calming words. She probably wished Sam and his bright-side mentality were taking that ride with her. He could pull her back from the edge of panic. I couldn’t even take Kim off their hands right now because the cops could be here for hours.

  Officer Martinez said, “Rowan, how did this go from being a small group of boys to a rager?”

  Rowan shrugged, his eyes darting around as if seeking some escape from having to out his friends. “People snapchatted about the open house, and then others started showing up.”

  “I’ll need a list of everyone’s names—everyone you remember who was here—before I go. So no one was drinking before others showed up, correct?”

  Rowan spared me an apologetic glance, cheeks aflame. “We poured some of my mom’s rum in our root beer.”

  Every time he opened his mouth, he said something I wished I didn’t know. Apparently the lessons I’d hoped to teach him about responsible socializing hadn’t stuck at all. Sneaking my booze. Not saying no to people showing up with cases of beer. Sexing up some girl for fun while his friends got rowdy and picked on Carter. What kind of mother was I that my teen son thought any of this was okay? My heart felt like someone had stomped on it.

  This night would change the course of so many lives, including our own. Everything would be marked by the before and after of this party—especially if Carter’s injuries were permanent. I grabbed my stomach and forced that thought away before it took me under.

  “Unlocked liquor cabinet?” Officer Martinez muttered.

  Rowan’s distress tugged at his mouth, and my heart stopped. The rum and vodka in the house hadn’t even crossed my mind until now.

  My son finally nodded without words.

  “Okay. Unfortunately, while I can issue a summons for the underage possession, serving minors is a misdemeanor, so I’ve got to issue a warrant.” He went on to recite those Miranda rules I’d heard on TV shows a million times, having never myself dreamed they’d become my reality. My whole body went numb with fear. Was my son going to jail? Was I? Had we completely ruined our lives?

  Rowan screwed up his face again. “Am I going to jail?”

  “Like I said, you’ll be booked for the misdemeanor, but then appear in family court as a juvie, where you’ll likely get a fine and maybe community service or sentenced to attend some classes about alcohol abuse.” Officer Martinez sounded certain and calm, but my blood pressure rose. I couldn’t even begin to comprehend all the ways this situation would impact my son’s future, or mine, or Carter’s. I wanted to know what was happening with Grace, too, but I was stuck here in the back seat of a patrol car, and my own son was starting to break down. Officer Martinez furrowed his brows. “Do you understand your rights?”

  Rowan and I both nodded through our tears.

  “Do you want to call a lawyer now, or can we keep talking and sort this whole thing out quickly for everyone’s sake?” He looked to me now.

  My mind raced. I knew nothing about juvenile laws, but this discussion felt fraught with danger. I’d been programmed to trust that telling the truth was always the right thing to do.

  God’s protection was great and all, but had I left Rowan unprotected from man’s law? Not that I knew or could afford any defense lawyers, even if I wanted to call one. And Rowan had already confessed, so stonewalling seemed pointless. It’d probably only piss the cop off. Hiding behind a lawyer would also send a terrible message to my friend. Carter got hurt here. Someone was responsible for that, and if it ended up being my son and me, we’d have to own it.

  I could be accused of a lot of things, but I’d never shirked responsibility, nor did I believe in teaching my son to avoid consequences. Officer Martinez said Rowan wasn’t going to jail, and I chose to trust him because he’d been decent and fair so far.

  “Son.” Officer Martinez flipped a page in his little notebook.

  I thought about my own parents—my father, in particular. He’d come home from work once, having been chewed out by his boss because a coworker had messed up a joint presentation. When I’d asked why he didn’t tell his boss it was the other guy’s fault, my dad explained that he should’ve been working more closely with that guy to make sure their presentation went well, and that the best way to learn from mistakes was to acknowledge them. I’d since found that truth applied to most things in life.

  “Rowan,” I said, wrapping an arm around him, although who was supporting whom I couldn’t tell. “You already admitted what you did, so I can’t see any sense in waiting for a lawyer. Things got out of control tonight, and now we have to accept our role and make things right. It’s okay to make mistakes as long as you admit it and learn from them.”

  Officer Martinez cocked his head. “I wish more parents had your attitude about dealing with these situations.”

  His expression suggested that he hadn’t meant to say that aloud, making me grateful for the slip. The hint of respect made me feel the tiniest bit better, although it didn’t prevent the image of Carter’s fearful tears from flashing before my eyes again. Or erase the shiver of concern about Rowan’s potential criminal record.

  “Okay,” Rowan said, wiping tears from his cheeks.

  Officer Martinez asked, “Where’d the others get the beer?”

  Rowan shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe older brothers or the Beer Mart in Chesapeake Beach—they don’t always card kids . . . or so I’ve heard.” He hunched as his voice trailed off.

