by Sharon Haste
She's sobbing when they land back in the room, and she is breathless from the swim and another attempt at resuscitation. She runs to the bathroom and slams the door, trying to make sense of it and wanting to fling the necklace against the wall. Every failed attempt cuts as deep as the first time. The cross winks at her, mocking her inept performance, while someone pounds on the door.
'Can I come in?'
Jael.
'Just a minute,' she says. She splashes water on her face and is shocked by the image in the mirror: pale skin, gaunt face, dishevelled hair, and red, swollen eyes from crying. She smells like dirty water, and her muscles ache. She swings the door open to both boys; they are wide-eyed on the other side.
'Well that was a complete waste of time,' she says. 'The police didn't even show up; they were no help at all.'
The boys shake their heads without speaking.
'Sorry,' Jael says. 'Bad idea.'
'Worth a try though,' she says, frustration welling inside. What did they care? It was she who suffered every time they went back. She was the one who relived the silent ebbing of her family's lives, the pain gnawing at her like a rat trying to burrow its way through her gut. She wants to scream, the feelings storming through her. She contains it, holding back, and slumps to the floor in numb despair.
Is Tobi reading the paper? For Pete's sake, how can he focus on words when I'm falling apart? How can he be so selfish? She glances at the page on the floor between them, and her eyes pop. She snatches the paper into her fist. There they are, the four of them, arranged to delight the onlooker. She remembers the photographer fussing for twenty minutes, fluffing skirts and hair. They look perfect, healthy, tanned, slender, and smiling—the epitome of societal expectations. Her crazy, desperate feelings explode as she scrunches the photo in her fist. The funeral is tomorrow.
'I'm going,' she declares, throwing the paper across the room. 'I have to be there.'
The room thickens with tension, and their silence chokes the air from the every corner.
'Charli...'
'I'm going. You can't stop me,' she insists, raising her eyebrows at Tobi and giving what she knows is a death stare. She'd practised it for a play in ninth grade and knew she rocked it like nobody else.
It silenced him, his mouth working like a guppy thrown to the floor.
'Charli, there'll be cops all over the place. Why are we bothering to hide in this shit hole? You may as well turn yourself in,' Jael says.
'I'm responsible for what happened to them. I have to go,' she says, her voice rising. 'It doesn't matter what happens to me.'
'They want ya to go. Why else would they stick it on page three?' Tobi says, finding his voice.
'I don't care,' Charli says.
'You'll care when they haul your ass into Delany Juvenile,' Jael retorts, starting to pace.
'What are they gonna do to me in there? I'm already as good as dead.' She's on her feet, pacing the room with her demons clawing to get out.
'You have no idea,' Jael yells. 'They will eat a spoilt little brat like you for breakfast. The girls in there don't go to some prissy private school. They've lived rough lives and have learned how to defend themselves.'
She stares at him. Did he call me a brat?
'You don't have to stay. I can do it on my own,' she spits.
'I'd be surprised if you ever did anything on your own.'
She stops, hating that he's right, but she is too angry to admit it. I'm not useless; I can do things, lots of things. Just nothing that matters right now. It isn't my fault I have a good home. Jesus, I can't win! It sucks if you have a poor background, and it sucks if you have a good one. I'm not a brat.
Her teeth clench so tight that she's grinding them and working her jaw. She is barely containing the white-hot anger building inside her. She turns to the door and walks straight through. She slams it hard behind her. Outside she stops and peers into the dark, breathing hard. Shit. What am I doing? I have nowhere to go. I can't go home, to my friends, or anywhere. She thinks about the girls at school, imagining what they would do and what their parents would do. 'We just have to call your father and make sure he knows you're all right.' They are well-meaning, responsible, and law-abiding people. She can't blame them. Her own father would do the same.
