Violet saw the series of events like dominoes falling. She felt herself growing angry with her mother and decided not to think about that, either. Later, after Norah was home, she would tell her how she felt; she would demand an apology. And she knew Norah would give her one, every day for the rest of her life if necessary. It would take a while, but eventually Violet would forgive her.
She went outside and stood at the edge of the backyard, surveying the circuslike atmosphere. Polly was talking to a cop. Out front, the ambulance carrying Bess, with Casey riding along, was pulling away, the siren’s wail building as the engine picked up speed. Several cops gathered around the bearded man, now handcuffed and sitting on the little garden bench, just a few feet away from the body of the man he’d killed. Violet didn’t like looking at the body, and yet her eyes kept straying back to it. It fascinated and disgusted her at the same time. She wasn’t sorry the man was dead. Even though he was dead, she was still afraid of him.
She heard barking and looked around. She’d forgotten all about Barney. She scanned the yard until she spotted a cage. She could just make out his brown nose poking out, protesting as he struggled uselessly to escape. She ran over and squatted down to make eye contact with him. He stopped barking and panted when he saw her. “Hey, boy,” she said in the most soothing voice she could muster. “It’s OK.” She slid her hand between the bars till it reached his velvety muzzle, stroking as best she could.
She felt someone standing over her and looked up to find an officer looking down at her. “You can’t let him out just yet,” he said. “Sorry,” he added. He squatted down beside her and, together, they studied the captive dog. “He yours?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No. He’s my grandmother’s.” She gestured over at Polly. “But I take care of him sometimes.” She grabbed the cage wire and Barney sniffed her fingers hopefully.
“He’s had a hard night,” the officer said. “I guess you all have.”
He gave her a sympathetic smile. He was young and handsome. He seemed like someone she could trust, someone who would do the right thing. With her free hand, she reached into her pocket and let the drive fall onto the grass. She glanced down to make sure it hadn’t disappeared underneath the leaves that had been steadily blanketing the yard in the past few weeks. It landed in an open spot of grass right between them, but the cop didn’t notice. He kept talking to Barney, promising the dog he would get out soon.
“I’m gonna go check on my grandmother now,” she said. She stood, her heart racing. If she didn’t say anything, he likely wouldn’t see the drive; she could still take it back. She waited for him to stand up, too.
“I’ll let you know just as soon as he can get out, OK?” he asked. “It’s no fun being cooped up like that, is it, boy?” he asked Barney. And Violet thought of her mother, and freedom.
“I think you dropped something,” she said, and pointed at the ground. She hoped he didn’t notice her finger shaking.
She watched him spot the drive, shining white against the dark grass, and bend down to pick it up, a curious look on his face, before she walked away, leaving him to figure out what he’d found, hoping he realized what he had.
Casey
She sat on a hard chair in the emergency room waiting area, dialing her father again and again, wishing he’d answer. But he was MIA. He was supposed to be working late, but if he was, he would’ve answered by now. Nicole was at a friend’s, waiting for their dad to come get her and bring her to the hospital. Whenever Casey got ahold of him, that was. Casey had spoken with her little sister only briefly, but it had been the most pleasant conversation they’d had since she’d come home. She wished it didn’t have to be like that, wished everything could’ve been different. Mostly she just wished for her mother to be OK.
She tried not to think about how pale Bess had looked, how much blood she’d lost, how scary the ambulance ride had been with the technicians working on her the whole way. “Your mom will be OK,” they’d assured her, but Casey feared that they told everyone that, whether it was true or not. She feared whatever was happening to her mom back in that trauma room, feared the moment they would come out and tell her that Bess was dead. She would be all alone. She had come home to not be alone, yet she’d ended up that way anyway.
She looked up from her phone and scanned the room, then turned and looked at the doorway to the waiting area, willing her father to appear. But the doorway stayed empty. The lady behind the registration desk watched her. They exchanged glances, then the lady pressed her lips together and closed her eyes. The lady felt sorry for her. She was a victim, the object of someone’s sympathy and concern. She was tired of being a victim.
Suddenly someone waved a can of soda in front of her eyes. She looked up to see who it was, maybe Polly and Violet. Instead she saw a familiar set of eyes, brown and kind and also sad. But not sad for her, like the lady behind the desk, sad with her. Eli sat down in the empty chair beside her. “I came as soon as I heard.” He tossed his arm around her. The movement was casual, friendly. She didn’t feel threatened or uncomfortable. She just felt comforted. It wasn’t her mom or her dad or her sister. He wasn’t related to her in any way. But he felt like family.
She wondered if that was what love was: not sex and not attraction and not romance—not any of those things. She wondered if it wasn’t just this: sitting in a hospital together, showing up without being told you were needed. Knowing that Sprite was what you always wanted when you were upset. She popped the top and took a long pull.
“I was with someone else,” she blurted out. Because if he was going to leave her, she needed him to go before she got too used to his presence.
He shrugged and gave her shoulders a squeeze. “I don’t care,” he said.
She looked at him, confused. “You don’t?” Maybe she’d mistaken what he felt. Maybe he’d been using her as much as she’d used him. If that was the case, she guessed she deserved it.
He grinned. “I mean, of course I care. But we’re broken up. We were”—he sighed—“I don’t know what we were. But I figure . . .” He shook off his confusion.
She looked up at him, and she could see it there, in his eyes. He could act nonchalant, but she saw the love she’d come to expect. The love, she realized, she still counted on.
“I figure we’ll figure out what we were”—he stopped, corrected himself—“what we are. In time. Right now, if you don’t mind, I’d just like to sit here with you and wait for news about your mom. I’d like to be with you when they come out to tell you. If that’s all right with you, that is.”
She rested her head on his shoulder and felt relief fill her entire being. “It’s all right with me,” she said. “It’s all right.”
She stood over her mother, watching her sleep. They’d said her mother was still unconscious but that she could see her, for her reassurance. They knew she’d seen her mother get shot, had held her till the ambulance arrived. Even now, though she’d changed into some of Violet’s shorts and a T-shirt and washed her hands, she could still see blood under her nails. She could still smell the ironlike scent of the blood, the burned air from the gun firing. The smell would not leave her any more than the images of Bess taken down by the bullet would.