“What do you need?” she asked, reluctant to give up any precious seconds that could be spent getting closer to some answers. As they pulled away, Veronica waved goodbye with a little tip of her fingers at the headstone she hadn’t gotten to visit that day.
“You’re going to think I’m crazy,” Gillian said as she sped out of the cemetery right in front of an approaching car, going slightly faster than Veronica would’ve liked.
“I don’t think I have a leg to stand on when it comes to crazy. I’m just worried about time; that’s all.” She was trying to be kind to Gillian, fully recognizing that routinely she’d been nothing less than terrible to the woman sitting beside her—a woman who had no obligation to her and who was putting herself at risk just staying by her side. Through all her judgments of Gillian’s external appearance and the overly emotional moments in the waiting room of Lisa’s office, it had taken Gillian’s steadfast friendship during this chaos of a day to really see her. Behind the tattered, flashy clothes and sometimes needy exterior, inside she was one of the strongest people Veronica had ever met.
“You know what,” Veronica said, tugging at her seat belt till the sliding buckle over her shoulder was in the right position. “Whatever you think is fine. I trust you.”
Gillian’s lips turned up, and she seemed to sit somewhat taller in her seat. Veronica wondered how long she’d been treated like a “less than” person in her life. Veronica promised herself that she wouldn’t be one of those people ever again.
Gillian’s home was close. They pulled into the neighborhood in a matter of minutes. Streets were lined with small, tidy houses from the 1950s. Well, some of the houses were tidy, with neatly painted wooden siding and large oak trees dripping with moss. But there were others protected by tall metal fences, with grass that was the color of straw.
There was one at the end of the street that stood out even among the variety of the homes. It had the same “bones” as the rest of the houses, the tattered ones and the neat ones, but this one wasn’t just neglected—it was abused. Once upon a time, it had been a small white Cape Cod with blue shutters and a black tar roof, but now the shutters were faded so badly that they were nearly gray, the siding was missing streaks of paint that had sloughed off in great strips like a peeling sunburn, and the roof looked like it’d been struck by a windstorm, missing whole tiles in sections that must leak when it rained.
Don’t let that be her house, Veronica thought, but somehow she already knew the truth. As Gillian barreled down that road, Veronica knew they were headed straight to the driveway that matched the house, cracked and threaded with sprouts of grass breaking through. A car covered with a tarp was up on blocks, obstructing the garage in the rear of the house.
That was probably one of the cars Christopher was working on before he died. Gillian said he was a mechanical whiz. Now all she had was a pile of metal and a house filled with reminders of what it used to be like when it was filled with the child who loved her. The thought made Veronica crazy. This could very easily be her future. If she lost Sophie forever, would she turn into Gillian? Not this strong, brave Gillian, but the woman Veronica had judged so harshly and labeled as a failure in life?
“Can we hurry?” she asked, the feeling of anxiety crawling up her like bugs on her skin.
“Just give me a second; that’s all it’ll take.” Gillian looked at Veronica as she parked her car in the street in front of her house, leaving it running. Veronica had a momentary concern that they would run out of gas at some point because of all the idling, but the needle pointed to half a tank. She still had twenty-four dollars left, and that should at least get them back and forth from Durham if the car didn’t sit running for much longer.
These were strange thoughts, ones that Veronica could never get used to. She didn’t know how people planned out crimes and pursued them for excitement or profit, because this feeling of dread and anticipation was only made bearable by the thought of bringing her baby home and making things right with her mother.
“If we can leave in fifteen minutes, we should get there before it starts getting dark. I think it would be a lot easier to search for Sophie with the sun still up,” she said, and wanted to add “and a lot less scary” but didn’t want to lose the one person still willing to stay by her side.
“Sounds good. I’ll hurry.” Gillian hefted herself out of the car and jogged up her driveway. In a matter of seconds, she disappeared into a side door that could barely be seen from the street. Veronica took out her phone and plugged it into the charger that Gillian had purchased for her from Walmart.
The battery was already getting low, and that phone had to stay charged. It was their lifeline. It kept them connected to Mark, and it kept them on a path that hopefully would lead to Sophie. She quickly forwarded the information from Mark on her phone to Gillian’s phone number with a brief spark of preservation; that way if anything happened to her phone, they’d have a backup.
As the battery began to fill and the messages pushed from her phone to Gillian’s, she scanned her text messages, looking for something, anything from her mother. Nothing. A sinking feeling of dread clutched at her chest. Where in the hell did she go? If she was hurt, why didn’t she get help? If she was angry, why didn’t she at least reach out and yell or scream or accuse? The silence was lethal to any calm Veronica forced on her addled mind. Right now she’d take anything but silence. Anything.
She pulled the phone in as close as the charging cord would allow and started to type “Are you okay?” but then remembered her mom’s phone was sitting in the middle of the nest of officers and detectives. The phone. Couldn’t they track her with the phone? If Barb DeCarlo had come home, surely Veronica would’ve heard something by now. She knew that the police thought Veronica might be some sort of murderer or abuser, but her mother knew better. Her mother saw the way she cared for her child, provided food for her and clean clothing. She would tell them that, wouldn’t she? She’d have to take the risk and turn off her phone, at least for now. Couldn’t leave any possible trail behind her if she could help it.
