by Gun Brooke
Kiddo? Giselle wanted to know whom Tierney was calling so frenziedly. Feeling she wasn’t meant to overhear any of what was going on, Giselle rose from her chair.
“No. Please. Stay here?” Tierney looked up, panic still in her eyes.
Giselle wanted to ask why, but instead she made a detour to her bedroom and put on her slippers. Her feet were already ice-cold, and she could only imagine how Tierney had to be freezing sitting on the floor in barely more than underwear. Tugging her dusty-pink throw with her, she reentered the foyer. She walked over to Tierney and wrapped the blanket around her narrow shoulders.
“Thank you,” Tierney whispered.
Giselle retook her seat in the chair and watched Tierney rap her fingertips against the floor. The signals she was sending the person at the other end went unanswered for a while, but Tierney kept dialing. Eventually, someone answered, and Tierney nearly toppled over. She ended up with her head against Giselle’s thigh, her free hand grasping for the bottom hem of the robe.
“Hey, Stephanie. It’s me again. My phone lost power. I had to ask my…my friend for a charger.”
Giselle heard a mumbling sound when this Stephanie answered.
“No, you can’t. I know it’s bad, but doing something like that is worse. Listen. I can come get you. If that’s what it takes, I’ll come, and tomorrow we’ll call your social worker and tell him what’s been going on.”
A new murmur. This time more intense.
“Stephanie, please.” Tears ran down Tierney’s cheeks. “Please listen to me. If you stand up for yourself and tell them what he’s done, then they’ll move you. I’ll testify, if need be. Remember, I stayed in that home when I was your age. Clearly nothing has changed.” Wiping at her cheeks, Tierney pressed her face against Giselle. “He was younger then, but still a creep. I suppose they stopped adopting kids about then.”
The woman, or girl, wailed now, loudly enough for Giselle to hear. Tierney trembled and pushed closer to Giselle, who, not knowing she intended to, ran her fingers through Tierney’s hair. Over and over, she combed through the silky tresses.
“Wait a second, Stephanie. Stay on the line.” Glancing up, Tierney pressed the mute symbol on her phone and looked pleadingly at Giselle. “Please. May I borrow the Jeep and go get Stephanie? It’s not far from here. Two hours at the most, one way. She can’t stay in that house with that man after her. She doesn’t have anywhere else to go.”
“How do you know this Stephanie?” Giselle asked, not knowing what to think. “And why does she need rescuing this late in the evening?”
“She’s fourteen and at a place where I stayed when I was her age. The foster parents had seven other foster kids when I was there, and they ended up adopting three of them. One of the kids acted strange already then, but now, he’s a grown man…he still lives there and has set his sights on Stephanie. I’ve never met her.” Wiping at her eyes again, Tierney pleaded her case. “We connected through the Facebook page for foster kids we both belong to. When I understood where she was living, I reached out to her.”
“And you want to bring this child here?” Giselle wanted to pull back, but the tears streaming down Tierney’s pale cheeks made it impossible.
“Yes. It’s late. I can bring her here to the guesthouse and then call her social worker tomorrow morning and drive her back. You can take the money for the gas out of my salary.”
Giselle thought fast. The idea of Tierney going straight into a potentially volatile situation and assuming responsibility for a child didn’t sit well with her. It was dark outside, and Giselle normally did better outside then. Not being able to see the vastness around her wrapped her in a protective cocoon.
“One condition,” Giselle said slowly. “We’ll both go. I’m not letting you put yourself in danger, and I think Stephanie would be the first to think so too—if she truly is your friend.”
“She is, and I can take care of myself, of both of us.” Tierney stopped talking, tipping her head back to study Giselle. “So, you’re prepared to face your demons for a perfect stranger?”
“Yes. And you’ve never been a stranger to me.” She had probably gone too far with that last statement, but she needed to make Tierney see how dangerous it was to go out alone.
