The Prodigal Girl

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The Prodigal Girl Page 13

by Evan Ronan


  What am I doing?

  What am I about to say?

  “I—”

  “Hey, Greg.”

  I’m startled and so is Ashlynn. I look to my left and find Lorelei standing there. Of all the times for my ex-wife to happen upon me …

  “Hey, Lor.” I get up and give her a hug, trying to rally. “Nice to see you. This is Ashlynn. Ashlynn, this is Lorelei.”

  “Oh, Lorelei.” Ashlynn gets up and offers her hand. “I’ve heard nothing but nice things about you.”

  Lorelei shakes my girlfriend’s hand slowly, her eyes appraising the other woman. “Oh yeah, I’m sure.”

  They both laugh. But Lorelei’s is forced.

  “No really,” Ashlynn comes back, “Greg says you’re a great mother.”

  Lorelei manages to smile. Was I this awkward a month ago when I found out she was dating an old friend of mine?

  “And he’s a great father,” Lorelei says. “We’re both lucky like that.”

  “Are you here with Shawn?” I ask.

  Lorelei nods and motions across the room. Shawn is taking care of the check. Thank God they’re leaving. I didn’t want there to be any remote possibility of joining them.

  “Early dinner for us,” Lorelei says. “We’re headed out to a movie now.”

  “Oh great,” I say. “Have fun.”

  “Greg.” She gives me a look. “Could I talk to you a moment? It’s about Tammy.”

  “Sure,” I say, then smile at Ashlynn. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Take your time,” Ashlynn says, already getting her phone out. One of the things I like about Ashlynn is she’s always present. She’ll check her work email and try to get something done in the five minutes I’m gone, and when I get back work will be all but forgotten.

  Lorelei leads me to the waiting area.

  “What’s up?” I ask.

  “She doesn’t want to take any Honors classes this year. She’s asked to be moved.”

  “What?” That doesn’t make any sense. Tammy has always gotten straight As. “Why?”

  “She says she feels all this pressure. She’s been worrying about school this year a lot.”

  First, soccer. Now, this. I’m trying really damned hard not to draw any parallels between my daughter and Shannon Lahill, but it’s impossible not to. I wonder if this is the start of something neither Lorelei nor I saw coming.

  As a parent, you worry. And you worry about worrying.

  “We don’t put any pressure on her,” I say. “She’s always done so well in school.”

  “I know.” Lorelei’s face falls. “She’s done a really good job of keeping all that to herself. She told me the other night she’s always worried about her tests. She has trouble sleeping.”

  “Jesus.”

  School is only a few weeks away. Tammy’s last year before she enters high school. If she’s sweating grades in middle school, how will she handle the next step of education?

  “I know.” Lorelei frowns. “I feel terrible. She’s very hard on herself, Greg. More than we realize.”

  Tammy has always excelled at both sports and school. But I wonder how much of it she’s really enjoyed, and if I, in some way I don’t even realize, have put undue pressure on her. I don’t want that for her. Life is hard enough without having to worry about whether you’re constantly pleasing your parents.

  “What do you think?” I ask.

  “It’s easier to move from Honors to regular classes as opposed to vice versa,” Lorelei says. “So I told her we’d try it out and see how things go.”

  “It’s not the end of the world if she gets a B in an Honors class.”

  “You and I know that. But she doesn’t.”

  “Maybe it would do her good to get a B. She could see we’re fine with it. I’d rather that than have her sitting in a classroom where she’s not really challenged.”

  “I was thinking the same thing.”

  “Good. That’s settled then.”

  She smiles. Her eyes drift to where the far corner of the restaurant. “So, are you and Ashlynn together?”

  I realize where this is going. “We started dating three weeks ago and, yeah, things happened quickly.”

  “That’s how it was for me and Shawn.” She nods knowingly. “How did you two meet?”

  “She a commercial real estate agent,” I explain. “One of her clients was interested in the hall last year.”

  “I see,” she says.

