I put my hands on her shoulders. “Hey, don’t do that.”
Her bottom lip trembled. “This is my fault. I turned off her phone. She was probably cold and hungry. She went back to her old house to climb into a window because it was negative five outside and she couldn’t even call me for help, and now she’s going to prison with a bullet wound.”
Brent cleared his throat. “Actually, this is my fault.” He sucked air through his teeth. “She was sorta staying with me and Joel after you said she couldn’t be at Dad’s. I kicked her out this morning after my Tiffany bracelet went missing.”
Vanessa blinked at him. “She’s been with you this whole time?”
“She called me after she crashed the car.” He made a face.
Vanessa’s jaw dropped open. “Why didn’t you tell me?!”
“You know how you get! And anyway, I gave her very firm boundaries and enforced them when she fucked up—and you know what? No.” He crossed his arms. “This isn’t my fault. It’s not your fault or Dad’s fault. She’s a hot fucking mess and that’s on her. Maybe her dumb ass needs to go to prison.”
“Brent!” Vanessa blanched. “She needs help! Not to be incarcerated!”
I put my hand up. “And she’ll get help. She’s not going to prison. I’ll make sure of it.”
Vanessa looked back at me with a sniffle. “How?”
“The house she was breaking into—you said she lived there once? It was her old house?”
She nodded.
“Did they evict her? Or did she just leave?”
Vanessa shook her head. “I think she just left.”
“How long ago?”
She wiped under her eyes. “Three? Maybe four weeks?”
“Okay. Then she’s still a resident of the property and she had a legal right to be on the premises. She wasn’t trespassing—in fact, I’d venture to say the shooter has more to worry about than she does. She’ll be the one dropping charges.”
“But what about the pills? She had all those stolen pills on her. Won’t they say she was selling or something? Say she was a dealer?”
“If anything else sticks, I have a favor I can call in. I’ll get the prosecution to agree on a treatment program in lieu of time. I’ll have her arraigned bedside. She’ll never step foot in a police station, I promise you. She’s in the best place for her right now. She’s safe, and she’s going to get help. I’ll take care of this. You don’t have to worry about it.”
I saw the stress drain away from her beautiful expression. The relief.
She trusted me. She believed me when I said I’d make things okay—and I would.
I was good at my job. But seeing that she knew I was capable of what I said I would do made me prouder of my law degree than any court case I’d ever won, or any article ever written about it. Her opinion of me meant more to me than anything. And her advice did too.
I’d never in a million years have agreed to Christmas at Mom and Richard’s if it weren’t because Vanessa said I should. I trusted her implicitly. Especially when it came to things that would make me happy. I was beginning to realize that I couldn’t even think outside of my own limited world views to know what those things were.
I was unmovable. I didn’t like change. I didn’t like to adapt. It was easier to decide to hate something or someone and stick with it, because the other option would be to expose myself to the unknown or open myself up to be hurt. And she was right. Why hate Richard? What was the point? It was making everyone unhappy. Including me. And I don’t think I ever would have landed on this realization if she hadn’t taken me there.
She peered up at me with wet eyes, and I put a hand on her smooth cheek and brushed a tear off her face with my thumb. “I’ll go speak with Annabel, wrap this up so we can get you home.”
Gerald looked pleased with himself. “I told you it was nice to have a lawyer in the family—”
“Dad!” Vanessa glared at him.
“It’s ridiculous,” he said, going on unfazed. “Trying to lock up an innocent nineteen-year-old girl, shot for climbing into a window in her own house. This government has nothing better to do than mess with tax-paying citizens simply living their lives. I’m going to write the governor a strongly worded letter and tell him where he can shove it.”
Brent sighed dramatically. “Of course. Great idea. Right up there with cutting your own bangs. Well, I’ll be in the parking lot smoking stray cigarette butts if anyone needs me.” He hoisted his backpack, grabbed Joel by the hand, and left.
Vanessa looked back at me, exasperated, and I smiled at her.
I liked Brent. And his flaws and eccentricities aside, Gerald was starting to grow on me too.
He loved his family. He loved his daughters and he loved Grace, and I found it very hard to dislike him, no matter how off the wall his opinions were—at dinner he had announced that the moon landing was a hoax.
I gave Vanessa’s arm a squeeze and headed to the nurses’ station.
This was the second time I’d met Annabel, and even after half an hour of getting her groggy side of the story, I still hadn’t met her. She was coming out of anesthesia and she was drugged up—either by her own hand, or by the hospital. Either way, I think she barely registered the encounter. I was glad Vanessa didn’t get to see her. It would have upset her. Her sister was handcuffed to the bed.
I spoke with the head nurse and informed her that the patient had a high tolerance to narcotics, which should be taken into account when managing her pain. I also made it very clear that I expected her to be made comfortable and that I would be closely monitoring her care.
After I was done, I drove Vanessa home. Gerald and Sonja had their own car and left with Joel and Brent when we did. Vanessa looked spent. We got Grace from Yoga Lady and I carried her to Vanessa’s place and came inside on the premise that I’d help put the baby down for the night, but the truth was I didn’t want to leave her.
I hated the walls between us. The physical ones and ones you couldn’t see.
I wanted to ask Vanessa to stay the night at my place—which was ridiculous because I didn’t have a guest bedroom. But I wanted to ask her. And I knew if I did, she would. She was always about distraction and fun. She’d probably squeal about sleepovers and accept my invitation and make me paint my nails and do mud masks—and I didn’t even care. I’d do it. I’d put her in my bedroom with Grace and I’d take the couch…
But it was a bad idea for me.
This wasn’t a woman I was just friends with—even if she was just friends with me. Everything with Vanessa meant something. And every time she gave me more of herself, I found it difficult to give it back. If I got to wake up tomorrow morning and see her there, every day that I couldn’t would be that much emptier than before.
That’s why I couldn’t ask her to stay over. It would just make this harder on me, blur lines. Lines that she’d placed there for a reason. Lines she’d made clear she didn’t want moved.
Vanessa went to the bathroom to get into her pajamas while I changed Grace’s diaper. When she came out, she’d pulled her hair into a ponytail and washed her face. She had on a maroon Vance Refrigeration shirt and some polka-dot pajama pants, and she smelled like toothpaste and some sort of flowery soap or lotion.