I laughed. “No. I’m just short and have a baby face.” I reached out my hand. “I’m BJ Remington. I just graduated from college last year, so I’m probably not much older than most of my students, but everyone has to start somewhere, right?”
She shrugged, and I could feel her distance as she mentally separated us into two different teams: student and teacher.
“Well,” I said, “we’re ten minutes late, but I guess I won’t give you a tardy slip.” I laughed.
A tentative smile curved her lips. “Thanks.”
I learned pretty early on that Claudia King wasn’t like other kids her age. Her insights into Emily Dickinson and Robert Frost impressed me. And she was the daughter of an interracial, high-profile couple in a southern town with barely thirty-five thousand residents. That had made her thoughtful, quiet, and responsible, and everything she did, she did with excellence.
She was an old soul and, I realized as we grew to know one another, a kindred spirit as well. The fact that I wasn’t much older than she was gave us a camaraderie that perhaps wasn’t always as wise on my part as it could have been. But that aside, we became friends. First, Claudia came to me, sharing her life, her heart, her pain and joy. I tried to keep it professional, but little by little, the friendship grew and she became my confidante as well.
So when she whispers, “Who will I talk to?” I understand. If I could, I would weep too.
FRIDAY
Casio
The first thing Casio did after walking into the Conch Springs PD was surrender his firearm. Procedure demanded it, and he was in enough trouble as it was. He wouldn’t quibble over the firearm when he’d probably have it back in a week or two.
Toni Blankenship was heading up the investigation. The lady seemed friendly enough, but Casio knew she was most likely good at handling her emotions in cases like these. Wisdom and experience told him that even though she’d been pleasant enough when she shook his hand and thanked him for coming in, she could turn on him in an instant. And would.
They sat in an interrogation room behind a glass where he had questioned too many suspects to keep count. The room smelled like sweat. He’d never noticed that before. Casio tried not to be nervous, but couldn’t help wondering who was on the other side watching, listening to every word out of his mouth.
The African American investigator was probably in her midforties, with straight, shoulder-length hair and a white smile. High, exotic cheekbones made her pretty enough to walk the runway if she’d been twenty-five years younger and several pounds lighter. She was a little old for his taste, but that didn’t stop him from turning on the charm. After all, she was a woman, wasn’t she? And Casio knew how to get around female emotions.
He smiled, extending his hand toward her over the table. “Sorry we had to meet under these unfortunate circumstances,” he said.
She stared at his hand until he felt like a jerk and lowered his arm, resting his palm on the table.
“Here’s the thing, Officer Hightower,” she said, looking him in the eye. “Miss Abbott’s face is a mess. There are bruises on her body. Bruises that she says you obliged her with. What do you have to say about that?”
“I don’t know what I can say.” Shaking his head, Casio kept his tone controlled, but concerned. “She came at me with a knife. I fought her off. She’s a tough little cookie.”
As the lie rolled off his tongue, the image of her bloody face flashed through his mind, and he had to force himself not to look away from the officer’s steady gaze.
The investigator’s nostrils flared and she breathed in. Casio could see she was getting angry. Which might work to his advantage if he could keep from responding in kind. She leaned forward, her arms folded and resting on the table. “So you’re denying that you beat and raped your girlfriend?”
“I’m denying rape. I’m saying I had no choice but to fight her off when she tried to stab me.” He pointed to his arm. “I have a stab wound to prove it.”
“You sure you didn’t self-inflict?” She gave him a humorless smile.
“Now, why would I do that, officer? I’m not into pain.”
“Giving it doesn’t seem to be a problem.” She drew a breath and looked at his arm. “What hospital did you go to? I’ll need to speak with the doctor who tended your wound.”
“St. John’s. I don’t know who the doctor was, but they’ll have it on file.”
“Fine. In the meantime, let’s finish up here. Are you willing to testify against her for the knife wound?”
“No.”
