Cash and the Sorority Girl

by Ashley Bartlett

“Heck yeah I do.”

  “Cool. Text me what you want. And Duarte’s order. Maybe it’ll calm the kid down.”

  “On it. See you soon.”

  Nate was right. Food did calm Duarte down. Or maybe it was just taking our third break in an hour to eat said food. Who was to say really?

  We were in the middle of explaining our system to Nate when Laurel stuck her head in.

  “Braddock, can I steal you for a second?”

  I glanced at Nate and Duarte. They looked indifferent. “Sure.”

  She led me out of the squad room to the stairwell. I’d learned long before that the stairwell was more private than half the station. And it was a lot more quiet.

  “I have kind of a strange request,” she said.

  “Okay.”

  “I need you to snag Lane’s cell phone.” Her tone was even. Unencumbered. “Brika said he can run the diagnostic in about twenty minutes. I’m thinking after she crashes tonight, you can grab it and I’ll run it over to the station.” That was the moment I figured out what she was suggesting. “Brika will figure out if Locus is on it and we’ll have it back before she wakes up.”

  I couldn’t even speak for a moment. “Are you serious right now?”

  She gave me an odd look. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “You want me to steal your sister’s cell phone so you can run a diagnostic to see if a stalker put an app on it without her permission?”

  “Yes.” She looked very confused by my anger.

  “What’s the difference between the stalker rapist guy and you in this scenario?”

  She stepped back and blinked at me. “What?”

  “You’re doing the same thing. Taking her phone without permission. Doing things to it. Returning it without saying anything.”

  “That’s not the same thing. What the fuck?” She leaned back against the wall and gripped the railing.

  “Why not just ask her for her phone?”

  “The same reason I’m not adding her name to the list of victims. I’m not traumatizing her further just to prove something I already know.”

  “What if she knows something that could help solve the case?”

  “I’ve read her statements. They don’t add anything new.”

  “Holy shit.”

  “What is your problem?” she asked.

  “You’re acting like Logan right now,” I said. Her knuckles turned white and she started to push up off the wall. I put up my hand. “No. You’re doing the exact same thing he did. You’re deciding what is best for her under the guise of protecting her, but you’re taking away her choice.”

  “Her choice? Telling her traumatizes her. It’s that simple. I’m not doing that to her.”

  “So leave her out of this case.”

  “I’m not letting her rapist get away. This guy didn’t just rape my sister. I owe it to her to catch him, but I owe it to all of those women.” Her volume edged up as she spoke.

  “How do you know it’s the same guy?” I shouted.

  “Because it’s my job to know,” she shouted back.

  “Jesus fucking Christ. I can’t do this right now.” I took a deep breath, but that didn’t calm my anger. “I’m sorry. I need to leave.” I started down the stairs.

  “You can’t go.”

  “I have to. Good night, Laurel.” The sound of my boots echoed back to me as I descended.

  “Cash, wait,” she called.

  I looked back. She hadn’t moved from her spot on the wall, but her arms were crossed. She looked small.

  “What?”

  “Don’t tell her, okay? Just don’t.”

  I searched her face as if that would tell me what she was actually asking. “I won’t. Not tonight, at least. We’ll talk tomorrow. You and me.”

  She nodded once and it looked like it took all her effort.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The next morning, Nickels and I were snuggling and apparently sharing a bagel. She was more interested in the cream cheese and seemed entirely indifferent to my suggestion that it wasn’t good for her. Lane’s door opened. She shuffled around for a couple of minutes before collapsing across from me with a cup of coffee. She pulled a pile of blankets around her. As if the oversized sweatshirt and thick socks weren’t wearable blankets in their own right. Nickels jumped out of my lap and went straight for Lane’s.

  “Hi, sweetheart.” Lane scratched under her chin.

  “Hi, pumpkin,” I said to Lane.

  Lane rolled her eyes. “You’re like a walking Dad joke.”

