by K. Bromberg
I hang my head and drum my thumbs on the wheel, knowing he’s one hundred percent right.
“I promised her, Nate.” It’s the only explanation I can give before I hop out of the car and jog the few feet across the street to the driveway.
This is the last time.
Nate’s right.
And just as I agree with myself, I turn the corner of the walkway and freeze. Sitting there in a garden of rocks that hasn’t had a new one added to it for the past three weeks is a freshly painted rock.
It’s red with black seeds.
Oh, shit.
And it’s sitting prominently on top of all the others.
It feels like it takes me a second to register what I’m seeing, but I damn well know what it is because my fist is banging on the door without a second thought.
“Sunnyville Police, open up.”
Bang. Bang. Bang.
“Open the goddamn door.”
Bang. Bang. Bang.
“Mr. Davis, open the door. I know you’re home.”
Bang. Bang. Bang.
“What the fuck is going on, Grant?” Nate says, already out of breath as he runs up behind me.
The turning of locks startles me, even though it’s exactly what I’m asking for. My hand is on the butt of my gun, my temper a rush of adrenaline that has that hand trembling.
“Keely, don’t open the door—” Davis shouts from somewhere inside the house, but the sound drowns out to a white buzz when I look down to see her standing there.
Her cheek is bruised beneath her eye.
Her bottom lip is cracked, and there is some dried blood smudged in the corner.
And more than anything is the way she looks at me.
Haunted.
Like I failed her.
Withdrawn.
Like I didn’t get to her in time.
Petrified.
Like I didn’t save her.
For a second, the picture of Emerson that fell from the folder flashes in my mind and the two of them meld together.
Emmy and Keely.
Keely and Emmy.
They could be one and the same.
“Don’t do it, Grant,” Nate warns, already grabbing my arm and trying to drag me back a step. “Don’t do it.”
“Do you have a warrant?” Mr. Davis says as he stands there with a cocky smirk.
“I have probable cause,” I say, lifting my chin toward his daughter.
“You don’t have shit,” he sneers. “She fell running up the stairs earlier. Got banged up real good, too, but we kissed it and made it all better. So, since you have no authority to be here.” He strides the short distance to the front door. “Then good bye.”
My palm is on the door slamming it back to prevent it from closing. Keely shrinks at the sound, and Davis curses at me.
“Grant,” Nate cautions, but all I can think of is willingly letting this little girl go back into this house.
Her blood is on my hands.
Keely isn’t Emmy.
I don’t have probable cause.
She asked for help.
Emmy isn’t Keely.
I don’t have any cause other than a rock painted like a watermelon.
“Get inside, Keels,” he demands, but never once looks at her. Tension ratchets with each second that we stare at each other, the predictability of what’s going to happen next changes with each and every one of my thoughts.
“No.” My hand is on her shoulder, keeping her put as she swivels those big, blue eyes of hers from her dad to me and back again, both of us wanting her for different things—I want to protect her, and he wants to hide his abuse.
“Man, we don’t have the auth—”
“I don’t care about parental privilege.”
“Get inside the house,” Davis growls.
I look at Nate and then back to Keely. I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about her piece-of-shit father, but I know what I have to do, and Nate is going to kill me for it.
Without warning, I stoop down and pick Keely up. “She isn’t going back in there.” I half expect to be attacked from behind as I walk down the path. I prepare for it, but it never comes. Though, Nate is swearing and Davis is shouting.
Or possibly Nate is holding Davis back while I jog away with his daughter.
With the evidence.
I don’t have a plan. I don’t have anything thought out other than there is no way in hell I am letting her go back into that house with that jerk and her compliant mother. Keely’s little hands grip my neck, and her sniffles fill my ears.
All I can say is, “I’ve got you, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”
I press my hand to her back and make it as big as possible so she feels protected, but I fear there will never be enough protection for her.
The system fails.
Look at Emerson.
Nate’s call from his on-person radio goes out for backup as Davis’s shouts fill the quiet cul-de-sac.
By the time I reach the cruiser, my hands are shaking. I know I’m in the wrong, but I don’t fucking care.
“What are you doing, man?” Nate says as he jogs down the path, out of breath and more than flustered.
“Where’s the mom?” I say, worried about what else we’ll find inside.
“Not home.”
“Bullshit. Search the house. Make sure she’s all right.”
“On what premise? You know we can’t do that.” Nate blows out a breath as neighbors start coming out from their houses and standing on the curb as the blue and red sirens light up the night like a carnival attraction.
“Well check.”
Keely clings to me, her whimper at the sound of her dad bellowing is all I need to hear to know I’m doing the right thing.
“Hey, sweetheart, is your mommy home?”
“She’s in the shower,” she barely whispers in my ear.
I glare at Nate as another cruiser burns down the street and comes to an abrupt stop beside us.
“Hey, Keely?”
“Yeah.”
“I know you’re scared right now. There’s lots of shouting and lights flashing, and I know you’re confused, but I need you to trust me,” I say into her ear as Nate gives the new officers on scene a rundown of what’s going on. “Have you ever wanted to see the inside of a police car?” She nods ever so slightly without lifting her head from my shoulder. “It’s super cool. Can I show you mine?”