  The things I hadn’t known about my son horrified me. I’d thought that taking away the mystique of drinking with a little supervised experimenting would lower the thrill and curb his enthusiasm for this kind of behavior. It sounded so stupid in the aftermath of what’d happened here. And the consequences—so much worse than I’d ever foreseen. I’d never been less happy with myself than in this moment, shame raining down like an April thunderstorm.r />
  “So, fair to say, by the time of the incident, most kids were not sober?” Officer Martinez asked.

  Rowan closed his eyes and dipped his chin, fresh tears glistening in his lashes. “Yeah.”

  I covered my face with my hands. I’d never intended for anything like this to happen. Not to Rowan, or Carter, or any of the kids who’d been at my house.

  “Sorry, Mom,” my son squeaked out. I knew he was, but suspected he mostly worried about his own hide. Had he given any thought to what Carter and the Phillipses were going through right now?

  “I’d like to look at your phone for pictures taken tonight and to scan texts and look at social media accounts,” Officer Martinez said to Rowan.

  Rowan looked at me, terrified, but I shrugged. This had gotten beyond our control, and we deserved our lumps. “I didn’t take any pictures.”

  “Others probably posted some and are sending you texts or chats with important details,” Officer Martinez said. “If you cooperate now, I’ll take it into consideration at your hearing.”

  Rowan moaned before he unlocked his phone and handed it to Officer Martinez. I gave my son a hug, wishing I could do more to protect him. Watching someone you loved learn a lesson the hard way was torturous.

  The officer handed a notepad to Rowan. “Write down everyone’s name who was at your house tonight, and phone numbers or emails that you know. Social media handles. The works.”

  “I don’t know all that without my phone,” Rowan said.

  The officer handed it back. “Go ahead and write everything down, and then we’ll go through your texts and accounts to see what others are chatting about now.”

  Tears leaked from my son’s eyes, but I couldn’t take away his sick feeling about turning in his friends. He needed to stew in what he’d created. The fallout. All of it. I could only pray that this night would be his rock bottom, and he’d mature as a result. As for my own guilt, that’d have to be put on ice until I got my son through this interrogation. My thoughts frayed as I sat there in silence, waiting for Rowan to finish compiling a long list of names to hand over.

  Each of those kids would end up giving Rowan a hard time for this, but that didn’t matter. Carter might be looking at life in a wheelchair. And as tough as it was for me to watch my baby squirm and cry when questioned by the cops, it paled in comparison with what Grace was facing. On that thought, the fear and frustration I’d been trying to contain like lightning in a jar turned to rage and broke apart.

  I raised my hand like I might swat Rowan—something I’d never done—then lowered it, clasping it against my chest.

  My son let out an inarticulate sob. With a creaky voice, he said, “I’m sorry, Mom. I swear. I didn’t mean for all this to happen.”

  I’d thought—hoped—that the day my parents died in a car accident would be the worst of my life. Now this one might eclipse that loss. That had changed my life, but this one would change mine, my son’s, Carter’s, Grace’s, and on and on. People throughout the community would all be hit by reverberating bands of pain.

  Grace and I had seen each other through some tough times before, but I couldn’t even begin to figure out how to help her through this. First I’d need information about Carter’s condition. I dreaded making that call. That sinking feeling would not let go. Grace hated drinking, and I understood why. Having lost her dad and sister to alcohol-related deaths had to make this situation excruciatingly terrifying.

  After Rowan handed over the notepad with names, he asked, “Will all my friends be arrested now?”

  “It’s too early to tell. We’ll have to question everyone and the victim first.” Officer Martinez spoke into the walkie-talkie again, and another wave of unease rose like the tide. Question the community? Any goodwill I’d garnered these recent weeks would be gone by morning. A selfish, selfish thought, but there it was. Officer Hartung showed up, shaking me out of self-pity. Officer Martinez handed her the paper. “Run down this list of guests, particularly the ones I starred, who might’ve been directly involved in the incident that precipitated the injury. Have dispatch send some cars and try to get those interviews tonight. I’m going to go through the host’s phone now.”

  The distant way Officer Martinez referred to Rowan as “the host” caused my stomach to turn again. But a juvenile misdemeanor—even Dirk had had that experience in high school. Not that that was a great comparison. Officer Hartung nodded and left.

  “They’re gonna kill me.” Rowan turned to me. Both boys were juniors on his team. “I ratted them out, and they’re gonna get in serious trouble.”

  “You have to tell the truth, Rowan. It’s not your fault that those boys behaved badly.” I squeezed his thigh. Disappointment and anger tempered my sympathies, making it hard to know how to react.

  “If you’d lied or conspired to delete texts, you could be facing obstruction charges, so you did the right thing,” Officer Martinez said.