“I didn’t think so. I’ll recommend we don’t pursue charges then. Without your testimony, it would do no good.”
He nodded. He knew that. He hadn’t wanted to get her into trouble, just to cast doubt on her allegations against him. The whole he said/she said in domestic violence cases wearied officers of the court, and more often than not, they were dismissed. That’s what he was hoping for.
She opened a manila file and slid several photos across the table with a dramatic flair worthy of Law and Order.
The full force of the beating he’d administered stared back at him. A bluish, swollen lump over her right eye, lips swollen and crusted with dried blood. Bruises on her arm. God, what a monster he was.
Still, he couldn’t offer himself up like a sacrificial lamb. Pleading guilty meant a conviction for domestic violence, which meant he couldn’t serve in a position that required carrying a firearm. He’d even have to surrender his own guns. No. As much as he loved Harper and wanted to sort things out between them, he couldn’t admit to something that would cause him to lose his job.
“Is she going to be okay?” he asked. He knew from this point in the interview, he would have to be extremely careful what he said, the looks he gave, the tone of his voice. Right now there could be one of those body-language freaks on the other side of the glass watching every movement and facial expression to determine if he was lying or not.
“Shouldn’t you have asked that before you beat and raped her?”
“I didn’t rape her.” If he had, he’d blocked it out, because he didn’t remember forcing her into making love. He’d made a romantic dinner to commemorate their six-month anniversary. Or “six month-a-versary,” as Harper called it. Her nose had crinkled when she said it, laughing. After dinner, they’d gotten passionate on the living room floor.
She’d turned down his proposal, but that was after the sex. That’s when he’d gotten angry.
“Is it all coming back to you, Officer Hightower?” The investigator’s tight tone yanked him out of his confusion.
“Ms. Blankenship …,” he began.
“Officer Blankenship.”
So she was throwing off all pretense now. Okay. That worked for him. “Sorry. Officer Blankenship.” He pushed the photographs back across the table and hardened his expression and his heart. “I’ve already given my statement. An argument got out of hand. She came at me, I fought her off. Period.”
Wordlessly, she gathered the photos—one at a time to give him ample opportunity for one last look—he’d used the tactic himself from time to time.
“I think we’re finished here.” She closed the folder and stuffed it under her arm as she stood. “You already know, I’m sure, that you’re suspended until the matter is cleared up.”
He nodded.
“And of course you need to stay away from Miss Abbott.”
“I didn’t hear anything about a restraining order.”
Her eyes glittered hard. “Miss Abbott hasn’t requested an order of protection, but I’m saying stay away from her.”
Casio grinned. “So you’re asking me as a friend?” Relief washed over him. If she hadn’t asked for a restraining order, it meant Harper was willing to see him. To try to sort things out.
“I’m advising you as a colleague not to make things worse for yourself.”
“I can’t tell you how much your concern means to me. I feel like we’ve bonded in the past few minutes.”
She rolled her eyes and headed toward the door.
“Not only are you a rapist and abuser, Hightower,” she said, looking back at him, “you’re also an idiot.” She gave a short laugh. “I won’t have to find evidence enough to have you charged; you’re going to hang yourself.”
Before he could respond, she exited the room and the door banged shut behind her. Casio pushed himself up from his chair, suddenly feeling all the strength go out of him. The photos of Harper were horrifying, brutal. The thought of someone causing her that kind of pain infuriated him, and yet he’d done it himself. He had to see her. To talk to her. To make things right.
Harper
Harper Abbott’s face hurt. The doctor had told her she was lucky not to have been injured worse than she was. A lot of bruising and swelling, but no broken bones. Lucky. Funny how she didn’t feel so lucky.
She’d refused the morning-after pill, even though Casio hadn’t bothered to protect them—and hadn’t a couple of times lately. That pill felt a little too much like abortion to her, no matter if the doctor called it birth control. Maybe she hadn’t made good choices lately, but that didn’t mean she was ready to completely throw away everything Pastor King had taught her all her life.
