“Yeah…”
He picks up my hand in his. “You agree, right?”
“Um…”
“Dawn.” He applies firm pressure on my hand. “Tell me you agree. You’re not going to do anything stupid.”
“Caleb…”
“Promise me. Promise me you’re not going to do anything else. Promise me.”
“Fine. I agree.” I pull my hand away. “What do you think I’m going to do, anyway?”
He gives me a look. “I don’t want to think about it.”
He goes back to his bag, and I pick up his phone again, scrolling through the articles. The truth is, I’m just telling him what he wants to hear. He doesn’t get it. There’s nothing more important to me than this plan. Nothing is more important than avenging Mia’s death. Even him.
Even me.
Chapter Fifty-Two
NATALIE
I feel like a walking zombie and am in no mood to talk to my parents. But according to one of the guards, they are on the phone.
In some ways though, my parents are my only hope. I don’t have enough money in the bank to bail myself out of jail. So if I don’t convince them to lend me some money, I’ll be stuck here until my trial.
That’s not an appealing thought.
The guard leads me to a bunch of phones set up on the wall. I look at the row of phones, not sure what to do. I glance over at the bald guard, who isn’t giving me any instructions.
“Um,” I say. “What should I do?”
“You pick up the phone and talk,” he barks at me.
I want to snap back at him that I know how a phone works, but I suspect that won’t make my situation any better. Then I notice that one of the phones is off the hook and the receiver is lying on a counter beneath it. I reach for the receiver, which feels sticky in my hand.
“Hello?” I croak into the receiver.
“Natalie!” My mother’s voice is far too loud, as usual. “Natalie, are you okay?”
I’m in jail. What the hell does she think? “I’m okay.”
“Are you eating? Is there food there?”
“Yes, there’s food. This isn’t a death prison.”
My mother is used to my sharp replies on the phone, so it surprises me when she bursts into tears. Which in turn makes a lump rise in my own throat.
“Natalie, how could you do this?” she sobs.
I stare at the receiver, stunned. How could she think that I’m guilty? It was bad enough that Seth thought I stole money from the company. Now my own mother thinks I’m a murderer?
“I didn’t do it, Mom,” I whisper.
“Oh, Natalie…”
“I didn’t! How could you even think that?”
“You have to admit,” she sniffles. “It’s the sort of thing you would do.”
I don’t even know what to say to that. It’s the sort of thing I would do?
“I mean,” she goes on, “there were all those incidents when you were younger. Remember that girl you and your friend Tara bullied… and she killed herself?”
She always brings that up. It doesn’t seem to matter that I have set up a charity to honor Amelia. I’m still the girl who drove her to her death. But it should be said that the police didn’t even consider bringing charges against me. I was barely even questioned.
I have tried to make amends. When Tara and I were writing those fake Valentines to Amelia, I never for one second believed they would make her kill herself. She seemed so much stronger than that. A fighter. Everyone was so shocked when she killed herself. And I’ve been trying to make it right ever since. Trying to make up for the stupid thing I did when I was too young to know better.
“I was just a kid,” I point out.
“You’re lucky they didn’t throw you in prison back then.”
“Mom…”
“Daddy says there’s a prison in South Walpole. I think that would be the most convenient location for us to come visit you.”
She’s already talking about prisons and I haven’t even gone to trial yet. “Listen, I need to talk to you about money. Do you think you can lend me money for bail?”
“Well… how much?”
“I’m not sure. It’s going to be a good amount. Five figures, probably.”
“Oh, honey…”
“Please, Mom.” My voice cracks. “I need your help. I don’t want to stay in here. It’s awful…”
There’s a long pause on the other line, followed by shuffling. After a few seconds, my father’s deep voice booms, “Natalie, you know we don’t have money for this sort of thing. We live on a fixed income.”
“Yes, but—”
“Don’t make us feel guilty about this,” he snaps at me. “Whatever you did, you need to deal with the consequences.”
“But I didn’t do anything!”
The guard notices the volume of my voice rising. He shoots me a look. “You got one minute left, Farrell.”
“Please!” My voice cracks. “I can’t do this. I really can’t.”
“I’m afraid you’re going to have to get used to it. According to your lawyer, you’re going to be in there a long time.”
“But, Dad—”
Before I can get out the entire sentence, the guard walks over to me and hits the button to end the call. I shake my head. “You didn’t even let me say goodbye.”
“I told you to wrap it up.” There’s no sympathy in his voice. This is how I’m going to be treated from now on. “Now get back to your cell.”
I allow him to march me back to the square room with the cellmate with the neck tattoos. I am completely screwed. I don’t know how I’m going to get money to make bail, especially if it’s the amount that Ferguson warned me it could be. My parents can’t give me the money. Kim and I don’t have that kind of relationship where I could ask to borrow the money, even though she could give it to me if she wanted to since her husband is loaded. Seth is off the table—I’ll be lucky if he speaks to me again.
There’s no chance the bail will be less than what I have in the bank, even accounting for the fact that I only have to pay ten percent to the bondsman. It looks like I’m going to be in jail for a while to come.
Chapter Fifty-Three
DAWN
The motel room is dark and Caleb is sound asleep next to me.
I was right—this new motel is no better than the other one. The bed is just as hard and uncomfortable. The television is even worse. It’s mostly static. This is the kind of place to stay for one night. Maybe even just an afternoon. It’s not the kind of place you live for weeks or even months.
This is a necessary sacrifice though.
I clutch Turtly while I watch Caleb sleep. I do that sometimes. He doesn’t snore, but he breathes deeply through his mouth and sometimes there’s a little whistling sound. His hair is mussed by the pillows, falling almost into his eyes if it were a little longer. He has long eyelashes for a man, and they flutter slightly as he sleeps. Maybe he is dreaming.