  Shawn is coming over. He smiles when he sees me. “Hey, Greg, how’s it going?”

  “It’s going.”

  “I’ve been meaning to ask, everything turn out okay on that case?”

  “It’s over and done with.”

  He and I both know that doesn’t answer his question.

  Lorelei checks her watch. “We’d better get going if we want to make the movie on time.”

  “Good to see you guys,” I say. “Enjoy your evening.”

  They leave. As I head back to the table, I think about cosmic irony. When I was working Shannon’s case, I ducked into a restaurant and pretended to have noticed an ex-girlfriend. It was a flimsy cover story. And I did the same thing at Little Richard’s coffee shop when I saw Shannon coming my way. Perhaps this is the universe paying me back for those harmless lies.

  “What’s so funny?” Ashlynn asks as I return to the table.

  “Nothing. Just having an existential moment.”

  “Care to share?”

  “It’s nothing.”

  She leans in. Her blue eyes are delicious. Just the corner of her lips are curled in a smile.

  “That look isn’t nothing.”

  “Just thinking about fate and irony.”

  “Ohhhh, fate and irony. Are you into philosophy?”

  “Not really.” I laugh. “Never found it very helpful.”

  “How about religion?”

  “Same answer.”

  “You are surprising at times.”

  “How about you?”

  She takes my hand from across the table. “I’m spiritual, but not religious. If that makes any sense.”

  “It does.”

  The server comes to take our order. Penne vodka for her. Lamb chops for me. Calamari appetizer for both of us.

  “Are you ready for the tournament?” she asks.

  “As ready as I’m going to be,” I say. “I’m shooting as well as I ever have.”

  “Mind if I come?”

  “Mind?” I sip my beer. “I want you there to see my certain assured victory.”

  “Confident much?”

  “False modesty, false bravado.”

  My phone buzzes. I have absolutely no intention of answering and let it slide into voicemail. If it’s an emergency at the hall, Bernie will call me back.

  And, of course, my phone buzzes again.

  “You are in high demand,” Ashlynn says playfully.

  “Remember that.”

  I take the phone out to check caller ID and am shocked.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “But I have to take this.”

  Her eyes grow serious. “Is everything alright?”

  Probably not if Tarika Lahill is calling me on a random Friday night.

  “Let’s hope so.”

  I get up and answer.

  “Tarika?”

  “Greg!” She’s sobbing. “Oh, Greg! I’m so glad you picked up!”

  The restaurant has only gotten louder, so I rush outside to better hear Tarika. “What’s going on?”

  “It’s Shannon.” She breaks down, unable to speak for a moment. “Oh God. Oh God. He beat the living hell out of her!”

  Twenty

  “Oh my God,” Ashlynn says, immediately fishing for her wallet.

  “Your money’s no good here.”

  “Greg.” She gives me a playful look. “We talked about this. It’s 2017. We’re both working adults.”

  “It might be 2017, but I’m stubbornly clinging to my old-fashioned notions.” I sig
nal the server for the check. “I’m sorry about this, but I have to go.”

  She grips my forearm. “So this is the case you couldn’t tell me about? Shannon Lahill?”

  I nod. “Keep that between us.”

  “I won’t tell a soul.”

  “Can I come over later?” I ask. “And actually eat this dinner with you?”

  “I’ll have eaten before you get there.” She smiles. “I hope you won’t be mad.”

  “I will not.”

  She gets up and grabs my shoulders. I’m expecting a sedate goodbye kiss, but she really lays one on me.

  “Hurry home.”

  “Home?” I tease.

  She puts a hand over her mouth, but I can tell she’s not embarrassed. “Slip.”

  “You’re making it very difficult to leave right now.”

  “Always leave them wanting a little bit.” She smiles seductively, then plants another kiss I can feel all the way down in my toes.

  I take care of the check and ask the server to bring some takeout boxes to Ashlynn. Then I give her a quick wave and duck out of the restaurant.

