by Anna Cove
"We can't," Dr. McNabb said.
I closed my eyes, taking in a breath. "You can and you will."
"The award is yours. We've already sent the WIOT to the printer."
"What?" I faltered, my hand dropping. "You didn't even take any photos of me. Or interview me."
"We were pressed for time so we used the headshot you sent in with your application."
"Unsend it."
"We ca—"
"Think about this for a second. How will it look to have the daughter of the famous Dr. Luis Garcia win an award from a board on which he sits... after he is exposed for corrupt practices? They'll think you're rewarding corruption."
Dr. McNabb pinched his nose. "Emily was right," he whispered.
So his wife had told him what she'd seen, and still, he sat here and acted like everything was normal. Like he was surprised to find out my father wasn't what he seemed. How much did he need?
I stood, striding toward him. "Here's what I have now." I played them the clip of my father making the trade. "Tomorrow, with the rest of the world, you'll learn the CEO of GlobalInvest Collective was embezzling money. Then you'll see I'm telling the truth."
I'd started the train rolling. And it couldn't be stopped.
...
A month earlier, the only way you'd find me on a mountain was if—well, there was just no way you'd find me on top of a mountain. But after what happened at the hospital and at my father's house I found myself driving toward the peaks. Any peak. It didn't matter which one. I just had to get out of the city. Once I arrived at a parking area for a mountain, I stepped out of the car. And then it didn't matter that I was wearing $600 heels that sunk into the ground every time I took a step.
I stumbled up into the woods.
The past twenty-four hours chased me up the mountain, whipping me on at a clip that cut my lungs and burned my side. I deserved the pain. I deserved every single little sting and nick and scratch. I'd gotten my revenge with my father, but that didn't make it feel any better. This did, if only a little.
I pushed ahead until I couldn't any longer. I tripped, keeling over like a felled tree, my wrists catching most my weight. Pain shot through them.
Nothing came out of me. Not a cry. Not a whimper. My brain felt as if someone had taken a blender to it, all muddled and frothy. Cold damp seeped through my thin slacks. My hands stung. I released the pressure on my wrists, sitting on the wet earth, digging my fingernails into it. The leaves crumbled in my hands, the tiny fragile stems poking into my palms.
Pine needles. I needed to find pine needles.
I staggered to my feet and veered off the trail into the woods, always looking up. Oaks, maples, pines created what I imagined would be a dense canopy above in the summer, but now it was pocked and holed and filled with bare branches. It offered no protection from the gods who were no doubt looking down at me now and laughing. The hubris. The confidence. What did I think would happen when I told her?
My staggering steps took me farther up the mountain, over rocks and stumps. My unsupported ankles threatened to buckle, so I took off my shoes. Unused to anything but soft cotton socks and nylons, the refuse on the forest floor stung and bruised the bottoms of my feet.
Who cares? Who cares? Who cares?
No one. No one. No one.
The pain and single-minded determination distracted me from more complex thoughts. Finally, I made my way into a thicket of pines with needles so soft they were a caress to my feet. I crumpled among them, sending my hands in to grab a bunch, greedy for a smell.
Sweet pine washed over my senses, poked into my hands. The sensations tugged and pulled and toppled whatever wall had been protecting me on my way up the mountain. All the good memories of Erika flooded in, but they no longer felt good. They were all tainted by my actions.
My mouth opened. Nothing came out. Nothing but a high-pitched whine that sounded like it was coming from an animal. I'd cried in the hospital, but it had only been for preservation. This was the cry of loss. My life as I knew it was over.
I didn't care about my business, or the Calver, or even my father.
The only thing that mattered was Erika. The woman who never wanted to see me again.
On the side of that mountain, I poured my loss, hoping it could absorb it. Hoping it would tell me the way to get up and keep going.
Because I couldn't see the way on my own.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
ERIKA
The hospital protected me like an overbearing mother. It isolated me from whatever was waiting in the outside world. But it also offered me no relief, no air to breathe. Over the next two days as Dad recovered, I refused to think of what had happened within its walls. It was as if Jada hadn't appeared at all, hadn't told me all those horrible things. Time was so fluid and odd here, I could almost convince myself it was true. That the episode had been a fold of my imagination.
But as Dad improved, he wished for things outside of the safe space of the hospital. Every time I thought of going, a piece of the conversation I'd had with Jada would poke through my consciousness. A flash of an image. Jada with the flowers. Sabotage. Lies.
Dad persisted. He wanted his slippers. A book. Then he asked me why I was avoiding the outside and how Jada was—almost within the same breath—and I decided to go if only to shut him up.
As I stepped outside, I pulled my puff coat closed against the sharp air. It felt more like mid-January than September. As I walked to my car, I sensed someone behind me. I picked up the pace, scrunching my shoulders up around my ears to block the wind.
"Excuse me, are you Erika Jones?"
My steps faltered, and I threw a look over my shoulder. A man, wearing a pea coat and large glasses, hurried to catch up.
"Do I know you?" I asked.
"My name is Paul Ripper. I'm a reporter with the Mountain Times. Do you mind answering a few questions?"
"I don't really have the time right now." I increased my pace, turning left for the parking garage.
