by Sandy James
I’d never been to a jail before. But then again, I’d never had a son who’d been out searching for drugs—for a second time in so many days. He’d been arrested in a drug sweep. That’s the only information Scott and I had been given.
When we walked into Bridges Detention Center, I probably looked lost and confused. My heart still felt like it had been dealt a mortal wound, and I kept trying to tell myself Scott hadn’t betrayed me.
Betrayed seemed a harsh word for what he did, but by letting me believe he was some working Joe, he’d also been lying by omission about who he was. I wasn’t sure I knew him at all.
I hurt so badly, it amazed me everyone didn’t see it all over my face, like strips of skin had been flayed away. I loved this man, but had I fallen in love with a fairytale, some nonsense about two people from different worlds who found some common ground?
God, I didn’t have time to think about this now. My son was in jail. I had to push my broken heart aside. Easier said than done. I wanted to scream my pain and frustration. I wanted to throw a rock at a very large mirror. I wanted to hit something. Hard.
“We’re here for Elijah Robertson,” Scott said to the uniformed lady sitting behind the glass partition. “I’m his defense counsel and,” he nodded at me, “that’s his mother.”
The greeting area was no larger than my bedroom, and the barred entry to the holding area beside the glass-enclosed greeter served as a reminder that this was the only way in and out of the juvenile facility. Unless, of course, you came in through the I’m-wearing-metal-bracelets entrance at the back of the building like Eli obviously had.
How humiliating that had to be. Had they strip searched him? Sprayed him down for lice? Made him take a pitifully cold shower with all the other kids they’d arrested for doing stupid things tonight? Was he dressed in an orange jumpsuit and wearing black flip-flops?
I felt terrible for him until I remembered that I was going to give it to him but good when I saw him for heading out to hunt for marijuana again instead of buying a sandwich and getting his ass back to the condo like he’d promised. This time I’d be a stern parent.
Who the hell was I kidding? No matter how angry I was, I still felt terrible for him. Instead of a lecture, I wanted to give him a hug. This parenting stuff was harder than anything I’d ever done before.
How would my parents have acted if they’d discovered I’d been pregnant with Eli all those years ago? Would they have been stern? Forgiving? Catatonic? One of the reasons I’d made the choice to give him up for adoption was that I hadn’t wanted to put them through that kind of torment.
A fifty-something woman, who’d pulled her gray hair so tightly into a bun that she looked like she’d had bad plastic surgery, handed Scott a clipboard through the small hole in the glass. “Sign in.”
He scribbled a few things and passed the clipboard back. The matron gave him a clip-on badge and pointed at the bars. “Wait for the buzzer. A guard will greet you and pat you down before you can see your client.”
I held out my hand for the clipboard. Scott laid a gentle hand on my wrist. “I really think it’s better if I see him alone at first.”
“Why?”
“He’ll open up to me, Maddie. He’s still kinda…hesitant with you.”
He had a point, not that I’d admit it.
“Look, we got to understand each other when we talked at Trixie’s. Let me talk to him first. Then if he wants to see you, I’ll call you back.”
“Fine,” I finally replied. “Whatever.”
“You can sit there,” the matron said, obviously listening in on our conversation. An index finger punctuated her words as if I was too stupid to understand what she said.
I had a finger I could have showed her. “Thanks for nuthin’,” I whispered, probably hoping she’d hear. She never glanced up from her desk again.
The wait quickly became unbearable—nothing short of torture. I seriously thought the clock on the wall clicked backward a couple of times. I resorted to texting my sister a million times since she had been the one to break the news to Stephanie Robertson and was still at her house.
Stephanie was beyond angry at her freakishly young boss who wouldn’t let her leave to come to New York because she was a new employee who hadn’t earned any vacation time. She agonized over the choice between her job and her son. Knowing this was my fault, I told her to stay put, that I’d be there for Eli, and I let her know that when I got him out of jail, I’d be bringing him straight back to Pottsville just as soon as the cops gave him permission to go.