  Willingham General Hospital is only fifteen minutes away. I make it there in thirteen, bending space and time with my seven-year-old Toyota. If only Stephen Hawking could see me now, for I’m sure I’ve just proven some theory of his. The parking situation is annoying. I have to slot the car about a quarter mile from the emergency room, then I zip inside. Before I get to the desk, I text Tarika to let her know I’m there.

  “Can I help you?” a nurse behind the desk asks.

  “I’m here to see Shannon Lahill,” I say.

  “Are you family, sir?” she asks.

  “I—”

  “Yes.” Tarika appears from around the corner. “He’s family.”

  The nurse gives us both a disbelieving look, no doubt registering the incredibly stark contrast in our skin tones.

  “Distant cousins,” I say.

  “You’re lucky I’m a nice person.” The nurse smiles thinly. “And even luckier my supervisor isn’t around.”

  As we head back, I think that Tarika Lahill is anything but lucky. By all accounts, she was a stellar example of a single mom, raising her daughter the right way. But—and here’s the scary truth—as a parent, there’s only so much you can do. You can lead by example, you can repeatedly teach your children right and wrong, you can show them how to make good decisions, but ultimately, at some point, they will do what they want to do. Most of the time, kids make harmless mistakes that have little to no long-term impact.

  But sometimes they run away with their pedophile boyfriend.

  As to what else Shannon did, as to what else was done to her, I still have no idea. But I intend to find out.

  Halfway down the hallway, I’m surprised to find Tarika Lahill’s hand in mine. I’m a one-girl-kind-of-guy, so now that I’m seeing Ashlynn this feels wrong and uncomfortable. But I just hold onto her hand. Her gesture can hardly be sexual, especially at a time like this.

  We weave through the hustle and bustle of the ER. I resist that rude temptation to look around every open curtain we pass. I don’t need to. My peripheral vision registers plenty of horrors and my ears ring.

  She slows before we reach the next closed curtain. “The police are still in there.”

  We stop and she lets go of my hand. For a moment we just look at each other. I got scarce details over the phone, as the police were just coming to speak with Tarika. Standing across from each other in the hallway, I shake my head sadly.

  “I’m sorry this happened.”

  She is crying quietly, with shoulders hunched forward. “I knew it. I just knew it.”

  Tarika is busy processing her emotions, and I need to let her do that. But at the same time, I want to help. I’m no good to her standing here like I’m part of the road crew.

  Though, honestly, I’m not sure what I can do. The police are involved. So why did Tarika call me? Probably because she wanted a friendly face around and a shoulder to cry on. Though that thought is sobering—she must be in a sad state if Greg Owen is her first call. What about her friends?

  Family?

  Shannon’s father, from what I remember, is a complete deadbeat. And Tarika didn’t talk much about friends or other family. She has her church, but like she said, she’s not a regular.

  Is she all alone?

  “The police will find Marcus,” I say. “Don’t worry about that.”

  She gives me a wide-eyed look. “He’s on his way already.”

  “What?” I frown. “He’s coming here?”

  She never said over the phone, but I assume it was Marcus that dinged her little girl up.

  “Marcus didn’t do this,” Tarika says.

  “I’m sorry?”

  She shakes her head. “God, I can’t keep track of everything, Greg. I’m a total mess. Rasheed must have come into the picture after …”

  Her voice dangles like that.

  “Shannon started dating a guy named Rasheed after she told you about the baby?” I ask.

  Tarika nods and has to think hard. “He came around a couple nights later, I think.”

  “Just out of the blue?” I ask.

  She shrugs. “Where else was he supposed to come from? It’s not like Shannon was going to church with me, or had a big network of friends left.”

  I hold out a palm. “Dumb question. I’m just trying to understand how they got together.”

  “Who knows?” She holds both arms up. “I don’t know what to believe or what to think anymore. Shannon tells me things, and I have no idea whether they’re real or not. My girl—my little girl—”

  She breaks down. I’m about to go in for the consoling hug, but then the curtains shift out of the way and what can only be a police detective comes out. He’s wearing a white shirt and blue tie and looks ten years younger than me.