Another nod as I open the back door and slide into the backseat with her still clinging to me. It takes a minute for us to adjust and get comfortable, but her fingers never let go of their grip.
For a little girl used to seeing the worst in people, she is so trusting. The thought kills me. Her innocence has been tainted. Her ability to believe in happily ever after skewed.
“See? Nice and cozy.” Outside the open car door I see Officer Lou talking to Davis on the sidewalk and assume Amelia is inside talking to Lou’s partner. Nate’s at the trunk of their car on his cell with someone—probably CPS.
“Maybe when you’re not so scared I can let you turn the lights on and off and sound the siren.” She doesn’t respond. “Can I ask you something?” I say smoothing a hand down her hair. “How’d you get that bruise on your cheek?”
I feel her chest shudder against mine, and her fingers slowly release from around my neck as she voluntarily crawls off my lap and sits in the seat beside me. She studies her fingers for a long time before finally speaking.
“I fell on the stairs and hit my face,” she murmurs.
“That’s a big fall. Did you cry?” She nods but doesn’t look at me in the eyes. “If you didn’t fall on the stairs . . . you know, like if you got hurt in some other way, you could tell me and I wouldn’t be mad.”
“’Kay.”
We sit in silence as I figure out how to get the truth from her. If she doesn’t talk and if her mom protects her dad, then we have no grounds to keep her out of the house. Silence eats up the car as the crowd of onlookers
grows.
“Keely?”
“Hmm?”
“Why did you use our secret code?” She shrugs, but I can see her bottom lip trembling. “Did something happen that made you think you needed help?”
Another shrug.
Another loss for how to talk to her.
“Is my daddy in trouble?” she whispers, and I fumble with how to answer.
“If he hurt you, then yes. Just like in school, you can’t hurt people without getting in trouble. It’s the rules.” She nods. “Did he hurt you, Keely?”
She looks at me for the first time since I picked her up. Those eyes so wise beyond their years as she stares at me. Tears well until she finally blinks and releases them down her cheeks.
Tell me, please.
Car doors shut around us. Nate yells something to Lou. But I sit in the back of my cruiser with this little girl and will her to let me protect her.
To save her.
To do what I couldn’t for Emerson.
After a few moments, she pulls her knees up to her chest, curls into a ball, stares out the window, and slides her hand into mine.
If I thought my heart was broken before, she just shattered it.
I need open space.
I need the wind in my hair and the roar in my ears to drown out the devastation owning my soul.
I didn’t get the loan.
I’m not going to get Blue Skies.
I tried to start over. To build a life. To stay put. To trust someone.
But it doesn’t seem to be in the cards.
All this hard work. All this busting my ass, and I have nothing to show for it except that I’ll probably be out of a job and most likely out of a place to live.
The thought hits me hard, and I press the pedal down even farther.
Anything to quiet my head, but it isn’t working.
Nothing is working.
Me. Grant. Blue Skies. My attempt to make a life for myself. Maybe it just isn’t meant to be.
So I drive. Push the limits of reason with a pedal and a full tank of gas and wonder what’s next.
The sirens cut through my thoughts, and red and blue lights up the dark night.
“Goddamnit!” I shout to myself as I thump the steering wheel with the heel of my hand, and for just a second, I imagine flooring the gas and taking off.
Was he just sitting here waiting for me?
Nothing like abusing his power.
Because I’d bet anything it’s going to be Grant walking up to my car and asking for my license and registration. It’s going to be Grant trying to reel me in when all I want to do is run.
As I pull over to the side of the road and put my hazards on, I force myself to acknowledge that a small part of me yearns to see him. After the visit from his mom and the doubts Desi lit the match to in my mind, I finally feel ready to face him. The hurt is still there, still raw, but what if I was wrong?
I lean back in my seat and watch the swing of the flashlight as he walks, curious how he’s going to play this. We still have a lot to say to each other, and the side of the road isn’t exactly the place to do it.
Then again, he’s the one who pulled me over.
I squint when the flashlight hits my eyes.
“License and registrat—ah, so we meet again,” the officer says, startling me. It’s the same officer who pulled me over before. The one who started the whole Tampax adventure.
“Hello, Officer.”
“Do you happen to have lead in that foot of yours, Ms. . . .”
“Reeves. Emerson Reeves.”
“Ah, yes. Emerson. Where’s the fire tonight?”
I stare at him for a second, ready to bullshit my way through it but don’t. “You know what? I had a really crappy day. That’s it. No excuse. Sometimes there’s nothing better than an open road and the windows down.”
He chuckles. “Honesty. I like that.” He nods as he leans his forearm on the top of my window. “So, what am I supposed to do with you—”
“Officer Roberts, what’s your 10-20?” His radio interrupts.
“I’m out on Highway 43.”
“We have a situation that needs assistance out on 12662 Serenity Court.”
That address.
How do I know it?