Before pressing and holding the “Power” button on the side of the phone, her fingers hovered over the photo icon. She wanted to look at pictures of Sophie, to remember her smile and maybe watch the videos that her mother had taken of Sophie clapping and laughing, but the idea also cut at her and kept her from touching that screen. How could she look at that baby face without knowing where she was?
She curled her fingers back and shut the phone down completely until it felt dead in her hands and then rested it in the sticky cup holder on the passenger side of the car. She wasn’t ready, not yet. Not until she knew these weren’t the last videos she’d ever see of her baby’s smile and chubby fingers shoving a teething ring into her mouth.
A loud pounding sounded on the passenger-side window. For the first time in hours, she’d let her guard down, and in the time it took for her eyes to travel from the phone to the window, she was sure she’d been caught. Heart in her throat, she didn’t know whether to be relieved or frightened when she saw a large, heavyset man standing on the other side of her car door, wearing tan coveralls and his face a deeper shade of red than Veronica’s burgundy dress.
“Who the hell are you?” the man demanded, pounding again on the window. “Where is Gillian? She locked me out of my own house. I have stuff in there, and I have a legal right to get it. Where the hell is she?”
This must be the delightful ex-husband. With a deep breath, she shouted through the window, mimicking his tone. “Who the hell are you?”
“I’m Gillian’s husband. I pay for this goddamned house. She gets to stay here for free while I’m sleeping on some loser’s couch. Is she acting like she’s single now?”
Veronica was confused, not catching all the details the night before about Gillian’s divorce, but this man sure seemed to match her description of Carl’s charming personality and less-than-well-groomed appearance. Veronica found herself feeling impressed at t
he fact that Gillian had left this disaster of a human. God, she was proud of her.
Carl wasn’t leaving, and if he kept pounding on the window, it would either break or someone from a neighboring house would call the police.
“You’re causing a scene,” she said through the glass, but that only made him shout louder.
“What?”
“Shut up!” she shouted, popping the door open and kicking it hard. It hit Carl in the belly, making him let out a string of swear words. She slammed the car door and took a step toward the man, her nose coming no higher than his chest.
“I’m Gillian’s friend, and I don’t think you have any say in her life anymore. As far as I can tell, you’re nothing more to her than a bad memory.” Veronica wished she were a man in that moment and could shove Carl back a little, but she recoiled, remembering the last time she shoved someone and the sickening crack after.
Carl did not take well to Veronica’s show of strength. He was clearly a man who didn’t like strong women. That was probably why he fell for Gillian in the first place—and why he didn’t love the new Gillian at all.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about. This is my house, and I have every right to be here. I’ve been waiting in my car since the sun came up, and she’s been nowhere to be found. Then I went to take a piss and come back, and her shitty car is parked out front like she hadn’t missed our appointment. Did she tell you that she finally got the divorce she wanted? She wanted all this but can’t even show up. The judge said I could get my shit today. I’m tired of waiting. If that bitch doesn’t get out here soon, then you should get your pretty little ass in there and tell her I’m going to burn the place down.”
Veronica put her hand over her mouth and pretended she was coughing to hide her amusement. Today was not the day to cross Veronica Shelton. Today, anything that stood in her way was going to come crashing down one way or another.
“Yeah, I don’t think I’m going to be telling her that. If this is all legal and aboveboard, maybe you should call the police instead of threatening arson,” she bluffed. “But you don’t want that, do you? I think you know that if the police get involved, she can get a restraining order.”
He crossed his arms and scoffed. “Yeah, like she has the guts or the money for that.”
Veronica let a sly smile bloom across her face.
“Well, she might not, but I certainly do,” she said, gritting her teeth and standing as tall as her five-foot-two frame would allow her. After all, if this man came after her, she could run. She was a fast runner.
But instead of backing off or slinking away to his hidden vehicle, he looked Veronica up and down as if he knew what she looked like naked.
“I always knew Gillian was butch,” he said, chuckling, “but I never knew she was a queer.”
Veronica’s fingernails dug into her skin, fury building with every second, her muscles tensing, and all the frustration and anger she had been pushing away now came to the surface and built up inside her muscles like a superpower. She raised her clenched fist, cleared her mind of the visions of blood on the floor and the sound her mother made when Veronica had pushed her; then she used all the power collected inside her biceps to hit Carl square in the jaw.
Her hand exploded with pain as the loud crack echoed in the air. Fighting back a wail, she grabbed her wrist and cradled it against her chest, rocking and trying to breathe slowly. Carl’s head snapped back from the blow. He opened his mouth to test his jaw, rubbing the spot where her knuckles hit his skin, and then, with a deep sniff, he turned his head back and quickly stared down Veronica.
“Why, you little bitch,” he said, letting his hand drop, revealing a red spot on his jawline. He said it with a fury that made Veronica wish her hand didn’t hurt so badly or that the car wasn’t directly behind her. He put his arms on either side of her body, hands resting beside her on the car. She was trapped.
