by Beck, Jamie
“Do you mind holding down the fort while I run to the restroom?” I asked.
“Of course.” Jane took out her phone and started scrolling. I could only hope she wouldn’t post something in the darn moms’ group about my argument with Jordan.
“Be right back.” I scooted away, thinking about Grace and her family. The memories of us and our kids made me desperate to talk to her, despite what Sam had said. It’d been days. Maybe she’d answer me tonight. As soon as I turned the corner, I stopped and dialed her number. When she didn’t answer, another piece of my heart turned to dust, but hope died hard. After the beep I said, “Hey, Grace, it’s me. Rowan would like to visit Carter, and I’d love to talk to you. I miss you. You know I love you guys and want to help you through this. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for y’all, so please . . . please give me a call soon.”
I hung up, dabbing the tears from the corners of my eyes, and tucked my phone in my pocket, then went to the restroom. On my way back to the sales table, my text notifications pinged. Expecting it to be Rowan asking me to bring food home later, I checked and then stopped dead. Grace! A smile broke out as my heart sped up. I knew she’d come around.
Mimi, please stop calling. I know that you’re upset, but every time you ask me to let you help, you’re making this about what you need to feel better. Right now, the only person whose needs matter to me is my son.
My body flushed with heat while I reread the text a second and third time. She had a point, even if I hadn’t meant to make it about me. Ignoring Sam’s advice by pestering Grace for information had hardly been loving or respectful. If I kept that up, I’d only push them further away. That was the very last thing I wanted, but ultimately it would be up to Grace whether or not she’d forgive me. There wasn’t much I could do other than respect her wishes and wait.
“What’s wrong?” Jane asked.
I glanced up, thinking, What isn’t wrong? but said, “Nothing. A reminder popped up.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
GRACE
Monday afternoon, January 18
Potomac Point High School
I stopped at the visitor security desk to sign out after my meeting with Carter’s counselor and two of his teachers. Coordinating with them and Carter’s tutor at the rehab center was yet another ongoing item on my endless to-do list spanning the anticipated six weeks of rehab.
The thirty-minute-long meeting littered with condolences had been as tough as expected. I’d kept my answers to their well-meant questions about Carter’s prognosis brief and vague to avoid getting choked up. The open question of his expected recovery relentlessly gnawed at me.
“Have a good day, Mrs. Phillips,” said Terrence, whose name I knew only because of his badge. Adam Eggers normally worked the afternoon shift. Terrence had to be new.
“Thanks.” I offered a tight smile. Typically I’d introduce myself and welcome him to the school community, but I hadn’t the energy or interest today. Every second here reminded me of what my son was missing. The school lobby, with its soaring plate glass and terrazzo floors, might as well have been a jail for how badly I wanted to escape. “You too.”
While I fished for my keys and headed toward the door, a familiar voice caught me unaware.
“Grace,” Roni called out. “Wait up!”
I snapped my head up as she closed the attendance office door behind her fifty yards down the hallway. John’s mother in living color. Every part of my body flushed. If I could’ve run through the front doors, I would’ve, but my legs were numb. Somehow I forced my feet to move, punching open the lobby door while she signed herself out.
Wind whipped my hair around my face, and the dazzling winter sun blinded me. I’d parked at the far end of the visitor lot. Roni raced through the door behind me, moving at twice my speed. Nevertheless, I aimed for my car. What was it with people ignoring my request to be left alone?
Before I got there, Roni’s hand grazed me from behind. “Grace, please. Give me a minute.”
Stilled by her brashness, I closed my eyes and remained facing forward. “What do you want, Roni?”
“We haven’t had a chance to talk since everything happened. How’s Carter doing?”
The lack of contrition in her voice caused me to turn on her. “I don’t want to discuss this with you—especially not while criminal charges are pending.”
She winced, no doubt surprised by my curtness. “I heard that Carter regained some movement in his legs, so he’ll walk again. Is that true?”