  Rowan wasn’t listening, though. Instead, he’d bent in half and was holding his stomach. “I feel sick.”

  “Take a few breaths. When you’re ready, we need to go through your phone.” Officer Martinez cracked the door open to let in some fresh air. I didn’t need the chilly breeze when my bones were already frozen in panic. What if there was something more incriminating in those texts . . . something Rowan didn’t know about or remember?

  Rowan began scrolling through his texts with Officer Martinez, identifying the senders and providing context. He also opened Snapchats and screenshotted them for the officer. Outside the car, neighbors opened their doors to speak with the officers, and others peeked through their blinds. I knew they were thinking, That Mimi and her son . . .

  While Officer Martinez’s phone search dragged on, Grace’s anguished face replayed, causing me to tense. What fresh hell was she in, and had Sam caught up yet to help her through it?

  I decided to bite the bullet, like my son had, and call her. No answer. Dang it. I’d feel better if I knew what was happening and could help my friend. She was probably busy checking Carter into the ER.

  Please, God, let Carter be okay so this could be a near miss—a learning experience for these boys rather than a life-changing event for everyone.

  CHAPTER SIX

  GRACE

  Sunday, January 10, 12:43 a.m.

  Shock Trauma Center ER near Baltimore

  “I have an update” echoed inside my skull as I sprang from my seat.

  The doctor’s somber expression weakened my knees. I reached for Sam, my gaze fixed on Dr. Acharya. My heart pulsed as if it had risen to my throat. Sam snaked an arm around my waist and tucked me against his side, his solid presence holding me together.

  “Will he walk?” I blurted, terrified yet unable to withstand another minute of uncertainty.

  The doctor clasped his elegant hands together. “I cannot say for sure, but there is reason to be optimistic.”

  The nonanswer wrenched an otherworldly sob from some dark corner of my soul. Faint from the weight of his ambiguity, I bent at the waist, my mind noisy. If we hadn’t been in public, I would have screamed until my voice gave out.

  Whenever another incident of online bullying or a random school shooting had sent me into a tailspin about our kids’ fates, Sam and Mimi had told me to relax. Like many others, they’d relied on the odds to assure them that nothing ghastly would ever claim one of our own.

  But I’d known.

  I’d always known that someday the scales would be rebalanced, because it had never seemed fair that my little family had been so fortunate when others weren’t.

  Mimi hadn’t sympathized with my sense of dread about that invisible “other shoe” dropping, probably because she’d been ducking shoes left and right for most of her life. Well, she might dodge this one, too, but my son wouldn’t.

  Dr. Acharya waited for me to stand upright. I blinked, forcing myself to focus on him and his words.

  “Why don’t we go to your son so I can explain what’s happened and
what we need to do.” The doctor gestured toward the doors behind the nurse station.

  Dread rooted me in place. I must’ve squeezed Sam extra hard, because he gently loosened his grip.

  “Honey, do you need a minute?” he asked. “We’ve got to hold it together for Carter’s sake or he’ll be more frightened.”

  I nodded despite lacking confidence, my body trembling with each shaky step. We followed Dr. Acharya as he led us toward our son’s bay.

  Sam hefted Kim against his chest before laying one hand on my lower back to guide me. Kim barely woke, her head peacefully resting on his shoulder, her eyes closed. I dried my cheeks with the backs of my hands before seeing Carter hooked into monitors and IV lines and buffered with immobilization braces.

  Another scream threatened to explode, but I forced a smile and went to stand at the head of his bed. “Honey, how do you feel?”

  He stared at us stoically, in shock or terror, or both. Probably both. I would’ve done anything for it to be me lying there immobile instead of my son. A backup of fresh tears burned my nose and eyes.

  The nurse checked one of the lines. “It’ll take time for the cracked ribs to heal, and his breathing may be a bit painful until they do, but they didn’t puncture his lungs.”

  Might they still? How would we know? What were the symptoms? So many questions, but my voice seemed paralyzed.

  Dr. Acharya nodded, confirming the nurse’s statement. I returned my attention to him because he alone had all the answers.

  “Your son sustained an injury to his spine. Basically, he broke a portion of the spine and injured the nerves going to his legs.”

  Everything dimmed, as if my vision were being compressed. I grasped the rail on Carter’s bed to keep myself upright but wouldn’t look at my son until I could fake the composure he’d need from me.

  “What does that mean?” Sam asked, blinking excessively. My husband rarely got rattled, so the perspiration beading above his lips scared me.

  “There are some urgent things we need to do now—decompression of the nerves and stabilization of the spine. Stabilization is accomplished with metal rods and screws. We’ll also need to take some bone from his pelvis to help with the healing.”