“You think you can hit me? You think you can insult me? What the hell is wrong with women nowadays?” He started by talking low and slow and then building, like a tide crashing in on the shore. Veronica cringed, her muscles tightening like she was trying to become as compact as possible until she disappeared. No wonder Gillian had learned how to become a nothing person. This man made Veronica want to be nothing, because if she were nothing, then maybe he wouldn’t hurt her. “This is my house. My house. And I don’t care what you and my nasty wife are doing together, but you are not going to keep me away from it. Let’s go find Gillian.” He wrapped his thick fingers around Veronica’s arm at the elbow, pain reverberating down to her wrist and hand, still tender from her attempt at self-defense.
“You’re hurting me,” she gasped.
“Yeah, and your fist felt like butterfly wings,” he replied under his breath, yanking her across the front yard with zero attempt at being covert. “Gillian!” he shouted. “Get your fat ass out here!”
Veronica started to struggle against Carl’s iron grasp, but all it did was make him dig in harder. Her feet were having a hard time keeping up with his pace, every instinct telling them to run the other way but finding it impossible to go any way but forward. When they reached the front door, Carl jiggled the plain bronze doorknob and then pounded on the weathered front door with the side of his fist.
“Gillian, I’m not kidding. Get out here now.” His shout was a little softer this time, deeper and somehow more threatening than the screaming. If Veronica knew Gillian at all, she’d open that door and let that man inside. Veronica had to do something.
“Carl, if this is your house like you keep saying, then why don’t you have a key, huh?” She yanked on his arm as she spoke, hoping that Gillian would take the break in the assault to make a plan for escape before the neighbors called the police.
He lifted his fist again and pounded. “She stole it from me in the divorce. She stole it and all my shit and then had the locks changed.”
Veronica’s shoulder began to ache. “I doubt the police would see it that way,” she said, clenching her teeth to keep the pain out of her voice. She deserved the pain after the way she’d treated her mother. “I’m sure someone has called 911 by now. You should cut your losses and leave.”
Carl stared at her with his swollen lips half open and spittle gathered at the corners of his mouth, like the idea that the police could be involved had never crossed his mind. He opened and closed his carp-like mouth one, two times.
“She’d never call the police. She’s a dimwit, but she’s not that stupid.” He looked at the door and then backed away, almost falling off the raised concrete slab of a front porch and taking Veronica with him.
“Are you so sure?” Veronica asked, poking at the small hole she’d made in his momentum.
The thoughts processed through his mind slowly. His eyes bugged out, and for a moment, between his mouth and the expression on his face, she was certain he knew Gillian was capable of much more than he was giving her credit for. But before he could change his mind, the lock on the front door clicked and the doorknob turned slowly.
“I told you so,” he gloated, his mouth snapping shut and a thick, gross smile turning up the week-old stubble on his face. His hand tightened around her arm, and then he yanked her in close to his side, her arm against his bloated belly, strangely taut but pliable at the same time. He smelled of sweat, gasoline, and body odor. The scent made her stomach churn.
The door opened slowly at first until Carl put his hand on the painted metal and pushed. It swung inward toward a darkened hallway, a slight scent of potpourri and dust reminding Veronica of her grandmother’s house on her dad’s side, and she gagged. No way would she let this man drag her across that threshold into the unknown darkness. With a burst of energy, she threw all her body weight behind her as if she were trying to jump off the porch, hoping that gravity would give her enough force to break his grip. She didn’t have much of a plan after that; Gillian had the keys and the police still might be on their way, but somehow she knew that goin
g into a dark house with an angry man was a very, very bad idea.
The suddenness of her movements shocked Carl, and her leap of faith threw him off balance, but unfortunately did little other than make him stumble backward and curse even louder than he had before. It also made him mad. So, so mad.
“What the . . .” His attention shifted from the open door to Veronica, who had recovered from her leap and was now using her feet for leverage to pry herself away from Carl’s grasp.
“You’re gonna break your arm,” he said, as if he were the only sane one.
“Let me go!” she screamed this time, completely forgetting about her fears of the police.
He yanked at her limb. “Get up and get in the house!” he shouted, and his voice echoed off the cookie-cutter houses down the street.
“Let her go.” It was Gillian standing in the doorway, voice firm, feet spread apart. She’d changed into black shorts that cut just above the knee and a faded peach T-shirt that looked like it’d been worn for yardwork.
“I’ll let her go when you give me a key to my house.” He held Veronica to the side like a dog that’d rolled in poop and needed a bath.
“You’re not going in my house,” she said with a determined drawl, blocking the way into the front hall with her body. “A judge settled it all. You got your money. You got your things. It was handled all fair and proper. This is my property; now get off.”
“If fair and proper means you are stealing every red cent of my hard-earned cash, then I guess you’re right. First you go and get Christopher killed by talking to those goddamned hacks that didn’t help him at all, and then you take my house and my livelihood too?”
“Leave. Now,” she said, calm, with her feet on the threshold, one hand to her side and one behind her back. In the distance, Veronica swore she could hear sirens whining. Panic set in. They needed to go—right now.
The Waiting Room Page 16