She slides to the ground, realising she's stuck. She looks back at the door of number forty-four and knows the boys behind it are all she has now. They have helped her without question, stood by her, and even put themselves at risk to keep her safe and hidden. And they don't even know her. With a jolt, she realises they're true friends. The type of friends she wanted to have in her future. She thinks about having them over for dinner and hanging out with them in her pool. She imagines Ash leaping in and trying for the biggest splash and her mum bringing them drinks and chatting about the weather. She stops, no longer wanting to walk away, and drops to the step, her anger dissipating. The door clicks behind her, and she feels someone there. Jael lowers himself to the step, inches away. They sit in silence, the air thick between them.
'You need us, girl.'
She nods, knowing it's true. 'I know. I'm sorry.'
They sit in silence for a few minutes until the tension dissolves. Jael rises to his feet and extends an arm to help her up.
'Friends?' she asks, still holding his hand after she got up.
'Friends,' he says as they turn and walk back into the room.
There's a mixture of hope and fear on Tobi's face when he looks up. She smiles at him, and he grins back.
'Can you help me?' she asks, testing the waters again.
'With what?' asks Tobi.
'The funeral.'
'How do you think you can pull it off?' Jael asks, a slight edge to his voice.
'I'm sorry, Jael. I know it's a bad idea, but I have to say goodbye, just in case I never see them again.' Her voice trails off.
'What did you have in mind?'
'I was thinking of changing the way I look, like my hair and clothes.'
'Like how?' Tobi asks.
'Maybe cut it short and dye it blonde.'
'Who’s gonna do that?' Tobi's eyes are on Jael. 'I ain't touching it.'
Jael shrugs. 'Are you sure you wanna do this? It'll take ages to grow back, and I ain't a stylist; it'll look pretty bad.'
'It's my family.' She softens her voice and opens her eyes wide. 'A small sacrifice to be there, wouldn't you say? It's only hair.'
'They'll recognise your face, Charli. You've gotta be mad to think you're gonna pull this off. How many cops do ya think your dad will have there? Half the Delany force will be there to bring you in. You're not gonna be able to help them when you're locked up.' His frustration is etched into every word, but she has her father's stubborn streak and just digs her heels in harder.
'Whether you help me is your choice, but I'm going whether you like it or not. It's my decision. They're all I have in this world, and I can't let them leave it without saying goodbye. It's not right.'
'Do you ever listen to reason? I've never met anyone so stubborn. You are so dumb for a smart chick,' Jael says.
She's stunned. Nobody has ever spoken to her like that. She's always been able to do whatever she wants; her mum was a pushover and always convinced her father for her.
'You don't have to like it. As I said, it's my choice.'
'Okay, I'll help, but I'm telling you now, at the first sign of trouble, I'm outta there. I don't want to be arrested for hanging with a badass criminal.'
She smiles at his words. Am I a badass?
The air clears as she starts listing the things she'll need.
'How're we supposed to remember all that?' Tobi whines.
'I'll write it down.' She scribbles a list on the edge of the newspaper and hands it to Jael, who is the more trustworthy of the two.
'No drama,' Tobi says, leaning over Jael's shoulder to scrutinise the note with his eyebrows rising.
'Got it covered,' Jael says with a wink. She smiles at him, hoping
they won't have any problems getting the right stuff.
'Oh, you'll need a pair of sharp scissors, too,' she says, fingering her long, dark hair.
Jael frowns and nods. 'No worries.'
They are just about to leave when Jael steps in front of her, and grabs her shoulders.
'Don't open this for anyone,' he instructs, nodding toward the door. His black eyes bore into her, making her pay attention. 'Nobody. Is that clear?' His tone suggests it's not a question, and she nods, affirming her compliance. Satisfied, he tugs the door open and disappears, hot air rushing in before the door slams shut. A crack of thunder peals across the sky, matching her mood. The blood whooshes in her ears as she stares at the door, her eyes drifting over the lifting paint and faded mould in the corners. She steps back, the edge of the bed meeting her thighs, and lowers herself to its soft centre. She dozes; the missing pieces jolting her back to the room.