  “Is that a good thing? Never mind.” I put up my hand. “I know it is.”

  We spent a good thirty minutes staring at our phones. Nickels abandoned Lane when I set my plate down. She checked it thoroughly for cream cheese, then returned to Lane.

  There was a knock at the front door. Lane and I looked at each other.

  “Is that for you?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “One of my sisters is picking me up, but not for another hour and a half.”

  “Maybe it’s your other sister.” I pushed myself out of my chair. “She’s mad at me.”

  “What happened?”

  “Nothing.” I waved my hand vaguely on my way to the door.

  I swung it open and found Judge Janice Kallen. She was wearing a sheath dress the color of juniper and dark, low heels. Her hair fell in absurdly perfect waves. She carried a patina of sexuality, but it was slightly off—a hint of sweet rot below a flowerbed.

  “Mrs. Kallen,” I said.

  “I’m looking for my daughter.” She grasped the clutch tucked under one arm and took a step forward.

  I shifted my weight slightly to block her way. “I’m sorry. She’s not here.”

  “Don’t lie to me. I’m quite aware that she’s staying here.” She stepped inside and gave me the option of moving quickly or letting her bodycheck me with all her sweet smelling glamour. I moved.

  Lane held her mother’s gaze. The look on her face was resolute, bored, kind. “Hi, Mom.”

  “Baby.” Janice stopped two feet from the couch and held out her arms.

  “Oh, that daughter,” I said.

  Lane spared me a brief look that was both amusement and reprimand. She stood and allowed herself to be hugged. I took the opportunity to text Laurel.

  SOS. Janice is here.

  Janice released Lane and guided her back down to the couch. “I’m so glad you’re all right. I’ve been ill just thinking about you. Dad is distraught.” She reached out to pet Lane’s hair. “It’s horrific. I’m so sorry you’re going through this.”

  Lane pressed her lips together and nodded. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’ve come to take care of you. All of this running away isn’t going to help you. Logan found a great program for you. It’s inpatient, but I think that will help block out a lot of the negativity in your world.”

  I had to admire Janice’s restraint in not looking in my direction.

  “I’m not going to an inpatient program,” Lane said.

  “It’s fine if you feel that way. Logan also found a few promising outpatient programs. One is in Tahoe so it’s close by.” She continued her hair petting.

  “Tahoe is two hours away.”

  “Yes, so it’s close by.” Janice didn’t appear to realize that Lane was disagreeing with her.

  “What do these programs treat exactly?”

  “They are rehabilitation programs.”

  “What do I need to be rehabilitated from?” Lane asked.

  This was going rapidly downhill. “Mrs. Kallen, would you like some coffee?” I asked.

  She nodded in my direction. “Thank you.”

  “Cream or sugar?” I asked and hoped she didn’t take cream. We were out of everything except the cheese variety.

  “Honey or maple syrup, if you have it. Sugar if you don’t. I don’t want to be a bother.”

  So said the woman who had shown up without warning and forced herself into my home.
I ducked into the kitchen to pour another cup of coffee. I stirred in a spoonful of honey.

  “I don’t need rehabilitation. I need to do what I’m already doing,” Lane said.

  “Baby, sitting in your pajamas watching television is hardly doing something.” Janice watched me return from the kitchen. She held out a hand for the mug, then immediately set it on the coffee table.

  “That’s not what I’m doing.”

  “Look, I understand. You’re going through a rough patch right now. This,” Janice waved at the blanket fort Lane had built on the couch, “is fine for a little while. But you’ve been struggling since school started. You’re clearly not making great decisions.”

  Lane stiffened and leaned back. “Like getting raped?”

  Janice froze. “No. Of course not. I would never—That’s not your fault.”

  “Then what? What terrible decisions am I making?”

  Laurel burst through the front door. She was disheveled in that her hair wasn’t perfectly tossed and her shirt was untucked, but those weren’t the details normal people would see.

  “Oh, hey, Mom, I didn’t know you were here,” Laurel said.