“All right. I’ll drive. We need blankets and water. She’s been hiding underneath the back porch for hours. Her phone is about to die as well.” Placing her phone to her ear again, Tierney unmuted it. “Sweetie. Listen to me. I’m coming to get you. A friend of mine will be with me. She’s really great, and she wants to help as well.”
A slightly modified truth. Giselle walked back to her bedroom and dressed in jeans and a plain white shirt. Pulling on a windbreaker, as the nights were sometimes chilly, she walked back to the foyer where Tierney stood, still in her nightwear, looking indecisive.
“You need to put on some clothes. We should get going. The girl can’t stay under the porch indefinitely.” And to be selfish, she couldn’t risk being outside with Tierney and a stranger after it was light. The mere idea of facing rush-hour traffic in the morning, no matter how safe she felt in the car, was enough to make her question her decision.
“Two minutes.” It was as if Tierney had awoken from some sort of sedation. She rushed out the door and ran toward the guesthouse.
Giselle fetched the car keys, closed the front door, and set the alarm. While walking out into the garage, she decided to drive the Jeep out to the driveway. As she sat waiting for Tierney, she wondered where her determination came from. Why would she risk a severe anxiety attack to go pick up a total stranger?
The answer presented itself as she moved to the passenger seat. Tierney came running down the path toward her, flinging herself in behind the wheel. It wasn’t for a stranger, no matter how heart-wrenching the girl’s situation was. She was doing this for Tierney.
Chapter Thirteen
The road was deserted as Tierney drove through the countryside. She checked the time. They’d been on the move for almost an hour, and Giselle had perhaps spoken ten words to her. Quickly glancing to her right, she saw Giselle firmly holding on to the sides of her seat. This wouldn’t do.
“Want to listen to some music?” Tierney motioned to the radio on the dashboard.
“Sure.”
Well, that was eloquent. “Any particular genre?”
“No. You choose.”
“Are musical-theater songs—”
“I. Said. You. Choose.” Giselle squeezed the seat hard enough for the leather to squeak.
Wanting to smack herself over the head, Tierney realized that Giselle was struggling to remain calm. How could she have forgotten how hard this was for her? The fact that the woman was ready to go with her to a strange house proved how courageous she could be on occasion.
“Okay.” With her eyes on the road, Tierney felt among the buttons and dials, and after a quick glance, she found the right channel. Soon the music from Les Misérables echoed through the car. Tierney loved the sad, heartfelt songs, but what if the emotional charge of the songs made this trip harder for Giselle?
They rode in silence for a while, and then Giselle gently cleared her throat. “Is this music meant to cheer me up?”
Cringing, Tierney sent her a quick glance. “Er…I know it’s kind of sad, but—”
“I’m trying to lighten the mood, since your choice of music is a little gloomy.” Though her tone was solemn, it charmed Tierney to see a faint smile on Giselle’s lips.
“I had no idea they’d play half the songs. I hoped they’d intersperse them with something cheery.” Tierney took one hand off the wheel and rubbed her neck. Giselle’s obvious discomfort had begun to stress her out.
“Like Sweeney Todd? Now there’s something upbeat for you.” Giselle placed her hand over her mouth, and for a moment Tierney didn’t get it, fearing Giselle was about to get car sick or something.
“No. For heaven’s sake…” Then she snorted. “You’re really having me on, aren’t you?”
“Oh, God.” Was she that transparent? “I really am trying to distract you.”
“I’d say you do that better than any music.” Now folding her hands loosely in her lap, Giselle kept her gaze steadily forward.
“I—what? I do?” That didn’t make sense. Unless she was so exasperating that Giselle couldn’t keep focusing on being afraid.
“Sure. So, what song’s up after this one, do you think? Should we make a bet? My guess is one from Miss Saigon.”
That did it. Tierney started laughing, unable to restrain herself. Holding on to the wheel and trying to keep the Jeep on the empty road, she shook her head and giggled until her sides ached and tears streamed down her face.
“That’s not a commonplace reaction when listening to that particular musical.” Giselle snickered.