The night of the party troubles her. Who was there that shouldn't be? Who wanted to hurt my family? She thinks back to the night, trying to find the missing link but failing yet again. She wasn't taking any notice of what was going on around her. All she cared about was her friends and having fun. She has no clue who could have wanted to harm them or why her mother's car ended up in the lake that night. She strains to remember what she drank, ate, and who got her drinks. She wasn't careful; she had no reason to be. She never thought anyone would want to hurt her. Why would she?
Her father's words lash at her then, cutting into raw emotion. She replays them over again—punishing herself for being alive, for living a good life, and for not being enough. 'I didn't ask for her to be born.' Why was he talking to Rebekah about me? The recollection juxtaposes with a childhood, which was filled with memories of pleasure and delight. She remembers his hands lifting her above the waves, the salty breeze in her hair, and the chill of the water stealing her breath. She recalls his tongue licking the drips of her ice cream, sucking her little fingers and making her wriggle like a treasured pup. She remembers his roaring cheers as she makes her first basket in junior league, lifting her onto his shoulders after the game. She also recalls the first time she saw Cinderella on the big screen. It was a rescreening of the original cartoon she'd seen dozens of times on the television at home, but she loved it. The shimmering gown, glass slippers, and Prince Charming were made even more magical with buttered popcorn and her parents on either side. For as long as she can remember, she had been surrounded by his light and his love, filling her up and keeping her safe. She never once thought of not being loved or wanted.
Her mind wanders back to her first years of school and a girl called Zena. Nobody wanted to be her, and everybody picked on her, even the teachers. Charli wonders what makes someone so unlovable while those around them are popular. Why did people like her but not Zena? She wasn't from a bad home; her father was a respected businessman around town. But there it was. They never laughed at her jokes, made her feel included, or applauded her achievements. She was a loner and lonely. She was pushed aside by the swell of kids in her school who all thought they were something. A pang of guilt, remorse, something else worms its way into her memories as she tries to come to terms with the pain of losing her father's love.
Suddenly she remembers the first day of school. Her heart cantered and her knobby knees rattled as she hesitated at the gates. Uncertainty etched into her every pore as a sea of lemon-scented kids swarmed on all sides; the air charged with their excitement and nerves. Her father's hand kept her from streaking out the gates toward home. His warm hand engulfed her fingers and steered her through the wave of bodies to the smiling Mrs Browning. He'd always been her rock, and now she felt abandoned. With her family torn apart, she doesn't know what to do. She chokes with sobs and drifts off into another night of too-familiar misery.
Chapter Fifteen
Almost two decades earlier, in a small suburban hospital, a young girl breathed away her pain. She was glad she was a long way from home. She knew her secret was safe among these strangers. She deliberately chose somewhere away from her home state to keep her secret safe and avoid any media attention or scandal. She knew it was not very likely, but she didn’t want to take the chance. Her father was too well-connected.
She panted; her brow was moist with sweat, and her body was straining. The wave of pain in her belly slowed and passed, and she flopped over the mound of pillows resting on her knees. The midwife whispered encouragement in her ear and offered her a sip of water. The girl sucked at the straw as the next wave built up. She focused on a crack in the wall, moaning and rising to her knees. Her face scrunched with effort, and she bore down, urging her baby into the world. Part of her wanted to hold on to it and keep it inside forever. Tears formed as she thought of her baby nestled in the sanctuary of her body, belonging only to her. She stopped pushing and breathed the pain away, keeping the baby to herself for just another minute. But all too soon, there was a tiny thatch of dark hair that morphed into a wrinkled brow, tiny blinking eyes, shoulders, and a long body. The baby offered a small sigh to the world with eyes open and fists waving.
The midwife passed the wet infant to the girl. Instinct thrust her arms forward and around the slippery bundle, pulling the baby to her breast. Another midwife helped her turn and rest back against the mound of pillows, nestling the baby in the crook of her arm. She felt a rush of pure joy and euphoria. Tears spilled down her cheeks. The child lay placid against her bare skin. Dark eyes blinked in the light, and the mouth sucked on her fist. The young mother's eyes searched hungrily over her prize. Long lashes fanned the infant's smooth, round cheeks; the baby had a rosebud mouth and delicate skin. It was a girl. She ran shaking fingertips over the shock of dark hair and soft scalp. The tiny fingers of one hand curled around her own, tugging at her heart. They stared, each drinking the other in.