Terri couldn’t get Stephanie to answer any questions about why Eli was being homeschooled, whether he’d been threatened with expulsion to force the change. That pissed me off. After everything that had happened, she owed me the truth. Instead of enlightening me, Stephanie—and Terri—wanted more information about what was happening, but I simply didn’t have any more to give. Thank God, none of their messages cast any blame my way, especially since I blamed myself enough already. All I knew was that he’d been arrested, that he was in the juvenile detention facility, and that Scott would serve as Eli’s attorney.
Attorney.
Defense attorney.
Scott Brady was a fucking defense attorney. I had about a million questions I was dying to ask him. I had million more things I wished I could take back, things I’d said when I assumed he was a blue-collar guy. How many times had I insulted him? How often had I sounded like a complete moron?
I flashed back to the first conversation we’d had back at Trixie’s. He’d gotten so angry when I’d told him he needed money. He’d scolded me that I might be mistaken, that he might be some “yuppie lawyer.” I must have appeared an absolute fool when I’d scoffed at that statement.
Why hadn’t he told me? Did he think I needed some kind of lesson? That I was some kind of bigot? I’d been out to find a roughneck. He’d been dressed like one. He hung around them. He acted like one. Anyone could have made the same mistake.
Had I missed some clues somewhere? Probably.
But Scott shouldn’t have lied to me, damn it!
My heart hurt.
The barred door slid open, and Scott stepped through. He shoved the plastic badge back at the matron, reached for my hand and pulled me out the front door.
“Where’s Eli?” I asked.
“We can’t take him home.”
“Why the hell not?”
“You’re not his guardian. He has to stay in juvie ’til we hit Family Court tomorrow. The hearing’s at ten.” He scowled as he opened the door for me. “Oh, and you’re very welcome.”
I skidded to a stop and turned to gape at him. Since I’d known him, Scott had been nothing but kind, polite and solicitous. The smartass attitude came as a shock. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I just did for you and Eli what clients pay me good money to do. And not only did I do it for free, I did it because I love you. I’d think a ‘thank you’ would be appropriate, but you can’t even say two tiny words of praise about a lawyer, can you?”
A hard swallow forced down the lump in my throat. Of course I should be giving him my appreciation. He was entirely right, but I wasn’t ready to admit it. My whole life was so unrecognizable, I simply couldn’t act and react like the real Maddie, the one with manners and appreciation and love for Scott that shouldn’t know any boundaries. “Whatever.”
When had I turned into such an ungrateful snot?
When the rug was pulled out from under my entire life.
“See? This is why I couldn’t tell you earlier.”
“Because you were ashamed?” Snarky was my worst quality.
“Because you get your mind set on something, and you’re like a pit bull. I wanted time for you to get to know me, to want me as much as I wanted you. Then I figured you’d understand.”
“And forgive you?”
Evidently, the discussion had ended because a low growl rumbled from Scott as he slammed the door behind us. He was angry, and I should ha
ve been trying to soothe him, but all I could do was think of my son and feel sorry for myself.
Poor Eli. Bridges Detention looked like a hellhole, and I had all sorts of horrible thoughts about the things that could happen to a sixteen-year-old in a prison. “Will he be okay? He won’t get…you know…other guys won’t…” I couldn’t even finish.
“He’s in a cell by himself. No one will hurt him.”
“Thank God.” I blinked back tears, knowing if I let myself start crying, I’d never stop.
Scott’s expression softened as if he knew I was stressed, exhausted and feeling like my world had spun off its axis. He reached up to brush my cheek with the back of his fingers. “He’ll be fine, angel. The guards keep a pretty tight rein on the kids here, and they treat them well. And we’ll see the judge tomorrow. I’ve got a lot of paperwork to do tonight to get ready if we want to get him released.” He hailed a cab. When it ground to a halt in front of me, he opened the door for me. “Get in. Let’s go to your place first. We really need to talk.”
A nod was the best I could do.
“Smile,” he coaxed. “Things are bound to get better.”