“What’s the 10-13?” he asks as he steps back from my door and walks a few feet toward the front of the car so he can watch me and also have some privacy.
“Malone and Nunez are on scene. The situation is escalating.”
The minute I hear Malone, my heart jumps in my throat. “Grant.” I don’t know if I say his name aloud because all I hear is “situation is escalating” and dread drops like a lead weight through me.
“10-4. En route.”
Is he okay?
“What’s your ETA?”
What does escalating mean?
“Five minutes.”
Please let him be okay.
Officer Roberts strides back to my window. “Today is your lucky day. Try to keep it below seventy.”
I watch the beam from his flashlight as he jogs back to his car. The siren joins the lights as he pulls away from the shoulder and screams down the asphalt.
Grant.
My hands tremble on the wheel as I turn down Serenity Court where blue and red lights explode in their dizzying array of patterns. They flash over the houses and cars and people gathered to watch the activity at the end of the street.
It’s been nine minutes.
Nine minutes where I don’t even remember purposefully taking the turns to get here.
Nine minutes where I mentally ran through every scenario possible and none of them were good. In every single one, Grant was hurt, and all I could think of was that I’d been stubborn and hadn’t spoken to him. I hadn’t made things right.
I haven’t told him I want to take a chance.
Funny thing is that I didn’t even admit that to myself until just now.
Tears blur my eyes as the realization hits me that this is his reality. His every day. His way to be a hero. I’m out of the car and running to where the crowd of looky-loos stands. My heart is in my throat and hope is in my hands.
“C’mon, Malone. We have to let CPS deal with this.”
“CPS? Really, Nate?” Grant’s laugh echoes off the houses just as I break through to the front of the crowd. I’m not sure what I expect to see—a standoff, weapons drawn? I don’t know, but this isn’t it. Grant is standing in front of his cruiser, arms crossed and body taut, as Nate, the officer who was with him on the Fourth, and another face him. The tension between them is so palpable that if I didn’t know better, I’d think Grant was holding someone hostage. Murmurs roll through the crowd about the little girl in the car, and there are questions about whether Grant is going to do it, whatever “it” is.
“CPS?” he says again, punctuating his incredulity with a shake of his head. My breath catches when I realize he actually is holding someone hostage in a sense. But only to protect her. To help Keely. “CPS’s response was to put her back in the house so they could come and assess the situation at a later date because there is no immediate threat. Tell me that’s not a fucking joke.”
Nate rolls his shoulder, frustration evident. “I know, Grant, but there is nothing we can do. Without proof or her saying he did it—”
“Proof? You want proof?” Grant shouts. “Look at her cheek and lip. That’s all the proof I need.”
“It’s her words we need to hear. We can’t take her. We can’t arrest him. We technically can’t even be here since there wasn’t even a call we were responding to! Nothing we charge him with will stick.”
“I don’t fucking care. When I leave here, she’s either coming with me or she’s going with someone from CPS. She is not going back in that house.”
There is a determination in Grant’s stance that matches the tone in his voice. The little girl in me roots for him. The grown woman in me can’t tear her eyes away from him.
“You’re too
close, Malone.”
“Did you see her face, Nate? That’s not from the stairs. That’s not from a fall. She’s terrified. Of course she isn’t going to rat her dad out. He’s her dad!” He rakes his hand through his hair. “She still loves him regardless of how big a piece of shit he is. Then there’s her mom, who sits by and lets it all happen. She’s five. Five. Someone has to stand up for her, and fuck if I’m not going to be the one to do it.”
“C’mon, man,” the other officer says as she takes a step forward. “All you’re doing is making a tense situation worse. We can stand out here all night long, but in the end, we’re going to end up with the same result. Her back with her parents. Parental privilege.”
“Just unlock the doors so we can get her out,” Nate says, reaching out for Grant’s arm, but he yanks it away.
“Don’t touch me.” The two men face off, inches apart, duty versus morality.
“Grant, think about what you’re doing here,” the other officer says to try to cool the tension.
“I know exactly what I’m doing. I’m protecting and serving. I’m upholding my oath. I think you’re the ones who need to ask yourselves the same question.” Grant looks back to the car and shakes his head in disbelief. “Let me just take her to the police station. I’ll sit with her all night until CPS can fit her in their schedule tomorrow. Anything. It’s better than her being here.” There’s a desperation in his voice that brings tears to my eyes.
The man who blames himself for not saving me is trying to save her.
“Her parents are one hundred feet away.”
“And they like to hit their little girl,” he says.
“They are threatening kidnapping charges. Really, Grant? Is it worth it? Is your career worth it?”
“Yes.” The answer is instant and unwavering.
Nate’s shoulders fall as he pinches the bridge of his nose before saying something I can’t hear to the other officer and taking a few steps away. Grant takes a step toward Nate and then thinks better of stepping away from the car. “The only way I’m leaving her is if you arrest me.”
Minutes pass as Grant stands guard. He looks into the back of his cruiser and makes funny hand signals. The entire time, his face is a mask of calm, when I know he’s feeling anything but.