  “Where else would I be? I came to take your sister home.” Janice leaned forward to pick up her honeyed coffee. She crossed one stiletto-toned calf over the other and reclined ever so slightly as if she frequently lounged about on blanket-covered couches.

  “I’ll make this easy for you, then. I’m not going home with you and you need to leave.” Lane extracted herself from the couch and stood resolutely over her mother. Somehow the fire and poise of the elder Kallen translated to the leggings and mismatched fuzzy socks of the younger one.

  Laurel came around the couch. After exchanging a silent nod, she put her arm around Lane’s shoulders. “I’m sorry. You can’t stay,” she said to Janice.

  Janice was entirely unmoved. She smiled faintly. “You’re deluded if you think I’m leaving my traumatized daughter at the house of a drug dealer.”

  “Unbelievable.” Lane shook her head. “Cash, I’m jumping in the shower. You need anything before I close the door?”

  “Nope. Just make sure Nickels doesn’t follow you in again.”

  “You got it.” She threw me some finger guns, which clearly proved we had been spending too much time together.

  “Lane, stop being petulant. Gather your things and get in the car,” Janice said.

  “Christ, she’s like a frat boy,” Lane muttered.

  I prayed her mother hadn’t caught that line.

  “Mom, you need to go.” Laurel held out her hand to help Janice stand.

  “I absolutely will not.” Janice ignored Laurel’s hand.

  The bathroom door clicked shut and the shower turned on.

  “You will. Lane is happy here. She’s making healthy choices. She’s taking care of herself.” Laurel finally let her hand drop.

  Janice scoffed. “She’s not happy. She’s broken. You may think you understand what healthy looks like, but I assure you this isn’t it.”

  Laurel stared at her mother. After a beat, she took a long, deep breath. “There are many conceptions of normal and healthy and happy. Your opinion of those conceptions doesn’t make them any less normal or healthy or happy.”

  “You are correct, which is why I want Lane checked into a program with medical professionals to help her.”

  “She’s seeing a medical professional, not that it’s any of your business. Her therapist is pleased with where she’s at.” Laurel was somehow staying calm during this appalling discussion. It was giving me a lot of insight into how she became the person she was. Watching was fascinating and horrifying. “You don’t get to swoop in a week after the fact and run the show.”

  “I wouldn’t have been here a week after the fact if you hadn’t been hiding her from me,” Janice said.

  “We didn’t tell you where she was because she asked us not to,” I said.

  Janice found a focus for her ire. “Don’t pretend my daughter needs your protection. Certainly not protection from me.”

  I sighed. I should have known better than to speak. “I never suggested anything about protection. I’m just doing what Lane asks me to do.”

  “That’s wonderful.” She stood and faced me. “You’re the hero for doing as she asks, but I’m the villain for getting her concrete help. Lovely.”

  “Mom, Cash has done more for Lane in the last week than you—”

  “Laurel,” I shouted. I didn’t need Janice to like me or even respect me, but I did need her to not actively hate me.

  “No, no, Cash, it’s fine,” Janice said in the most patronizing of tones. “My eldest is quite fond of explaining my failures to me. I thought she grew out of that in her twenties, but it seems she’s feeling nostalgic.”

  And suddenly I decided I didn’t care if she hated me. “Get out of my house.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Leave. Now.” I held up my hand in the direction of the door.

  “Laurel.” Janice turned away from me.

  “I love you, Mom. Please leave.”

  Janice just chuckled. “Fine.”

  I wanted to scream at Janice. I wanted to tell her she’d already lost both her daughters. But I saw Laurel’s face and realized there would be no winner here. The best we could do was remain standing. I crossed the room to hold the door for Janice. She walked toward me, her heels clicking forcefully against the hardwood. I closed the door behind her. When I went to turn the lock, I realized my hands were shaking. From anger or fear or adrenaline, I wasn’t sure.