Had I believed her concern was for Carter rather than how his prognosis could impact John’s sentence, maybe I would’ve been kinder. Doubtful, but that’s a pointless debate. “We don’t know if he’ll walk again—it’s too soon to tell. All we do know is that he’ll be in pain for months to come, and rehab until at least late February.”
Roni clutched her purse against her stomach, shaking her head grimly. “That Mimi. This is all her fault.”
Wow. Lord knew Mimi played a role, but did Roni exonerate her son from what he’d done? “All Mimi’s fault?”
“Of course.” Roni’s head twitched like a bird’s. “Her and those parties.”
My spine became more rigid than the flagpole behind Roni while my veins filled with ice. Mimi wasn’t perfect, but she wasn’t a phony, two-faced bitch, either. Roni had no right to criticize her, least of all to me. To my knowledge, Roni let John attend those parties, and Mimi wasn’t the one who’d raised a bully. “Did Mimi force John to drink? Did she tell him to pick on my son?”
“They were joking around, Grace. Not picking on Carter,” Roni said, defending her son with a dismissive hand wave. “Boys being boys. Surely you get that . . .”
“Boys being boys?” I repeated blankly, staring over her head as if a thought bubble had popped up for me to read those words again. Those damned words. “Is that what you call assault? Because Carter didn’t ask them to touch him.” When Roni blinked uncertainly, I added, “The week before that party, John and his teammates were harassing kids—including Carter—because you all convinced them they were owed those field house upgrades. I doubt it’s a coincidence that, for the first time ever, they invited Carter to a party. I think they lured him there. Maybe they only meant to humiliate him, but your son and Deshaun are directly responsible for my son’s injuries.”
“If Carter felt threatened, why did he go?” Any traces of compassion in her tone vanished, replaced by something flinty. “He’s not blameless. He was there drinking, too.”
“Actually, the blood tests proved he wasn’t drinking.” I let that sink in. “Carter went because he’d naively hoped to make new friends.”
The look on Carter’s pleading face from that morning juxtaposed with the pained one from Mimi’s basement floor replayed like a warped slideshow, momentarily distracting me. I rubbed my aching chest, almost forgetting about Roni.
She shrugged. “Well, obviously Carter doesn’t think the boys purposely pushed him or the cops would’ve filed different charges, so thankfully the boys have a chance at a reasonable plea bargain.”
She sounded proud—not merely relieved—that her son would skate by with little consequence. I knew I shouldn’t say a word, but I couldn’t stop myself. “By all means, plead down your son’s charges, Roni. Why make him learn anything? I’m hardly shocked. John hasn’t even apologized to Carter.” At least Rowan had sent a text that night—not that it had changed much. The difference between Mimi’s contrite behavior and Roni’s could not be starker, which said a lot about Mimi (nothing I didn’t already know). While I didn’t think Rowan should visit Carter yet, the sincerity in Mimi’s recent voice mail had been impossible to ignore. Hearing her voice had made me miss her even more, but protecting Carter and his potential claims against these people mattered more than our friendship. “Does John even care that he’s created a lifetime of back problems for Carter? Do you?”
“Of course we care. We’re all rooting for him. But be reasonable, Grace. Teenagers make
dumb mistakes. That doesn’t make them bad people.” She raised her arms out wide.
My blood heated like lava as my right hand fisted. The itch to punch Roni made me hardly recognize myself. She hadn’t wanted to hear anything I had to say; she’d only wanted the chance to defend her son. This was exactly why I didn’t want to speak to her or Jordan.
As someone who’d never forgiven myself for allowing my sister’s downward spiral to accelerate, I couldn’t fathom the free passes others were quick to give themselves. Was I crazy or were they? I might begin to feel better if I let go of this blame but couldn’t imagine that. Not while Carter was suffering. I turned toward my car without another word, my ears roaring as my blood pressure spiked.
“Grace . . . ,” Roni called. I braced for her arm to brush my back again, but she let me go.