  “Ms. Lahill,” he says, after eyeing me for a moment. “I’ll have more questions for Shannon later. I put out an APB on Rasheed Barten. We’ll find him as soon as we can.”

  Tissue up to her face, Tarika nods. “Thank you.”

  “I’m very sorry,” the detective says, then turns to face me. “Do we know each other?”

  “I don’t think so.” I extend a hand. “Greg Owen.”

  For a moment he doesn’t know who I am. Then his eyes do a little thing and I can tell the right synapse fired inside his brain. He shakes my hand.

  “I know who you are. That was good work you did with that stalker, what was his name?”

  “I prefer not to remember his name.” I smile.

  He motions. “Let’s talk.”

  Meaning, let’s talk out of earshot. Tarika, though, is off in her own sorrowful world and doesn’t seem to pick up on this. Without a word, she steps behind the detective and slips past the curtain, drawing it shut once more.

  The detective and I meander down the hall and around the bend. Nurses hurry along, doctors take their time.

  “Detective Neeson,” he says. “What’s your involvement here?”

  “I like a man who gets straight to the point,” I quip.

  Detective Neeson gives me a thin smile and hikes his pants like he’s recently lost some weight. Not that he had much to lose. He’s fit as a fiddle. Speaking of pants, I’m flying by the seat of mine here, so I just unload on him. I bring him up to speed, sharing everything I know but not necessarily how I know it. Specifically, I don’t say a word about Miles.

  “Trafficking, huh?” Neeson says, his voice flat.

  “That’s what I heard.”

  “So what’d you do about it?”

  “Nothing,” I say. “Not long after I heard that wild rumor, Tarika informed me my services were no longer required.”

  He grunts. Exactly the way I feel. Tarika was worried about losing Shannon again so she booted me. But I just had a feeling something bad was going to happen. At the time, I was tempted to keep following Shannon without Tarika knowing for a few days, see what tur
ned up. Sometimes you have to disobey your client to act in their best interest.

  But I didn’t do that.

  Instead I just went back to my life.

  Right back to the hall to work on my game. Started dating this great gal.

  Right back to this existence I often complain about, but which deserves no complaint. All while Shannon started digging herself a new hole and Tarika suffered.

  I should have done something.

  Done more.

  Done fucking anything.

  “Has she hired you back?” Neeson asks.

  “No.”

  He smirks, seeing right through my answer. “Will she?”

  “Probably.”

  “Even if she doesn’t, you’ll get involved. Won’t you?”

  “Yep.”

  He gives me the nod. “I know about you. I heard about the Carlisle kid. That was solid police work based on the evidence in hand. The kid’s lawyer should have done a better job.”

  I say nothing. Bashing the police who arrested Nick Carlisle, an innocent kid, won’t get me anywhere with this guy.

  “Between me and you, I’m glad you got Nick out,” he says.

  “He was innocent,” I say. “Everybody should be happy.”

  “Yeah.” He shakes his head. “But we don’t live in the world of should, do we?”

  “Nope.”

  He nods again. “Alright, Owen. Here’s the deal. Shannon Lahill has alleged Rasheed Barten assaulted her earlier this evening at a party. She’s got the trauma to back up her story. A uniform will come by and hang outside her room tonight. My guys are out looking for Rasheed now. We’ll find him. If you want to help, if you really want to help Tarika, you’ll stay out of the way. We move fast on cases like this. Inside of twenty-four hours, we’ll have this asshole booked and charged, assuming Shannon’s story checks out.”

  “You have any reason to doubt it?”

  “It’s my job to doubt everything I hear,” he says.

  “And what is her story?”

  “Rasheed got jealous. And he was already angry with her.”

  “Why?”

  The detective gives me a look. “Why don’t you ask your client?”

  “My client is Tarika Lahill, not Shannon. She hired me precisely because her daughter hasn’t been honest with her since coming home. I don’t know what Shannon is going to tell Tarika, if anything.”

 

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