  “Fuck,” Laurel said. She got halfway around the couch before she seemed to remember we were fighting. “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?” I walked back into the living room.

  “All of it. I was out of line yesterday. I spent half the night trying to get the courage to call you and apologize.”

  “Thank you.”

  “And I’m so sorry for allowing her here, in your home. She’s unbelievable.” She nodded at the closed front door.

  I shook my head. “That’s not your fault.”

  “I still feel responsible.”

  “Don’t waste the effort. Part of me assumed you were exaggerating, but she is everything you described. I don’t know how you don’t just tell her off.”

  “Oh, I tried. For years. But now I see how useless that is.”

  “Is the coast clear?” Lane asked.

  We turned toward the hallway. Lane was hanging around the corner.

  “She’s gone,” Laurel said.

  Lane sighed and came all the way out. She was still wearing her pajamas. “That was a nightmare.”

  “I’m sorry, baby sis.”

  Lane hugged Laurel. “She was in rare form. I’m glad you came over. Wait.” Lane drew back. “How did you know?”

  “Cash texted.”

  Lane looked at me and nodded. “Smart.”

  “She’ll come back,” Laurel said.

  We all stared at each other and contemplated how unpleasant that would be.

  “I can just hide. Someone smart once taught me that avoidance is sometimes the healthy option.”

  “Whoever that was sounds pretty great,” I said.

  “She’s okay,” Lane said.

  “I’ll ask Robin to keep the back door open. That way you can just hide out next door.” I pointed my thumb at our shared wall.

  Lane lit up. “Would she do that?”

  “It’s honestly probably open right now anyway,” I said.

  “Cool. All right. I’m actually jumping in the shower now.” Lane took a step back toward the hallway. “Nickels is crashed on your bed.”

  “Dope.”

  A minute later, the water came on again. Laurel dropped onto the couch.

  “Jesus. You have enough blankets here?” she asked.

  “Lane likes blankets.”

  “No, I like blankets. Lane has an unhealthy need to be buried in blankets.”

  I coul
dn’t argue that. I folded half the blankets and set them to the side so I could sit next to Laurel. “So your mom is struggling.”

  “That’s a kind way of saying it.”

  “It’s not. There’s no kind way to say it. She’s self-involved. All she can see is her own pain and she’s completely unaware that her pain is irrelevant. I pity her.”

  “Yeah, see, that’s kind. I love her, but I’m struggling not to hate her.”

  I shrugged. “It’s just because I’m removed from the situation. It lends perspective.”

  “Well, I’m glad you can see it because I can’t. Thanks for helping me look at the larger picture. Not just with Mom, but my brothers too.”

  “Oh, God.” I had a sobering realization. “What’s your father like?”

  “Like Mom, but in a bespoke suit.”

  “Super.”

  “Sorry.”

  “You’ve got to stop apologizing,” I said.

  “I know. It’s just my gut reaction to the vitriol of the Kallens.”

  “I don’t think they are vitriolic; I think they are sad.” I took her hand and rubbed my thumb along her knuckles.

  “How so?”

  “Lane has plenty of emotional needs right now. Your mom, your dad, your brothers can fulfill those needs or they can make her see with startling clarity how much she does not need them. Ignoring Lane’s autonomy just highlights that her autonomy functions without them.”

  “Because she’s relearning how to function?” Laurel asked.

  I nodded. “Yeah. She could use their help, but now she’s just going for it without them. I mean, she’s at an age where she’s learning to move through the world anyway and that process is ramped up because of the assault.”

  “I can see that. College sophomore and all that.”

  “Yep. By the time your family sees that she needed them on her terms, it will be too late. Their relationship with her will be irreversibly altered.”

  “Is that what happened with you and your uncle?” Laurel asked.

  I’d wondered if Clive was going to enter this conversation. “To some extent, yes. He didn’t trust my perception. Your mom doesn’t trust Lane’s perception.”

  Laurel leaned her head back and sighed. “Emotions are hard.”

  “Hecka.”