“No problem. I’ll send a squad car to your house to take you to the police station.”
“What about the boys I’m babysitting?”
“Are you the only adult in the house?”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah.”
“When will your parent or guardian be home?”
How do you tell a police officer you are the parent and guardian?
There’s no point in lying. “I’m not sure. Let me call and ask their mom.”
“I’d like you to drive Charlotte back home, if you feel comfortable.” He then explains, “My partner drove her car back to the station. I’d prefer she wasn’t behind the wheel right now. We offered, but she insisted we call you. As I understand, she’s a few months pregnant, and I don’t want her to get worked up more than she already is.”
He asks for my address, and it takes two times for me to provide it correctly. “Officer Sparrow will be there in fifteen minutes, car number ten-seventy.”
Hurriedly, I call Justin as I herd the boys like cattle into the bathroom to brush their teeth and get their pajamas on.
He doesn’t answer.
Our neighbor Sandra, whom I ask to babysit only in dire emergencies, is a floor down. She lives with her boyfriend, who works the overnight shift. I leave Diane a scribbled note and walk them to Sandra’s before heading the rest of the way downstairs.
After calling Justin a second time, I get no answer.
Sparrow steps out of the vehicle to greet me, probably familiar with this area. The police are always here, it seems, for vandalism, assault, and domestic violence.
“What happened to Charlotte?” I ask as we pull out of the broken-concrete parking lot.
“Charlotte was mugged.” I expect him to say it happened at the college and am stunned when he mentions the “parking lot of the Van Hessen’s Grocery Store, the one on Twelfth and Melcher.”
“Wait, the one, like, two miles from here?” That store is on this side of town, nowhere near her safe and well-lit organic and all-natural markets. What would Charlotte be doing there, especially at this time of night?
Troubled by this piece of information, I tell myself my discomfort is heartburn, but the reality of the events is unsettling. What if Charlotte went to pick up groceries to drop off to me because she knew that money was scarce and there were more mouths to feed than food?
My mouth is dry, like I inhaled a dust storm worth of dirt. “Did you catch the person?”
“No, not yet. She’s pretty shaken up, so details have been slim, but hopefully, with you there for moral support, she can provide a better description of her attacker.”
“And you’re positive she was at the Melcher store?”
Sparrow gives me a side glance. “Yeah, you go there?”
“Sometimes. But it’s close to me. It’s not close to her.”
“You seem like you have street smarts. Just as a precaution, be careful there or in any of those massive parking lots. Stay aware of your surroundings at all times. Put your phone away and watch around you. Park in a well-lit area.” Sparrow eyes me. “You look like you know this, though.”
I nod in agreement. “Growing up on this side of town, definitely.” Finally, I say it out loud. “What was she doing at that store?” I intone, “She lives by much nicer and safer ones.”
“Said she was running errands.” Sparrow glances over at me. “I think she was trying to bring you some groceries. Said ‘a friend in the Meadowlark apartments.’ I’m assuming she meant you.”
“Now I feel like an asshole,” I mutter.
“Rough homelife?” Sparrow asks, not unkindly. He has no idea the depths of the hatred I feel toward myself at this low point in time. Charlotte’s kindhearted nature has been swallowed up by my shitty antics.
Quietly, I rub, underneath my sleeve, the jagged scar strategically hidden beneath a leather bracelet I wear sometimes. In this moment, as I trace its rough outline, I feel deserving of it, like I got mine. My father’s nasty temper followed him into any relationship, and this was no different, another permanent reminder of his wrath.
Asking myself an honest question, I have to wonder: What if Charlotte isn’t guilty and you’re bringing all this on an emotionally vulnerable, pregnant woman?
Interrupting my thoughts, Sparrow says, “I’m not judging or trying to pry. I grew up around the corner. Product of a crack mom.” Emphatically, he slaps the steering wheel to drive his point across. “We gotta stick to our own, especially with all the clowns out there.”
“How’d you get out?”
“I had a mentor at school, a coach who pushed my ass every day. Hated him at times. But I ended up on a b-ball scholarship and in college.” He looks upward. “Thank the Lord.”
“I don’t have the grades for college.”
“High school doesn’t mean everything. You can apply yourself in college.”
“Yeah, I guess.” I don’t bother to add that I’m knocked up, about to be kicked out of the foster system, and at risk of flunking out of high school.
Before he asks any more questions, I switch the topic back to Charlotte.
“Is she going to be okay?” I squirm in my seat, thinking of her unborn baby. I told Justin he couldn’t do anything that would hurt the child. Regardless of what she’s done to break up our family, I don’t want that on my conscience.
“Yeah, I think emotionally it’ll take some time. It definitely scared the hell out of her. She’s not the same stock as you and I, you know?” He grunts. “A total sweetheart, but you can tell her upbringing wasn’t the same, lucky her.”
I want to tell him about the Jonathan Randall v. The State of Kansas trial, but I don’t. He can read about Charlotte Coburn another time. He pulls into the station parking lot, where Charlotte’s charcoal Jeep is parked in a visitor’s space. “Imagine if someone tried to attack you.”
I want to add, They have.
But, terrified that the police are going to give me the third degree, I am thinking about what will happen when I walk through the doors of the station. As I walk slowly behind Sparrow into the building, I shove my hands into my pockets.
CHAPTER 26
Charlotte
I’m sitting on an uncomfortable folding chair, hands clasped tensely in my lap, when Elle and Officer Sparrow walk into the office, if you can call it that. It’s claustrophobic and tiny, two of my biggest triggers.
I hear the voices of Elizabeth and Sparrow behind us.
Officer Mahoney is seated and half rises to greet them as I stare straight ahead. He motions to the empty chair next to mine, which is covered with paper and more paper.
“Elizabeth, hi, thanks for coming.” Like his desk, the chair is barely visible underneath a plethora of files and documents. “Sparrow, can you clear that for Elizabeth?”
“No problem.” In one swift movement, he sweeps the pile of papers off the chair. Leaning against the wall, Sparrow crosses his arms as Elle tentatively sits, her back rigid against the hard metal, her eyes darting awkwardly around the small office.
I glance tearfully at her, aware my face is splotchy. The bruise is worsening on my left cheek and will probably be purple next time I check a mirror.