The doorbell rang, and her heart began to thump against her chest. Casio knew where her parents lived. Of course he did. And he was probably angry that she had dared to go to the police.
She shuffled across the living room until she reached the front door and peeked through the little triangle-shaped window. Her stomach sank at the sight of him on her doorstep. She’d ignored all of his calls. How could she not have known he’d show up here?
She held her breath, praying he’d eventually believe she wasn’t home and just go away.
“Harper!” he called out. “I know you’re here. I see your car in the driveway. Open up and let me talk to you.”
“Oh, Casio,” she whispered. What was the point of hiding? He’d eventually find her, no matter where she went or how long she hid out. Eventually, she would have to face him. He would make sure of that.
She opened the door, but left the screen door locked. Her stomach jumped and fear washed over her like a wave. “What do you want, Casio?” Her swollen lips distorted the words.
“What do I want?” He smiled, his eyes gentle as they scanned her. “I want to see if you’re okay.”
“Well, now you see.” Her anger filtered into her voice. “Will you please go away? Don’t make me call the police.”
“I’m not threatening you, sweetheart. Besides, what will you tell them? I haven’t done anything.”
She glanced at his arm and noted the bandages. “What did you do to your arm?”
“What do you mean what did I do?”
Her gaze narrowed. “You told them I did that to you?” A short laugh moved through her lips. “What a creep you are.”
“I can’t lose my job.”
They both knew she hadn’t done anything to harm him. She’d hardly even protected herself. He had been too strong, too angry. Sure, he’d hit her before, but never with a closed fist, never raped her, and never, ever left a mark. Now she was a freak show with puffed-out lips, her right eye swollen, and bruised arms and ribs. But worse than a bruised body was her bruised heart. And … the terrible part was she still loved him.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I already told them I wouldn’t testify against you.”
The ludicrous statement left her silent. She couldn’t even muster anger.
Apparently, Casio took her silence for acceptance. “Let me in and let’s talk about all of this.”
If he thought she was letting him in the house, he was crazy. She shook her head. “That’s not a good idea, Casio. Not now. My parents made me promise I wouldn’t let you in.”
He glanced past her into the house. “Are you alone?”
As much as she hated to admit it, she realized she had already all but told him the truth, so she nodded. “Mama had an appointment and Daddy’s at work.”
“Then let me come in. I won’t stay for more than a few minutes.”
“No.”
His chest rose slowly as he gathered a breath and then released it. “Okay. I guess I don’t blame you. But think about giving me a chance to show you I’m sorry.”
“It’s over, Casio.” She shook her head as tears filled her eyes, the right one burning where it was swollen.
“Please, baby. Don’t say that.” He put his palm gently on the storm door. “I’ll get counseling. We can go together even. I just need help to deal with all the stuff from my past. Isn’t that what you’ve been telling me all this time?”
A bitter smile tipped her mouth, pulling and burning her lips. “Now you’re willing to get the help?”
“Better late than never. Right?” His cajoling tone sent a shudder of anger through her.
“Get help and don’t bother me again.”
She slammed the door, her heart racing so fast she thought she might pass out. After a couple of minutes, she summoned the courage to peek out of the triangle of glass. His truck was gone.
She leaned against the door, and as all strength left her legs, she slid down until she met with the cold, tiled floor.
Three
I’m floating. The sky above me is so beautiful I’m afraid to breathe.
“BJ!” I hear Claudia’s voice like an echo. “Oh, God. Who knows CPR?”
The sky becomes the bus ceiling again, and Georgie Newman is on her knees over me, her hands shoving against my chest. “One-two-three-four …”
I hear a long, gasping, choking intake of air. Then I realize it’s me, and I feel heavy again.
“Thank God, she’s back.” It’s Claudia’s voice. I stare up at Georgie, Principal Newman’s chubby sixteen-year-old daughter. In her face I see potential for great beauty and I wish I’d told her that. I thought I’d have more time.