The midwife placed yellow booties on the infant's feet and a tiny beanie over the dark hair. She hovered, fussing over the duo. She was waiting with a deceptive calm to claim the baby before a bond was forged. The girl caught her looking, and her bubble burst. Her heart sped up, and her arms tightened around her child. Guilt brought fresh tears, and she stared through them at her daughter. The dark eyes were upon her, weaving a spell that bonds mother and child. She was overcome by the instinct to protect her baby, and the baby smiled at her, causing her to almost give in and tell the midwife that she changed her mind. But her focus cleared in an instant. She thought of her future and everyone else's expectations, and she thrust the baby towards the midwife's arms. She scooped her up and tucked her close to her chest. The baby started to scream, and the girl just stared as the midwife asked if she were sure. She hesitated, reaching for her baby one last time and placing a soft kiss on her brow. She silenced the infant with a single touch.
'I love you,' she whispered. 'I will always love you.'
Tears tumbled as she watched them go, a tiny pink foot kicking free from the blanket as they rounded the corner. She gritted her teeth and swiped a lock of hair behind her ear. She forced herself to remain on the bed, resisting the urge to run after them and fight to keep her little one. She knew it would ruin her life and the dreams and hopes she had for the future. She thought of Thomas, and for a fleeting moment, she wondered if she could make him believe the child was his and help her realise her dream of being a family.
She wrapped empty arms around her barren belly, silent tears washing her cheeks, and a small yellow bootie clutched in one fist. She signed the papers a few days later with her hands shaking and her leaking breasts screaming for her newborn daughter. Her mind was a mental fog of despair. A taxi whisked her from the hospital to the airport, where she caught a flight back to her other life. She spent the next two weeks in her room: sleeping, picking at food, and pining for the little girl who grew inside her belly for nine long months, for the family life she dreamed of, and for Thomas to want her as much as she wanted him.
Chapter Sixteen
Sam mulls over her meeting with Edward Attenbo
rough, wondering about the secret that had William Fox concerned enough to protect his fortune from Thomas. Where do you start looking for the skeletons in someone's closet? Are they financial or personal? She dials the precinct to talk to a colleague who's got a knack for finding little secrets. She's always pulling favours from him, suspecting he wants to do more than help her career. She thinks about asking him for a drink, her heart beating faster at the thought. He's cute, has an awesome body, and always makes her laugh. She could do worse. She flirts with him for a bit before asking him to hunt down some dirt on Thomas. She's just about to hang up when she blurts out her invitation. Her face splits into a grin when he accepts, and they organise drinks for the following night. There's a skip in her step when she heads north to Hart Street and Rebekah Lopez. She parks in front of a sweeping two-storey home with manicured lawns and variegated foliage. She enters across a broad-shaded portico and presses the bell.
A stunning, olive-skinned woman answers the door with a bewildered look on her face. Sam introduces herself, and Rebekah smiles, stepping aside to usher her through the door. The entry is cool with white walls, bright artwork, and an empty coat rack. She follows Rebekah's sashaying hips to an open-plan living room that is furnished in Mediterranean colours and styles. Her taste for quality is evident in every element of the room, from the plush, white rug to the bright cushions on the red settee.
'Would you like a drink, detective?' she asks with a slight accent. 'I've just made a jug of margaritas.'
'Thank you. Just water for me,' Sam says.
'Have a seat. I won't be a moment.'
While waiting for Rebekah, she casts an eye around. She thinks of her small, two-bedroom apartment, complete with mismatched furniture and dust bunnies in every corner. There's a pang of guilt for her own neglected abode as she takes in the immaculate floor and dust-free furniture. She promises herself to clean during the weekend.
Rebekah announces her return with the clinking of ice in two tall glasses. She sinks into the red settee, opposite Sam, curling her legs around her. The air conditioner hums on the opposite wall, cooling the room, and Sam can hear the faint beat of music drifting from the back of the house.