"It'll just take a moment."
"I'm sorry, my father's very sick and I can't—"
"Did you know Jimmy was a criminal?"
"What? No."
"Have you heard the story going around?"
"Go away. Please. Leave me alone."
"I just want to ask you a few questions."
"Go!" I turned, walking backward. The reporter stopped and put up his hands.
I pushed on, my face no doubt churning through ever-darkening shades of red. I found refuge in my shitty car, an oasis of quiet, muffling the outside world. My breathing was the only sound, plus the voices in my head that were screaming for me to listen. How could Jada have done this? How could she? What if reporters swarmed the hospital? What if they bothered Dad? What if he had another heart attack?
Breathe, Erika.
I couldn't think about Jada. I just had to keep going. To be a rock for Dad. With my focus on him, I prepared myself for my errands.
I plugged in my phone to charge in case the hospital needed to call me. As it powered up, it buzzed and buzzed with notifications. I couldn't turn the buzzer off until the phone completely turned on and it took minutes for the thing to turn on and I didn't have time to wait so I twisted the key in the ignition.
The engine sputtered to life.
I put the car into reverse.
The sound of the tires on the road and the engine only partially drowned out the phone, which vibrated straight off the center console and onto the floor. As I approached the first traffic light, it stopped.
A high-pitched beeping took its place.
Shit.
It was going to drive me crazy.
Foot firmly planted on the brake, I leaned over and picked up the phone from the ground. I flipped it open. The phone notified me I had two voicemails and ten texts. I knew one of the voicemails was from Dr. McNabb and didn't need to listen just then.
The stoplight was still red, so I opened my text messages.
"
They're arresting me and I don't know what to do." The number was one I didn't recognize, but I knew who it was immediately.
"Fuck. FUCK!" I pounded the steering wheel. The light turned green, and instead of heading straight toward home, I turned left toward the police station.
...
I hadn't expected the smell of the police station to hit me so strongly. I hadn't even known the police station smelled. But of course it did. It smelled of stale coffee and fear and unwashed hair. No one—no one—would call the smell sexy. Not even me.
But it brought with it a cascade of sexy thoughts. Of Jada and me together in the single jail cell. Of how I'd looked in her eyes and thought she was the last woman I'd ever see naked again and how that had made me so happy. It hadn't mattered where we were. It only mattered we were together.
"Ms. Jones. I didn't expect to see you back here so soon," said Chief Consigli, the man who had arrested me and Jada.
It still felt like I had been in a coma for years. Every conversation since just before Jada had arrived had been confusing at best.
"I'm not here for me. Did you arrest Jimmy?"
"Which Jimmy?"
"Come on, you know which Jimmy. The kid."
Before the chief answered, the boy in question tumbled out of a room in the back, looking angry and defiant and exactly like he would fit a casting call for thug in Law & Order. Officer Nick exited after him.
"Jimmy. Are you all right? Did they hurt you?" I took a step toward him.
Jimmy's face loosened, its hardness falling away like a cliff side. "Erika. You came."
"Of course. I came right when I got your message." Guilt soared through me. He was here because I made the wrong assessment. I'd trusted someone I shouldn't have. None of this was his fault. It was all mine. Without all the activity on Twitter, no one would have bothered him.
He looked like a kid now more than an adult, a kid who was scared and didn't know what to do.
"Where are your parents?"
"I don't know. That's why I called you."
Officer Nick rolled his eyes. "So the boy can speak. C'mon Jimmy, time for you to say goodbye."
"You didn't say anything?" I asked, keeping my comments directed at Jimmy rather than Officer Nick.
"I watch Law & Order. I know my rights."
Relief rushed through me. "Good. Keep quiet. I'm going to find you a lawyer, okay?"
Jimmy nodded and disappeared down the hall with Officer Nick, and I glanced back to the chief. "You can't speak to him without his parents," I said, grasping at something that made sense.
"Sure can. He's eighteen."
I stared at the door, my brain a muddled mess. Get him a lawyer, that's what I had to do. I held onto that thread. "Do you have a phone book?"
"If those other allegations against you are true, we're going to find out, Ms. Jones."
What other allegations? I blinked, feeling tired. "I don't care right now. Do you have a phone book I could borrow? I need a phone number."
"No. Look it up on your phone."
The only thing I could do with my phone at that moment was smash it over the officer's head. But that would only get me arrested for assaulting an officer and I needed to be free to help Jimmy.
I staggered my way out of the police station and back to my car. A sob threatened in my throat as one emotion piled on another, but I pushed it down. I couldn't let it out. Not now. I had to function. 411. The information number. That was still a thing, right?
I opened my phone, but just as I started dialing, another call came in. It was from a local number, so I answered right away.
"Ms. Jones?"
"Speaking."
"This is Rick from the Catskill Mountain House."
"Hi, Rick. I'm sorry I wasn't able to do the tour the other day."
"Here's the thing. We would like you to take a hiatus from the tours."
"A hiatus?"
"Just until all this nonsense dies down."
"But the job..."
"Is no longer available at this time."