I thought I’d have more time for so many things …
SUNDAY
Claudia
Claudia’s lungs burned and her legs screamed for relief, but she refused to give in. She pumped her legs harder. The sweat dripped from her forehead into her eyes, but she didn’t stop to wipe it away. Too much fried chicken at Mama and Daddy’s after church today. Why did Mama insist on cooking that garbage when Daddy had already suffered a heart attack a year ago? Did she want him dead? True, she only allowed the indulgences for Sunday dinner, still.
She glared at her glistening reflection in the wall-length mirror and focused on her own chunky, coffee-colored thighs. She’d always wanted to be either a little darker or a little lighter, with more delicate features. Why couldn’t she lose the extra twenty pounds she’d been carrying around since Emmy was born? Lord knew it wasn’t from lack of effort.
Her chest tightened as another woman stepped onto the elliptical next to hers. Claudia inadvertently caught her gaze in the mirror. The size-four smiled with lips that had to be fluffed. And if Claudia had to guess, she’d say the woman’s lips weren’t the only pair of somethings on her anatomy to be enhanced.
Claudia glanced away. How long did she have to stay on the machine next to this woman? If she left too soon, the woman would know Claudia was intimidated. But no way was she going to stick around for much longer and make herself feel worse.
She switched off the elliptical, kept her gaze averted while she grabbed her water bottle, and climbed down.
“Claudia?”
Dread clutched her stomach. The blonde had spoken. Parishioners often recognized her. Another annoying side effect of Mama insisting the entire family sit in the front row. She plastered on her public face—not so easy to do drenched in sweat—and turned. “Yes?”
“It’s Georgie … Georgie Newman.”
The name didn’t ring a bell. Claudia’s face must have shown her confusion, because the girl frowned, her expression incredulous.
“You don’t remember me?”
“No, uh …”
“My
dad was the principal. I was the mascot.” She paused, then looked down and frowned. “I gave BJ CPR.”
Claudia remembered seeing Georgie’s face. But what she mostly remembered about that night were the shots and the blood. The rest of the details were smudged together in a disjointed collage of images that she tried hard to push away most of the time. When they began to surface, her mind overwhelmed her body and panic took over.
“You’ve lost a lot of weight since then. Of course I remember you now.”
Georgie Newman probably wanted an apology, but why should Claudia be sorry? The girl had been fat and two years younger than Claudia’s crowd. And she hadn’t seen Georgie around town or at church. At least not that she knew of.
Georgie shrugged, her eyes cold. “It doesn’t matter. I was pretty forgettable in high school.”
“We’re all pretty forgettable in high school.” Claudia smiled generously.
“Not all of us.” She gave a short laugh. “I remembered you. Head cheerleader. Girls’ basketball star. For a preacher’s daughter, you were quite the popular chick.”
“Those were the days.” Too bad they were over.
Georgie shrugged, her gaze following Claudia’s generous curves, then she looked her in the eye. The accusation flashed, but Claudia had no idea what she was being accused of. “I’m so over high school.”
Clearly she wasn’t. But that wasn’t Claudia’s fault or her concern. “Good.” She smiled. “It was nice seeing you again, Georgie.”
“You too, Claudia.” She smiled broadly. “We’ll have to have lunch sometime.”
“Sure.”
Claudia felt Georgie’s eyes on her as she headed toward the locker room. When she stepped into the shower, images assaulted her—chubby Georgie pressing down on BJ’s chest over and over while Claudia sat back, sniveling, useless, shaking in her teacher’s blood. Claudia’s body quivered at the memories, and tears mixed with the shower spray.
Twenty minutes later, she averted her gaze as she walked back through the cardio room. The last thing she wanted was to draw Georgie’s attention again. This week had been too much. First seeing Casio, and now another student who was on the bus that night. She reached the Tahoe and her breathing sped up. She closed her eyes, forcing calm.
The Crossing Page 3