“Do you need money?”
Kate doesn’t have money to throw around. She lives hand to mouth as much as I do, but I have no doubt she would put herself in debt for her only niece.
“I’ll figure something out. Kevin is a friend, so I’m hoping he’ll cut me a break on the fees.”
“What kind of friend?”
“Not that kind of friend.”
“Too bad,” says Kate, and I can see her smirking right through the phone line. She has been after me ever since Jake and I divorced to find a man. I do not know why it is so important to her I find a man. I asked her once, and she said, “I just think you’re not the kind of woman who’s happy alone.”
“I have Jess.”
“Jess is not staying in Jefferson. Not in a million years.”
She’s right I know.
“Hey, this is really bad timing,” she says, “But when I got home, there was a message from Dad’s nursing home. He’s getting worse.”
“I can’t deal with him right now.”
“I know; I shouldn’t have brought it up. We can talk about it in a few days.”
“Just don’t tell him about Jess.”
“I wouldn’t. Besides, there’s no point. Last I talked to him, he thought I was still in high school. Asked when I was coming home.”
Most days it is easier to pretend he doesn’t exist. I haven’t been to see him since Mom died. I don’t owe him anything; I remind myself.
“Hang in there, Lizzie. Let me know if you need me.”
“I will,” I tell her, even as I am certain I won’t ask for her help. If my father taught me anything, it’s how to take care of myself.
— — —
At 5:00 the doorbell rings. Jake checks out the window and then nods to me. I open the door. Kevin is wearing a suit that probably costs as much as my monthly mortgage. His tie is loosened, and his coat unbuttoned. “Liz, it’s so good to see you.” He gives me a broad smile, which fades quickly as Jake steps into view. “I’m sorry about the circumstances, though.”
“Thanks for coming,” I tell him and wave him in.
“You must be Jessica,” he says when he sees Jess on the couch with her arms crossed, furious that we forced her to come out of her room for this meeting.
“Brilliant, Sherlock,” says Jess so quietly he can’t hear her.
“We’re really grateful you’re here,” I tell him and shoot Jess a warning look.
“I’m Jake, Jessica’s dad,” says Jake offering his hand. “Thanks for doing this.”
“I’ll do what I can.” Kevin takes a seat on the recliner facing Jess. “Liz was always so good to my dad at Morningside. It’s the least I can do.”
Jess rolls her eyes as she pulls the afghan Kate made for her around herself. I am just grateful she doesn’t put it over her head.
“Your dad was pretty special,” I say as Jake and I sit on the couch on either side of Jess. “Would you like some coffee?”
Kevin takes a folder from his briefcase. “No, I’m good. Coffee this late in the day will keep me up.”
“Tea, water, soda?” I ask, and he shakes his head.
He opens the folder and spreads out a few papers.
“At this point, they’re still investigating, but, to be honest, it’s not looking good. I would expect them to bring charges very soon.”
Jess sits up, and I reach for her hand, but she pulls it away. I watch Kevin leaf through his papers.
“Define ‘not looking good,’” says Jake, leaning forward his elbows on his knees.
“It’s a given they’ll charge Jessica with Inattentive Driving or Reckless Driving. But it’s possible they’ll also go for vehicular manslaughter or criminally negligent homicide, which is a felony.”
I gasp.
“There’s not much precedent for going there, but the current DA is ambitious. We should be prepared for anything.”
“What happens next?”
He glances at Jess, then back at Jake and I. “If they’re going with the more serious charges, they’ll arrest her. We’ll go to the magistrate’s office for a preliminary hearing. If we’re lucky, it’ll just be reckless or inattentive driving, but that’s kind of unlikely since there’s a death involved.”
“What’s the difference between reckless and inattentive?” asks Jess.
“Inattentive means you just weren’t paying attention. Reckless means you were intentionally driving recklessly.”
“I wasn’t reckless,” she says and I nod. Jess is not reckless. Kevin ignores her comment.
“They still haven’t determined if texting was a factor.”
“But she wasn’t texting,” I insist.
Kevin looks at Jess, who looks at the coffee table.
“The police are pretty sure she was,” he says.
“Jess doesn’t remember what happened,” says Jake.
“She may not remember the accident, but the timestamp on her phone shows she received and read a text at 10:25 am, which was only moments before the car struck Mr. Mitchell.”
“That doesn’t mean she was the one who opened it,” Jake and I both say at once.
“That’s the fuzzy part,” says Kevin. “I’m not sure if they can prove she opened it, but they sure think she did. They have a witness who corroborates it.”
“Sheila,” I say.
“Sheila probably looked at it. I don’t text and drive,” Jess says. “I’m not that stupid.”
Kevin looks at his papers. Makes a note. His accusatory silence prompts Jess to insist, “I never text when I’m driving.” She looks at me for confirmation and I nod again.
“She wouldn’t.” I fight the tears gathering; the narrative seems to be spiraling out of control, like a top released from its string.