* * *
There were three police cruisers sitting in front of my building. Scott paid the cabbie while I crawled out, grateful for the fresh air because the cab smelled of sweat and cheap perfume. The first thing that crossed my mind was that Mrs. Simpson in 2B had finally keeled over. The woman was ninety-six, after all, but I hated thinking we’d lost her light in this world. Three cop cars wouldn’t be needed for some old lady dying.
Maybe Mrs. Watson had finally murdered Mr. Watson. Their fights were always loud and long, but all it usually took was a quick visit by a uniformed cop, and things quieted down.
The instant we reached my floor, I knew neither of those things had happened because the cops were standing in front of what used to be my front door.
The thing had been kicked in. Cops were walking in and out of my place, and I wanted to scream in anger and frustration because I knew exactly what had happened. Before I could even voice my thoughts, a fairly large cop led one of Eli’s “friends” from yesterday out of my condo in handcuffs. Asshat number two followed right behind him with a female cop prodding him between the shoulder blades. Both of the thieves scowled at me as they passed, and it took every bit of my self-control not to give them both a sharp slap across the face.
“This your place?” asked a handsome Hispanic man in a brown suit with a gold badge hanging from his pocket.
I just nodded, assuming he was a detective.
“Sorry you had to walk in on this. I’m Detective Ramirez. I’ll need to get some information from you. Be right back.” He walked away while I tried to swallow the bile rising in the back of my throat.
“Asshole kids,” I muttered as Scott put a hand on my shoulder.
“It’ll be okay,” he whispered. “Let’s see how bad things are.”
The first real notion that bubbled to the surface was a quick prayer of thanks that Cleo was safe. She was on a leash being held by an officer who appeared to be a dog lover, judging from the way she petted Cleo and talked to her in low, soothing tones. The cage with my birds rested on a table in the hall, and from their frantic squawking, they were okay.
I held it together best I could when what I wanted to do was scream in anger and frustration. I could only get glimpses of what they’d done to my condo, but glimpses were more than enough to make me think a hurricane would have been less damaging. All I could do was equate this violation to a rape. The second of my lifetime.
Another cop stopped me when I tried to step inside. “This is my home,” I snapped, sounding as pissed as I felt and fighting the urge to hiss at him like some angry cat.
“Sorry, ma’am. We’ll need an inventory of what’s missing.” His calm voice said that he’d dealt with freaked-out people before. “You can look around, but I’m sorry, we’ll be here for a few hours. We still need to collect evidence.” His gaze moved to Scott, but he was still talking to me when he asked, “Do you have someplace else to stay tonight?”
Since the cop probably wasn’t sure if Scott lived there too, I started to shake my head.
“I’ll take her to my place,” Scott volunteered.
“I can get a hotel.” Shit, but I sounded snotty again. I hated that side of my personality, but it tended to rear its ugly head whenever someone had pushed me against the wall. This time, not only was my back to that wall, someone had put on a blindfold, shoved a cigarette between my lips and asked if I had any last words before the execution.
Yes, I was being a bitch. Didn’t matter. I’d reached my limit.
Passed it.
“You’re coming home with me, Maddie.” A command, not a suggestion.
“Whatever.” At least I could see where he lived and maybe learn a little more about him since it was clear the man I’d fallen in love with didn’t truly exist.
I closed my eyes for a minute, bracing myself to see what the drug-smoking bastards had done to my place. Then I opened my eyes and took a few steps inside.
Indiana after a summer tornado. “Oh, my God.” I blindly searched for Scott’s hand. It was close, and I tried not to think about how important that was to me, that whenever I reached for him, he was always there.
“Everything can be fixed or replaced,” he soothed in my ear. “We’ll make it right again.”
I sniffled pitifully and wondered what kind of perverted joy they’d gotten out of running knives over the cushions of my sofa and chair. Stuffing exploded out of both pieces of furniture like they were giving birth. The bookshelves had been pulled forward and rested on top of piles of books that had rained down from their perches. The TV and DVD player—along with several pieces of jewelry—were stacked by the door. Their booty, no doubt.