“I would think not.”
The radio began playing “For Good” from Wicked. The beautiful declaration of friendship, love, and forgiveness had always been one of Tierney’s favorites. Without really being conscious of it, she began singing along, assuming Glinda’s role in the duet. When she reached the part where Elphaba, the wicked witch of the west, took over, Giselle started singing her part.
Like a punch in her solar plexus, Tierney listened to the surprisingly rich alto voice emanating from Giselle. Why hadn’t she told Tierney she could sing? She listened so intently, she nearly missed her turn to take the lead. Drumming the slow rhythm against the wheel, Tierney grew wrapped up in the beautiful song and even more so in Giselle’s performance. When it was over, another, lesser-known musical number began.
“You have a great voice,” Tierney said breathlessly. “I had no idea.”
“I used to sing a lot…before. Nowadays I stick to my profession and write songs. Play the piano.” Giselle sounded casual and matter-of-fact. “I’m not a performer. Obviously.”
“I didn’t mean you had to be, just that I truly enjoyed how you sound. And singing together. I rarely have someone to sing with.” Or ever. Regretting her words, as she feared they might sound like she was having a pity party, Tierney glanced at the GPS above the radio on the dashboard. According to it they had about forty-five minutes left to go. “When did you sing?”
“I belonged to a choir when I attended Juilliard.” At first it didn’t seem as if Giselle would volunteer any more information, but then she continued. “It was a singing group, really. Eight girls and two boys. We used to sing à capella at different venues. Weddings, churches, that sort of thing.”
“And after Juilliard?”
Giselle sighed. “As I said, I haven’t sung in a long time. Whenever one of my compositions has ready-made lyrics, I will demonstrate it for the client to make it clearer what the final product might sound like.”
“I see.” That was incredibly sad. If someone liked to sing, it was awful to refrain from it, no matter the reason. “Unless you think me too forward, perhaps we can sing my lyrics if the other women in Chicory Ariose like my stuff.”
“Really?” Giselle turned toward Tierney. “You know your own texts so well, how they’re meant to be performed. I’m not sure I’d be able to add anything.”
Tierney reached out and patted Giselle’s knee, only to yank her hand back when she realized her mistake. “Ahem. You’re wrong.” Perhaps that wasn’t a clever way to start persuading Giselle, but Tierney pushed on. “I mean, the songs are meant to be performed by Vivian and a few, also with Noelle Laurent, right? If we show them what they sound like when sung in harmony, it will make it easier, right?”
Giselle didn’t speak for the next few hundred yards. Tierney was beginning to think she’d gone too far.
“You may just have a point. I’m going to play two melodies for them when they all return, Noelle included, and if we can harmonize, it may crystalize which one is the best choice. Or if neither of them fits the album.”
“No negative thinking. They wouldn’t ask you to compose their music if they weren’t sure your style is for them.”
“That’s just it,” Giselle said slowly. “Those two melodies aren’t what you would call my trademark brand of music. They just may hate them.”
“Any lyrics for them yet?” Tierney asked. “I’m not fishing for anything, honestly, but the right lyricist could help the group understand them.”
“Great lyricists are hard to come by. Lesser ones can destroy a song. You may get the job, whether you meant to bring it up or not.” Giselle didn’t sound unkind, but the guarded tone in her voice was back. “We might just need one chorus and one verse to convey what the final product could sound like.”
“If I can help, I will.”
“Thank you.” Her voice tense, Giselle rolled her shoulder. But her hands still lay relaxed in her lap, which was a good sign.
“Half an hour until we’re there,” Tierney said. Her phone pinged. “Can you check that message?” She gave Giselle her pin code.
“One new one. It says, ‘Some other people are at the house. Please hurry.’” Giselle sounded clearly alarmed.
“Fuck. Does she know them?”
“I’ll ask.” Giselle tapped in the short question while Tierney pushed harder on the accelerator.