“Okay, let’s say, for now, you weren’t texting. What do you remember?”
Jess twists her left wrist with her right hand; she stares at the patterned afghan covering her legs. “Nothing really. I was taking Sheila home, but I don’t remember anything else until I woke up in the hospital. But I would not text and drive. I don’t do that.”
“You don’t remember receiving and reading a text?” Kevin asks.
“She already said she doesn’t remember anything,” Jake answers for her.
Jess bites her lip, gets up and goes to the window. She pulls the curtain aside and stares out into the street. What is she looking for? A getaway car?
“What do we do?” I ask Kevin.
“I’m not sure yet. Like I said, we have to wait for them to make a move. For now, don’t let Jess talk to anyone. Whatever she remembers or doesn’t remember, don’t tell anyone before you ask me first. If there is going to be an arrest, it will happen quickly.”
“Will they just show up and arrest her?” asks Jake. Jess is still frozen at the window.
Kevin shakes his head. “Hard to say. They could, but I think I will know about it before it happens—if it happens. I’ll walk you through it.”
“Thank you,” I say at the same time that Jakes says, “Damn,” and shakes his head.
Kevin is more handsome than I remember. I am not naïve enough to believe he volunteered to help us just because he is such a nice guy. Nice guys don’t wear quite so much cologne. At least in my experience.
He gathers up his papers. “There will be services for the coach. They are expecting a big turnout.”
“We knew him. He coached Jake when he went to Jefferson.”
“I’d like to go,” says Jake quietly. Coach
Mitchell has been a father figure in Jake’s life. He never knew his own father. I touch Jake’s arm. Kevin averts his eyes.
“That makes it tricky. Send a note or flowers but be careful not to apologize. You don’t want to give the impression this was Jessica’s fault.”
“But what if it was?” I whisper.
“All that matters is who the law says was at fault.”
“Do you need me anymore?” Jess asks abruptly, turning from the window and dropping the afghan at her feet.
“I think I’ve got all I need from you,” says Kevin.
“You feel okay?” Jake asks.
“Pristine,” she says, before disappearing into her room.
When Jess goes to her room, I finally ask the question I have been afraid to ask.
“How much will this cost?”
Kevin shakes his head. “Let’s not worry about that now.”
“It can’t cost nothing. Look, we don’t have a lot, but I can get a loan,” Jake says. I find that hard to believe, but I suppose he might be able to get a second mortgage on his shop.
“Or I can,” I add.
“We can sort that out later.” Kevin smiles at me as he stands to go.
I don’t know what that means and I have to wonder–how far would I go to keep Jess safe?
7
LIZ
I knock on Jess’ door softly, but there is no answer; so I open the door and creep to her bed. She is so beautiful, even with black eyes, a swollen cheek, and her bandaged head. She is the best version of me and Jake, as if God used only our good parts to create her. But she is better than us too. She has a drive and a ferocity that will help her survive this. Maybe all these years arguing and battling with me and her father were only to hone her skills so that when the real test came, she would be ready. Because she will need steel in her bones to take on the judgment of this town, no matter what the police decide.
She stirs. “Hey, baby,” I say.
She rolls over and scans my face. I watch the memory of yesterday register, stealing the brief peace she found in sleep. She bites her lip and looks away. I wish I could tell her everything is okay; I wish I could protect her from whatever is ahead or change what has already happened. The bandage on her head has shifted, and a few stray hairs stick to her face. The nurse said to keep the wound covered. I reach up to adjust her bandage, but she scowls at me and moves away.
She crawls out of bed and stumbles to the bathroom. I stand in the doorway as she drinks from the faucet. The water dribbles down her t-shirt.
“Kevin called. He wants us to meet him at the police station.”
Jess lunges for the toilet and heaves. She has always had a sensitive stomach. Despite her tough exterior, it gives her away. She throws up whenever she is upset or nervous. Track meets and tests will send her running for the bathroom. I kneel beside her and hold what is left of her long, thick hair out of her face. Her hair is the same strawberry blond as her father, and she has his freckles too. When the heaving finally stops, she leans back against the tub and covers her face with her hands. The gold nail polish on her fingers catches the light and sparkles. Will she ever be that girl again? The girl who paints her nails gold and dreams of being the Homecoming queen?
“Why don’t you take a shower. Your father went home to feed the dogs and put a note on the shop. He’ll be back to go with us. Just be careful; don’t get your bandages wet.”
She touches her head, nods.
“Am I going to jail?”
“No. This is just a hearing. We’ll find out what the charges will be.”
“But they could put me in jail. I read that.”
“Where?”
“Online.”
“They won’t put you in jail. If we have to, we’ll post bail.” Kevin has explained all about bail to me and Jake this morning on speakerphone as we huddled in my bathroom so that Jess wouldn’t hear us. He gave us the number of a bail bondsman, and Jake called him. I just hope Jake’s shoddy credit history doesn’t hurt us.
“You don’t have a relative you could call?” Kevin had asked.