After unlocking my door, I fell onto the driver’s seat, glad to seal myself inside, where I could block out lame excuses. In other circumstances, I might’ve swung by Mimi’s shop to vent about Roni. Today I was on my own. I couldn’t even trust Sam not to lecture me about my attitude.
Two calming breaths later, although still shaky, I backed out of my parking space. When I remembered Roni’s boast about pleading down the criminal charge, my vision blurred for a second.
Everyone else cared more about protecting the perpetrators than getting justice for my son.
Ironically, echoes of Mimi’s past advice bounced around my head, pressing me to fight. Ordering me not to put up with people’s BS the way my mom had always rolled over. Urging me not to bow down to bullies like my dad, who’d always gotten away with whatever he wanted. With each block of my drive, my outrage became more maniacal, leading me to veer into the parking lot of the imposing three-story brick police station.
Nothing and no one would deter my mission. Officer Martinez—his name had been emblazoned on my brain since first meeting him in Mimi’s basement, not to mention our debate in Carter’s hospital room. A cursory glance around the lobby proved fruitless, so I approached the officer at the front desk. “Hello. Is Officer Martinez available? I’d like to speak with him about the investigation involving my son, Carter Phillips.”
“Hang on, hon,” she said before turning and taking a few steps away from the desk to call into some room that I couldn’t see. “Yo, Rodri. Lady here to see you about the Phillips case.”
I heard men’s quiet laughter before Officer Martinez rounded the bend. The sudden rise of his brow suggested he’d been expecting someone else. For the first time since turning in to the station parking lot, I tensed, uncertain.
No. I had to fight for my son.
He approached me slowly. “Your son . . . how’s he doing?”
I coughed into my fist. “The doctors won’t make promises, but Carter’s regained feeling in his legs, so we’re cautiously optimistic. He’ll remain in a Baltimore rehab for several weeks.”
“It must be hard to have him away for so long, but that sounds encouraging . . . about his legs, I mean.” He crossed his arms. While I considered how to proceed, he asked, “What can I do for you today?”
The unvarnished truth was that I wanted everyone involved to feel Carter’s pain. My only regret was that group included my friend and a boy I’d helped raise. This wasn’t the first time I’d faced this predicament. Margot had been like Mimi, loving me yet inadvertently hurting me with her bad decisions and behavior. Those years had primed me for my heart’s current conflict.
“Can I have the police report—the whole thing, not the summary? I want to see the interview notes and whatever else you have.” I gripped my purse strap with both hands, my pulse kicking.
Despite his very kind eyes, he shook his head. “I’m sorry. You’re not entitled to all that evidence. But rest assured, it will be reviewed by the ADA.”
My body deflated from yet another dead end. Another person protecting the guilty rather than helping me. “Why doesn’t anyone care that those boys had been bullying Carter all week? Maybe they didn’t plan for things to go this far, but that doesn’t mean they had no intention of hurting him. And if they intended some harm, and Carter didn’t start the ‘horseplay,’ explain again why they’re only charged with reckless endangerment?”
Officer Martinez gestured toward a bench in the lobby. “Mrs. Phillips—”
“Grace.” That was my name, although I didn’t feel like myself lately. Being disconnected from Sam, Mimi, and even Carter had left me equally disconnected from myself.
“Grace, I understand your frustration. Unfortunately, like I told you before, our investigation—which includes statements from your son—suggests that these kids had no intention of pushing him down those stairs, thus the lesser charge.”
“But those boys were drinking and have a vested interest in self-protection. How can you trust anything they say or even their memories of what happened?”
He leaned closer, speaking in a soft tone. “Do you trust your son?”
I stared in silence because he’d trapped me. I trusted Carter as much as anyone could trust a teen, but in my worst, weakest moments, I wished he would’ve trusted me—respected my experience—when I’d warned him about the dangers of going to that party. It wasn’t a fair thought. I was the parent and should not have been dissuaded. Yet living out my worst fears brought out the worst in me.
