“You know what?” Rosina says. “This may sound bad, but I can’t help but think maybe it’s a good thing Cheyenne just moved here. She wasn’t here to see what happened to Lucy after she reported her rape. She has no reason to expect that she won’t be believed.”
“God, I hope she’s right,” Grace says. “I’ve been praying about it the whole time we’ve been in here.”
So that’s what Grace was doing in the bathroom. For once Rosina doesn’t think she’s nuts. Maybe she’s gotten used to her weird God stuff. Or maybe Grace has been secretly trying to convert her this whole time, and breaking down Rosina’s resistance is all a part of her plan.
Or maybe, deep down, Rosina wishes she believed in something. Maybe she wishes she had a god she could pray to right now, like Grace does.
“What if we’re setting her up to be another Lucy?” Rosina says. “Once word gets out, is Cheyenne going to be crushed like she was? Are we going to screw up her life more than those bastards already did?”
“We’re doing the right thing,” Grace says. “Cheyenne is doing the right thing.”
“Since when does that matter?” Rosina says.
“Since we made it matter,” Erin says, looking up from her book.
God, please, Rosina thinks. Please help her.
Is thinking the same as praying?
Please help us.
The door to the sheriff’s office opens. The girls stand as Cheyenne walks out. Her face is unreadable. She looks tired, but not broken. She smiles weakly at her friends as a tall, broad-shouldered man follows her out of the office. He looks like a dad. A good one.
“When your mom gets here,” he says gently, “we’ll need to all sit down together and talk about next steps, but I figured you needed a little break from my office. I know I do.” He smiles at Cheyenne warmly, how Rosina as a little girl used to imagine her father would smile at her if he was still alive. Something twists inside her.
“These are the friends who helped you today?” the sheriff says, looking at the girls. Rosina wonders if she should be worried. Is he going to talk to Chief Delaney? Is he going to tell them they’re the secret leaders of the Nowhere Girls?
“Yeah,” Cheyenne says. “I couldn’t have done it without them.”
“Those are good friends to have,” he says, but Rosina’s not sure she completely believes him, even after everything Cheyenne has said to assure them she wants to do this. Because every step they take forward takes them further away from the time before any of this happened.
Rosina catches Erin looking at her strangely. “What?” Rosina says.
“Don’t worry,” Erin says. “I can see you worrying.”
Rosina laughs. “You’re telling me not to worry. That’s hilarious.”
The front door swings open. An older version of Cheyenne walks in wearing nurse’s scrubs, spots her daughter behind the front desk, and they rush into each other’s arms. Rosina is embarrassed to witness this moment between them. Something so intimate, something so primal, as a mother rocking her wounded child.
Rosina’s phone buzzes with another call from her mother.
Rosina wonders, what if this were her? What if Cheyenne’s mom were replaced by her own? Would she be here holding her like this? Would this be her mother’s first reaction to news that her daughter had been hurt? Would she hug Rosina like this, love her like this, before asking any questions, no matter what happened, no matter what the story? Could Rosina trust her own mother to love her?
But that doesn’t matter right now. Cheyenne is looking at the girls from inside her mother’s arms. She mouths, “Thank you.” And for a brief moment Rosina has an unfamiliar sense, not quite a thought but not quite a feeling, a sudden burst of clarity, of certainty—it’s going to be okay. Is this what Grace’s faith feels like? Does she feel it all the time? Is this how she knows God exists?
Cheyenne’s mother lets go. She follows the sheriff into his office without ever acknowledging the three girls sitting in the waiting area.
Cheyenne stays back a moment before going with them. “You can go home now,” she says. “I think we’ve got it from here.”
The girls don’t move.
“Really, you guys,” she says. “I’m going to be okay.”
“You have our numbers,” Grace says. “You’ll call us?”
“Of course,” she says. “And you’ll call me.”
“I won’t call you,” Erin says. “I don’t like talking on the phone. But I will text you.”
“Okay.” Cheyenne smiles.
“Cheyenne,” her mom calls from inside the office. “Honey, are you ready?”
Cheyenne waves at the girls, turns around, and closes the door behind her.
Rosina can hear Grace taking deep breaths next to her.
“Grace,” Rosina snaps. “Stop breathing so loud.”
“Sorry.”
“I’m hungry,” Erin says.
“I guess it’s time to go home,” Grace says. She and Erin start heading out the door, but Rosina can’t move her feet. She can’t stop staring at the office door. The feeling she had a moment ago disappeared as soon as the door closed behind Cheyenne, as soon as Rosina realized it was time to go back to her own life.
“She’s going to be okay,” Erin says, pulling at the hem of Rosina’s shirt. “Let’s go.”
But it’s not Cheyenne who Rosina is worried about.
US.
In the almost hour it takes to drive back to Prescott, no one speaks. Grace, Erin, and Rosina look out the windows, each of their views slightly different. The setting sun will be dipping into the ocean soon, a hundred miles or so to the west. The light fades from the sky without fanfare, as if it is any other evening.
It is dusk when they pull up in front of Erin’s house. No one is surprised to see the police car parked in front.
“What are you going to tell them?” Rosina says. “We have to make sure our stories match.”
“The truth,” Erin says. “What else is there?”
Spot greets Erin as soon as she enters the house, circling her ankles, sniffing her, licking her fingertips, all of his usual magic tools of assessment. Mom is sitting on the couch, stunned and red eyed, across from a nervous cop who looks barely older than Erin. Mom jumps up and lunges forward, then stops herself just short of tackling her daughter in a full embrace. She knows she cannot hold her, cannot be held, so instead she breaks into tears. She stands there, an arm’s reach away from Erin, sobbing so hard her shoulders shake.
“What happened?” Mom cries. “I don’t understand how this could happen. I thought things were getting better. I thought you were better.” Spot leaves Erin’s ankles and rubs up against her mother’s. “I tried so hard to take care of you. I try so hard. But I failed you. I let this happen. If I had just—”
Erin reaches out and touches Mom’s shoulder. “Don’t be scared, Mom,” she says. “I’m not.”
As soon as Erin pulls her hand back, Mom reaches up to her own shoulder, touching the vacant space. She sniffles a few times, as if surprised by her sudden absence of tears.
“They want you to go to the station now,” Mom says, wiping her eyes.
“Then let’s go,” Erin says.
“Shouldn’t we wait for your dad to get home?”
“No,” Erin says calmly. “We’re fine without him. We’ve been fine without him.”
“But—”