“I never met my dad. My mom’s been dead for years. Smoking cancer,” Jake told him. “Not that she’d have helped us if she were alive.”
He is right. His mother had her own problems, any number of which would have killed her if the lung cancer had not done it so swiftly.
“I have a sister who would help,” I told Kevin. “She owns her home and she would do anything for Jess.”
“You’ll want to touch base with her then.”
I called Kate before I woke Jess.
“Absolutely. Anything you need. I’ll do it,” she said, as I knew she would.
— — —
A half-hour later, Jess emerges, a plaid wool cap pulled over the bandages and her hair in a low ponytail. If not for her black eyes, she would look cute with her color-coordinated sweater (one I have not seen on her in years) and skirt. I am making scrambled eggs, but doubt she will eat.
“Did Sheila call?” she asks.
“No,” I tell her. Despite my feelings about Sheila, even I wish she would call. “I spoke with her mother at the hospital, though.”
“You did? Why didn’t you tell me that?”
“She has a broken arm; she’s fine. But Janet didn’t think it was a good idea for you to call her.”
“Why?”
I place two pieces of bread in the toaster, stare at the red coils heating up.
“Honey, I think Janet was just upset. I’m sure you’ll hear from Sheila soon.”
“But I don’t understand. Why doesn’t she want me to talk to Sheila?”
I pull the saltshaker from the cabinet and sprinkle salt on the eggs.
“What did Mrs. Richards say?” Jess asks again.
The eggs are sticking. I lift the pan off the hot burner and turn to her. “Just what I told you. She doesn’t think you and Sheila should be talking. At least not until the police sort this out.”
I set the eggs down, poke at them with the spatula, try to salvage them.
“That’s ridiculous.” She retreats to the couch. “Why can’t I have my phone? I need my phone.”
“The police will probably keep it for a while. They took everything in the car. They’re trying to recreate the accident.”
“How could my phone help them do that?”
I put the eggs on the counter. Was Jess texting when she hit Coach Mitchell?
“They are just doing their job.”
“This is crazy!”
I say nothing, get out a plate, and put some of the eggs on it.
She pulls Kate’s afghan over her head. I go to the window and peek around the curtain. A news van parks at the curb, and two women with notepads get out and question Mrs. Katz from next door. Mrs. Katz is wearing a housecoat and searching for her newspaper amidst the overgrowth beside her mailbox. She has a lot of cats, which is something that always makes Jess and I laugh—Mrs. Katz and her cats.
Jake pulls up in his tow truck. The reporters hustle over to talk to him. Jake is bigger than any of them. Tan and muscled from the hours he spends working on cars and fishing in all weather. He wears work boots, blue jeans, a flannel shirt, and a grimy baseball cap with a Pennzoil patch. He looks down at the reporters in their skinny jeans and bright wool jackets. He shakes his head and when the man with the camera turns it on him; he gives him the finger. I return to the kitchen and pour Jake a cup of coffee.
“Hey,” he says as he drops his keys on the counter. “How is she?”
“
Ask her yourself.” I nod toward the couch where Jess is still under Kate’s afghan.
“Hey kiddo; how’re you feeling?”
Jess says nothing.
Jake picks up the leftover eggs and starts eating right out of the pan. I hand him a plate. He places it on the counter and continues eating from the pan. He waves me to the bedroom, and I follow.
“The newspaper says Jess was texting when she hit Coach Mitchell,” he says.
“She couldn’t have been.”
“If she was texting when she hit Coach, that makes this more than an accident. One guy called it murder.”
“Jess didn’t murder anyone. That’s crazy.”
“I don’t know. You should hear what they’re saying on the radio.”
“They’re talking about Jess?” My heart races. Are people talking about my daughter as if she were…..what? A murderer? A villain? Jess, who was nearly in tears when she accidentally cut a worm in half with her spade while planting petunias for my Mother’s Day last year. The room spins. I sit down on the bed. When I look up at Jake, he is still holding the frying pan, tears on his face. I am stunned by his tears. I touch his arm, reach for him. He turns for the door.
“We’ve got to get down to that courthouse. I’m gonna pull my truck around to Canyon Street. Bring Jess through the Kline’s backyard, and meet me.
“That’s crazy!”
He pauses in the doorway. “Yeah, well, you got a better idea?”
I don’t, but I feel like we are criminals as we race across our backyard and duck under the little stand of trees that separate our tiny yard from the Klines. We are silent as we drive to the police station. Kevin is there when we arrive.
He leads us inside and we meet with a police officer in a small, sterile room with a metal table and three chairs. There is a sign that says, ‘no smoking’ in five languages. “Jess, this is officer Hernandez. He will read you your rights.”
Jess’ eyes widen and Jake steps up and puts an arm around her.
“Jessica Johnson, you’re under arrest for reckless driving and criminally negligent homicide….” As the officer recites the familiar words, tears roll down her face, but she meets his eyes and nods when he is through. “I understand,” she says when he asks.
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