“Veronica went to sleep. And I thought it was sad, that Sarah doesn’t have a family to come be with her,” Shelby said with a glance over her shoulder. “Veronica said she was nice to her. But I don’t think she wants me here.”
“Oh, Shelby,” I said. “It’s not you. It’s very sweet of you to sit with her though.”
“Veronica said she thought she was dreaming,” she said next. “When she saw you. She didn’t understand.”
“I know.”
“It was horrible, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah, it was.”
“She didn’t really talk about it.”
“Listen, Shelby, I want to tell you something.”
Shelby looked at me. “Okay.”
“Veronica is going to need time,” I said. “Probably a lot of time, before she’s back to herself, okay?”
“I know,” she said.
“You just have to be patient. This is a happy day, and the worst is over now, but not all the hard parts are finished.”
She nodded.
“Can you make sure you’re patient with her? That you don’t lose hope if she needs time? That goes for her mom too. I know you’re strong, kiddo, so that’s why I’m putting this on you.”
“I know.”
“And as for you,” I said. “We can always be friends, okay? If you ever need to talk—about her, about some other girl, whatever. I mean it.”
She nodded again. “I’m really glad I met you.”
“Me too,” I said. It felt good, knowing that I had helped to clear Brad Stockton’s name. But it felt even better that I had told Shelby I would help her, and I did.
She hugged me again and went back down the hallway, shooting me a smile over her shoulder as she walked. I hoped that she’d be tough enough to get her father and her friend through this. I thought she was. She just had a look about her. Then I went into Sarah’s room and sat down. Her gaze was still pinned to the wall. In the bright light of the hospital, I could see that she had dark circles under her eyes, a sallow cast to her skin. Her hair was tangled and frayed, her fingernails broken and peeling. An IV was taped to the back of her hand.
She looked miserable.
But she was out of that house.
That was not nothing, even if it was still hard.
Neither of us said a word for a long time, which was okay. And then she finally spoke. “They did an ultrasound,” she said. “I’m going to have a little girl. In five weeks. They said she looks healthy.”
I gave her a big smile. “Sarah, that’s such good news.”
She nodded. But there was ambivalence in her eyes. “But she’s his.”
“No, Sarah, she’s yours,” I said quickly. “He has no rights. He’s never going to hurt you again,” I said. “He’s going to jail and he’ll never get out. Never. You don’t have to waste another thought on Jack Derrow for the rest of your life.”
She looked down at her belly. She didn’t tell me that was a stupid thing to say, even though it was. She’d probably think about Derrow forever, and probably so would I. We fell into another stretch of silence. Activity hummed behind us in the hallway, comforting in its normalcy.
Today was an ordinary Friday for the rest of the city.
“Is Brad still in jail?” she said after a minute.
“Yes,” I said. “It’ll take a bit of time. But he will get out.” Then I added, “He still loves you.”
She thought that over. “I guess we have even more in common now. We both had our lives stolen by the same person,” she said. For a second I caught a glimpse of the happy, bright girl she once was.
“That’s exactly right,” I said.
Sarah nodded. “Maybe I could see him,” she said. “Maybe.”
*
I ran into Danielle Stockton in the parking lot of the hospital. She almost hustled right past me, her nose glued to her phone. But she looked up at the last second and her eyes went wide. “You’re here,” she blurted. She was keyed up, a good kind of jumpy. “I went to the police station looking for you and they said maybe try here. Oh my goodness, Roxane, you—” But she stopped there, shaking her head, unsure of what she wanted to say.
“I guess I owe you an apology,” I said lightly, “for trying to tell you the woman you saw wasn’t Sarah.”
She laughed, nervous. “Right, you owe me the apology. I’m the one who fired your ass.”
“You were not out of bounds. But I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t quite listen.”
“It really is.” She kept shaking her head in disbelief, her hands clutching at the folds of her scarf. “I don’t know what to say. Thanks doesn’t quite seem to cut it.”
I smiled at her. “Have you talked to your brother?”
Danielle looked up at the clear blue sky, smiling. It had probably been a long time since she’d smiled when she thought about Brad. “Yeah,” she said. “I’m headed down there later today with my mom, but he called a little bit ago. His lawyer says they can’t just release him, they have to have a hearing and all that.” She let out a long, shell-shocked sigh. “I sound like I’m complaining, but I’m not. Believe me. I know what you did for us. I might not ever be able to repay you, but I know what you did.”
I could tell the reality of the situation hadn’t sunk in for her yet. When you’re stuck inside something for so long, it’s hard to believe it could ever be over, even when it is. Once Brad was home, it would hit her like a ton of bricks. “Go be with your family, Danielle,” I said after a few beats. “And maybe get Matt off my back—that would be repayment enough. Fair?”
I held out my good hand, and she shook it.
“Fair.”
THIRTY-SEVEN
I took a shower when I got home, with some difficulty—holding my bandaged left hand outside and trying to do everything with one arm. There was a reason, I supposed, that everyone made such a big deal about teamwork. Then I made a cup of tea and lost it somewhere in the apartment, and then I went to bed.
For the second time in a week, I slept all afternoon. This time when I woke up it was because someone was knocking on my front door. The clock said seven thirty. I rolled over and pulled a blanket over my head and hoped they would go away. But they didn’t. I got up, my hip loudly making its objections known, and I pulled on a shirt. “I’m coming, hold the phone,” I called.
It was Andrew. He was holding a bouquet of white roses and a ten-dollar bill.
“What’s this?” I said.
“I don’t know, it was in front of the door. And speaking of, what happened to your door?”
“Don’t ask.”
“So are we going, or what?” my brother said. “And Jesus, what happened to your hand now?”
I hadn’t even heard anyone at my door all day. I took the flowers and the ten dollars, which had a sticky note attached.
I’m sorry, doll. I should have known, it said, and was signed Petey.
The flowers had a note as well: You’re my local hero. Let’s talk.—C
I thought about tossing them directly into the trash, but I dropped the flowers on the table in my entryway instead.
I hadn’t looked at the news coverage but it seemed I was some kind of star. Andrew apparently hadn’t seen the news either. Chances were, he had just woken up too. “Going where?” I said.