Then I saw my destroyed laptop lying on the floor in pieces that were mostly black and silver shards of broken plastic, twisted wires and bits of glass from the shattered screen. The last strands of my control vanished as I let out a horrified howl.
All that work. Gone. Yes, I backed up my files, but not every day. There would be things I’d slaved over that I couldn’t re-create. Why hadn’t they tried to steal it instead of destroy it?
Probably because it was older than they were.
As if reading my mind, Scott laid his other hand on my shoulder. “We’ll take it to a techie and rescue most of the stuff off the hard drive. Then we’ll get you a nicer laptop. Something kick-ass.” He probably had that charming smile I loved on his face, but I didn’t turn around to look. It would seem too surreal to see him grinning in contrast to my wreck of a home.
We? He’d really said we. I was still so mad at him, I almost reacted before I thought and shouted at him that he’d hurt me—that there wasn’t a “we” anymore. Instead, I bit my tongue until it throbbed and recognized that my emotions were spiraling out of control.
I choked back a sob. Scott’s strong arms pulled me back against him as he wrapped his arms around me and rubbed his chin on the top of my head. “It’ll be okay, angel.”
“It’ll never be okay.” I sounded pathetic, but I honestly didn’t give a shit. “My whole life’s a mess. Nothing but a fucking mess.”
“We’ll get this place put back together.”
But who would put the rest of my life back together? Who would scour away my prejudice against defense attorneys so I could love Scott unconditionally, like he deserved? Who would fix the gaping breach between Eli and me?
I’d had enough. More than enough. “I need to get outta here. Now.”
* * *
“You really live here?” They were the first words I spoken since we’d left my trashed condo. Shock took the blame—I didn’t know what to say, hoping I’d wake up from this nightmare soon because it was almost more than I could handle.
I crossed the foyer’s Italian tile floor and hit the bamboo surface of the great room, not stopping until I reached the enormous sandstone f
ireplace, where I stared at the fire that wasn’t there.
At least I could put my concerns for my pets aside for a few days. We’d boarded Cleo at her favorite kennel where the lady who ran it spoiled her rotten. The birds had moved in with Mrs. Harris until I could get back into my condo. She loved them and told me all the time they cheered her up when she was lonely.
“Why do you make it sound like I should be ashamed of my house?” Scott set the bag I’d hastily packed on the black leather sofa on top of a pile of his discarded clothes. Then he came to stand behind me, so close that I could feel his heat.
Ashamed? Hardly. This place was a palace in the middle of Long Island, albeit the man needed to hire a housekeeper. Clothes were on the sofa and the chair. Copies of the Wall Street Journal and several magazines were strewn on the coffee table and the floor. Dirty dishes were stacked on an end table next to several remote controls, two of which were held together with duct tape. But it was a nice house. Definitely not what I’d expected of my blue-collar Romeo, but perfect for a high-priced Clarence Darrow.
I bowed my head, feeling like an utter fool. Everything I’d assumed about Scott, all my dreams about what could be between us, rested at my feet like dead autumn leaves. I’d been wrong. So very wrong. About everything. Scott wasn’t the man I thought he was. He wasn’t my blue-collar knight in shining armor.
He was everything I’d hated from the day my brother’s killer walked free.
But I didn’t hate him.
A tear slipped down my cheek. I still loved him, and God, I felt like a stuffed animal that was suddenly coming apart at the seams, like everything inside me was going to come pouring out. How much could one woman take?
“Maddie…” Scott’s breath brushed against the nape of my neck. “You okay?”
“No.”
“The condo will—”
“I don’t care about the fucking condo!” A lie, but my emotions were like skin scraped across a cheese grater.
“Then what—?”
“You lied to me.”
“C’mon, it’s not like that.” Warm lips pressed against that spot on my neck that always made me shiver. “I couldn’t tell you because I was afraid.”