“Yes, but he’s not popular, so he doesn’t want to escalate things. Maybe he’s even afraid of what else they might do if he does. Did you consider that?”
He tipped his head to one side. “I tried to suss all that out when we spoke. If he wants to change his statement, I’ll talk to him again. But you should know none of the texts or other accounts suggest any kind of conspiracy. Most kids were surprised to see your son there.”
My eyes stung. In what kind of world should my bright, kind boy be unpopular while ruthless bullies reigned? I resented that Carter’s adherence to my values made him uncool. “I don’t understand why Mimi and Rowan aren’t in more trouble for hosting this party.”
“Rowan’s got a juvie hearing coming up. As for Mrs. Gillette, she didn’t give permission for that party and wasn’t present, so she didn’t break any laws.”
“Not that night, anyway,” I muttered, feeling a little guilty for throwing her under the bus. She had plenty of wonderful traits, but like my mother years ago, she’d created an environment that enabled bad behavior. I couldn’t erase that from my memory as if it weren’t true, as much as I didn’t want to resent her as I’d resented my mother most of my life.
Officer Martinez rubbed his thighs with a sigh before offering a sympathetic smile. “In my experience, everyone makes mistakes now and then. She seems genuinely sorry. I know your family is suffering, and I’m sorry that you don’t feel that your son will get justice, but I’ve got to go by the evidence, and in this case, it supports only reckless endangerment charges.”
I swallowed, defeated again. “You know John’s and Deshaun’s parents will lawyer up. Their kids will get off with a fine—one their parents will pay. Meanwhile, my son is looking at a lifetime of pain.” I dabbed my eyes with a tissue, my face heating from embarrassment.
“I really am sorry about that.” He turned his hands over as if helpless, having probably seen worse miscarriages of justice in his career. “You can make a victim impact statement to make sure the judge knows the seriousness of your son’s injuries.”
I sat straighter, newly encouraged. “Is there a form?”
He shook his head. “Typically that’s made in court at the sentencing.”
“But what if they plead out and there isn’t any formal sentencing?”
“I’m not a lawyer, ma’am. You should contact the prosecutor’s office with your concerns.” He drew a breath and clucked. “But, Mrs. Phillips, would you mind a little advice from someone who’s seen a lot of stuff go down around town?”
“Sure.” I braced because his tone suggested his opinions wouldn’t be soothing.
“As bad as every
thing is—and I know it’s bad—your family will be living in this community going forward. You might think about whether making things worse for others will help your son get better or make it easier for him to go back to school when the time comes.”
He sounded so much like my husband I blinked. Carter would not want me to make things worse. In fact, my meddling might be partly to blame for how we got here in the first place. If I’d stayed out of the budget debate like he’d asked—like my mother had warned—he would not be hurt. Same with my asking Mimi to get Rowan to talk to his teammates. With so little experience asserting myself, I’d yet to find the balance between doing so safely and pushing too far.
I felt stuck, strangely unsure of right and wrong. Then I recalled the time my mom had made an excuse to Margot’s teacher when questioned about my sister’s broken arm. The shame of my silence back then resurfaced. I hadn’t spoken up for my sister, so my dad got away with hurting her. Worse, he’d remained free to do it again with impunity . . . until he hadn’t. How might she have been different if that hadn’t been true?
I shivered.
I’d always believed that our choices, not fate, determined the outcome. For so long I’d kept the peace, believing that strong reactions would lead to more danger. But in truth, my mom had chosen the path of least resistance, and things still went wrong. Was Mimi right? Was fate unalterable? Was no one to blame? If so, I knew I should let go and forgive. Mend things with Sam and Mimi and put my life back together. Yet if I did that, might Carter ultimately end up disappointed that I didn’t take a stand for him? As much as I missed Mimi, our friendship wasn’t worth risking my son’s lifelong resentment.
“I’ll think about your advice,” I promised, rising from the bench.
Officer Martinez stood as well. “Good luck to you. I hope your son has a speedy and full recovery.”