“She’s such a cool kid. It’s not her fault she was born into a meth factory. It was a good thing she was at school when the damn place exploded, but her parents were, along with a bunch of other people, bagging the crystal meth. She was ten at the time.”
“Ten. Oh, my God.” Pressing her hand against her chest, Giselle groaned. “That’s crazy.”
“Sure is. And she doesn’t go down without a fight, which tells me she’s really freaked out right now. The guy who’s been harassing her is an adult now and only stays in the foster home because he can’t hold down a job—and the foster parents like him for some unfathomable reason.”
“And they still place young kids with them?” Pulling her upper lip back, Giselle snarled.
“They do. In their defense, foster-home slots aren’t easy to come by. Especially for teens. Foster parents are wary of accepting teenagers. I don’t know. It’s like everybody thinks someone else is taking care of these children. In this case, this family is trying to care for a young man who’s been with them since he was eight. His name is Dylan, and he’s my age, perhaps one or two years younger.” She clenched her jaw at the memory of how Dylan had tormented her, and how, being shrewd rather than intelligent, he’d often made it look like she started the fights. Eventually, Tierney had stopped hoping anyone would see what was going on. “I don’t know what they were thinking, placing a young girl like Steph there.”
“We’ll be there soon. And, I know you said you want to take her back with us, but I’m sure you realize that could result in kidnapping charges.” Giselle’s voice was soft but also firm.
“I know. I know. But I just can’t let them keep her there.” Slamming her left palm against the wheel, she grunted at the stinging sensation. “She knows she’s in trouble with this guy, and I know how it feels to be at the mercy of someone else.”
“In a way, so do I.” Giselle placed her hand on Tierney’s knee. “The GPS says we’ll be there in two minutes.”
“Yeah. I recognize the neighborhood. It’s been a while since I was here, but it hasn’t changed all that much.” She turned left at the next intersection, and her heart seemed to drop into the depths of her stomach. Two police cars and one ambulance were lined up next to Stephanie’s foster home, the blue lights swirling, lighting up the entire street. They had clearly woken up a lot of the neighbors, who were gathering at a distance, some remaining on their doorsteps.
“What’s happened?” Giselle covered her mouth. “She never responded to our question as to who the people arriving were. Did she mean the emergency responders?”
“I have no idea, but I’m going to find out.” Tierney parked behind the nearest pol
ice car. Turning to Giselle, she spoke fast. “You stay here in the car. I have my cell in my pocket. If I call and ask you to take the wheel, can you do that?”
“Of course, but what—”
“It might not come to that. Perhaps she’s fine and we can figure things out right here. Will you be okay?”
Giselle nodded, though her hands trembled visibly. “Yes. Go find her.”
Tierney nodded briskly in return. “I will.” She closed the door behind her and started running toward the house where she’d gone through hell.
Chapter Fourteen
Loud voices drowned out every other sound as a female police officer tried to talk to the woman on the garden path. Tierney recognized Barbie Brody, even if the years hadn’t been kind to her. Behind her, doing his best to talk louder than his wife, stood her husband Victor. He was waving his arms, and Tierney realized he was one step away from being hauled into the backseat of a police car.
“Sir. Ma’am. Calm down. We’re going to get to the bottom of this, but we need to find out what the problem is.”
“I can tell you,” Tierney said and stepped closer.
The Brodys stared at her, clearly not recognizing her, but that might well be because they were simply not expecting her to be there. And why would they? When she left their so so-called care for a group home, she had sworn to never return.
“And you are, Miss…?” The female police officer, whose nametag said Connor, turned to face her.
“My name is Tierney Edwards. I used to live here as a foster kid. I’m good friends with Stephanie Wilson, who is currently in the Brodys’ care. She called me earlier this evening in a panic—”
“This young woman has nothing to do with our children.” Barbie pointed a trembling finger at Tierney. “She hasn’t set foot in our house in fifteen years, and she has no idea what we’re dealing with here. Go back to where you came from.” She glared at Tierney.