My head was suddenly too heavy to hold up and my chin dropped to my chest. My breath wheezed in and out. I couldn't deal with this. I couldn't do it. Not now. I had to help Jimmy. I had to get the things Dad wanted and get back to him. This was at the end of my shit list.
"Thank you, Rick." I flipped the phone closed before my voice betrayed me.
I wasn't a robot. The emotion caught up to me and threatened to tumble out, so I opened the door to the car and staggered into the woods. Taking off my shoes, I balanced my weight evenly on my feet, closed my eyes and titled my head up to the sky. The air swirled around me, tugging my hair from its braid. I found enough peace, enough calm to open my phone and dial 411.
I spoke to the operator who gave me the name of a few lawyers in town. She even gave me a personal recommendation of someone she thought wouldn't gouge me, which was very sweet and reminded me that there were people out there who wanted to help.
As I stepped out from the tree line and onto the broken pavement, I felt pieces of me crumble. I could barely keep it together. No matter how much I imagined myself a tree among the woods, I was in the human world. As I fell into the car I wondered—would I be able to get through this?
I had only understood the edge of what Jada had done to me, and that was bad enough. Now, I was starting to see the whole root system as it fanned out, invading all water sources and crumbling the foundation of my life.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
JADA
Days and nights passed. Days where I often drifted off to memory land and forgot where I was. Days where news of my father's ethical violations broke in the community. Days where patients canceled their appointments. Nights where I tossed endlessly, sleep evading me.
"It's not fair you have to pay the price of your father's actions," my assistant Ashley said as she reported the fifth cancellation in one week.
But it was. I deserved this and more. I'd ruined someone's life and now my life was crumbling around me. Karma was a bitch.
The one bright spot in my life was Amalia, the girl from the Latina Achievement Program. We'd been spending a lot of time together getting ready for the fund-raising gala. She was a smart girl when I actually let her speak, and creative too. She was only nine, but she had a better sense of the decorations for the gala than I did.
At one point in the week, I managed to drag myself off the couch and call Amalia's mother. I told her I wanted Amalia to come to the museum to work on decorations for the gala. Her mother agreed to let me come pick her up for the afternoon. When I appeared at the door, Amalia slipped out.
"Mom worked a double yesterday into last night. She's asleep." Amalia dragged the door shut quietly, more patient than I had ever dreamed of being at that age.
"Did you leave her a note to tell her we'll be at the museum?"
"I wrote a message on our white board on the fridge. She'll see it when she gets up."
"Let's go then." I held out my arm and she hurried forward, looking up into my face like I was some type of goddess. And for what? For a couple of trips to the mall? For some art supplies? For a few hours in my otherwise empty week? I didn't deserve it.
"How was school this week?" I asked.
"I aced a math test."
"That's great!" I said, finding a drip of enthusiasm at this news. Truthfully, I hadn't felt much enthusiasm with anything since I'd lost Erika. It was as if I was living my life in just one shade of gray. Every once in a while, something bright would edge the gray away, but then the gray would cover it again like an alien slime.
"You look really bad today... like... really bad." Amalia peered up into my face. "I think it's because you don't have on any makeup."
"That'll do it," I said, if only to shut her up.
But Amalia, my dear Amalia, was more perceptive than that. She wasn't buying it. She started to press. Then we exited her apartment building and spilled onto the streets. A couple of guys on the corner stopped talki
ng to stare at us, and I found myself reaching out an arm to protect her.
"Hey, baby—"
"Don't even try," I snapped, mustering up all the authority I could and clutching Amalia close to my side as we hurried by.
Amalia only spoke again once we descended into the nearest subway stop. "You're amazing," she said.
"Not so much."
"You are!"
"Do you have any memory whatsoever? Don't you remember the first time I took you out?"
Amalia shrugged. "You bought me ice cream."
"Then twirled you around until you puked and dragged you into a stranger's house."
"But you bought me two scoops of ice cream." Her eyes widened in innocence. "Plus, I wasn't exactly nice to you that day. I was kind of a brat."
"You did that on purpose?"
"Of course."
"Still. You should have been angry with me. I was supposed to be the adult."
"I was for a minute, but Mom says anger takes too much energy." She shrugged.
I wasn't sure I had ever felt that way in my entire life. Hadn't anger always been my companion? Even now, anger was the only thing that kept me going. I could see the value in not being angry. But I could see the value in the anger, too. Anger got me off the mountain the day Erika cut ties with me. Anger was the only reason I had gotten off the couch today.
Plus, who would I be when the anger was gone?
Our train came and it was too packed to continue our conversation. We got off at the American Museum of Natural History stop and made our way to the museum. Once we got through the thickest crowd, I tapped my bag full of craft items. "I thought we could work on decorations today at the museum. Maybe you'll be inspired by what you see."
"Something is bothering you," Amalia said. "It's been bothering you for days."
"I'm always grumpy. Remember? That's the first thing you said to me when we met."
"This is different."
"Don't worry about me. Let's worry about the gala because it's in a week and we still haven't finished the decorations."
"Eh, they'll get done," Amalia said. "Please tell me what's wrong. I can help. Is it about your love life? Sometimes Theo tells me about his love life and I give him good advice."