CHAPTER TWELVE
It had been a long, eventful day, but Nick was still unable to fall asleep. Not even his new book could keep his mind off his worries. His first physical therapy session that afternoon had not gone well.
According to the tech, the therapy shouldn’t hurt so much, and he should have been further along in the healing process. He’d been religiously doing the prescribed, painful exercises, but the discomfort in his leg was not abating. And he was still as reliant on the cane as he had been on day one.
Frustrated with his lack of progress, and desperate to figure out why he wasn’t healing properly, he’d called the doctor he planned to see about a second opinion to ask if he could get in any earlier. But it was Labor Day weekend. They were closing early on Friday, not open on Monday, and they’d already scheduled him for Tuesday.
He ought to thank his lucky stars they could schedule him so quickly at all. In Boston, as a new patient, he would’ve had to wait weeks for an appointment. He supposed that was one good thing about a small town.
Hope had waited for him in the lobby, and on the way home, while he pouted from the passenger seat, she babbled on about the upcoming start of school. Whose locker was next to hers, and what her class schedule would be. Her drivel lightened his mood a little, but he still worried.
Nick had just bookmarked and stored his book when his phone buzzed. Late-night calls were never good news, and he grabbed for it right away. “Hello?”
“I need a favor.”
“Hope?” Why was Faith’s sister calling him in the middle of the night? Crap. Had he given her the wrong impression? Made her think there was more to their relationship than friendship? Before he could spin completely out of control, she put his fears to rest.
“I’m at the police station. I don’t want Faith or my dad to find out. Can you come get me?” Her voice sounded small and scared.
He rubbed his eyes, still not sure what she meant. “Is something wrong? What happened?”
“I kinda got arrested, I guess.”
“You guess?”
“Can you pick me up or not?”
“Hope, I don’t have a car. And even if I did, I’m not sure I could drive.”
“Oh, yeah. I forgot about that. Faith would’ve picked hers up, but what about Tess’s?”
He plowed a hand through his hair and sighed. “I’ll figure something out and be there soon.”
The last Vicodin had worn off hours ago. He’d planned to sleep through any pain, but he couldn’t do that if he was going to try to drive. Then again, if he intended to get behind the wheel, he shouldn’t take drugs! Should he wake up Tess? She’d just call Faith, and for some reason, Hope didn’t want that. He needed to find out why before calling them in.
He slipped the pill bottle into his pocket, put on his tennis shoes, and limped into the living room. Tess’s bedroom door was closed. That would be his excuse for not asking. Nick snatched her keys from the rack and quietly let himself out. Every step hurt, and he relied heavily on the cane, but made his way to the street where Tess’s car was parked.
Thankfully, she had an SUV. Anything smaller would have been unbearable. He drove to the police station using his left leg for both the gas and the brake. It was awkward and painful, but doable.
At the sheriff’s office, he parked and shuffled in. Sheriff Hayes stood next to the punk from the ice cream shop. The one Nick had a bad feeling about. Another adult stood with them, presumably the kid’s dad. As Nick approached, the man grumbled and stormed out, dragging the sulking teen by the scruff of the neck.
“Nick Walker,” Sheriff Hayes greeted. “Heard you were back in town. What brings you by?”
“I’m here for Hope Sullivan.”
The sheriff’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh. Okay. I guess I did just tell her ‘an adult.’ I assumed Eddie or Faith would come for her.”
“What happened?” Nick asked.
“Vandalism. Deputy caught ’em spray-painting the school gym.”
“Was she just there? Or actually participating?”
“Paint can was in her hand.”
Nick groaned. “Has she ever been in trouble before? Was that kid with her?” He hitched a thumb toward the door.
“No. And yes. I know what you’re thinking, and you’re probably right. He’s bad news. Hope’s grievin’ for her momma, I get that. But doesn’t mean she gets away with breakin’ the law.”
“I understand. Can I take her home?”
“Little unconventional. You not being related and all, but I suppose. Wait here. I’ll go get her.”
Releasing a minor to someone other than a parent or guardian would never fly in the city, but here, in Podunkville, rules were flexible.
A minute later, Hope followed the sheriff into the lobby. Her eyes were red and swollen, and for once, she seemed to have nothing to say.
“You okay?” Nick asked. She nodded silently.
“She’ll get a summons in the mail about a court date, but she’s free to go for now.”
“Thanks, Sheriff. I’ll make sure she gets home.”
“You know, we could always use a good lawman around here. I’m not gettin’ any younger. If you think about staying that is.”
“I’ll keep it in mind,” Nick said. Not in a million years would he take the sheriff up on that offer. But he was too polite to say so. “Hope, let’s go.”
It was all he could do to get to the curb without crying. He tossed Hope the keys, slid into the passenger seat, and choked down the pain pill dry. Hope got into the driver’s seat but didn’t move to start the car.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
Sweat sprouted on his forehead, and his vision tunneled. Just like it had before he’d passed out in Page Turners. He reclined the seat and laid flat, hoping to avoid a repeat of that incident. He grunted, and she burst into tears.
“Oh, Nick. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I called you. I’m sorry I did what I did. I’m sorry you’re in pain.”
“S’okay,” he said through gritted teeth. The pill took effect quickly, and within five minutes, he felt well enough to sit up. Hope had silently pulled herself together and appeared to be waiting to see if he really was okay.
“Please don’t die on me,” she said. “I’ve been through enough tonight.”
“No, I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you. Just needed a minute.”
“That’s not what I meant. Can I do anything?” The shine had worn off her brazen veneer. The girl sitting next to him had been humbled and was rightly contrite. Grief and sorrow covered her young face. Guilt and fear reflected in her eyes. It didn’t seem like fear of getting in trouble, or guilt over the town finding out what she’d done. It was something more profound. Something that had nothing to do with a paint can or a dark-haired bad apple.
“What were you thinking? I could tell that loser was trouble from the second I laid eyes on him at the Cone Cave.”
“I know. He’s an idiot. I don’t know why I went out with him.”
“Is this about your mom?”
“What do you mean?”
“Are you acting out because you’re having difficulty coping with her death? Have you talked to anyone about it?”
“You don’t understand.” She paused, then whispered in a voice so quiet he almost missed it, “I killed her.”
He shook his head. The drugs must be making him hear things. “What?”
“I mean, not like actual murder or anything. But it was my fault she got sick.”
“How do you figure that?” he said cautiously.
“I read online that ovarian cancer is caused by late pregnancy. Me. She had me when she was forty-five.”
Just saying the words out loud seemed to ease her burden. And he would bet his next paycheck that he was the first person she’d confided this to. Tears streamed down her face, and she swiped at them with the back of her hand.
Oh, geez. Tread lightly, Walker . Even dead sober, this would be a tricky conversation. Half-stoned from the Vicodin made it all the more challenging.
“The night I got shot…” An unexpected lump clogged his throat.
“Yeah,” she prompted when he didn’t go on right away.
“My partner was killed.”
“I heard that. I’m sorry.”
“In my head, I know it wasn’t my fault. But in my heart, it’s easy to take responsibility. What could I have done to prevent it? Why wasn’t I the one shot dead?” He paused to gather his thoughts. “When there’s a tragedy, we tend to want to blame something or someone. It makes more sense to our brains to know there’s a reason. A why something happened. But a lot of times, shit just happens. And it’s no one’s fault. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“But if it’s not my fault, whose is it?”
“It’s nobody’s fault, Hope. That’s what I’m trying to say. It wasn’t my fault my partner died, and it’s not your fault your mom got sick. Tons of stuff causes cancer. A million different things could have contributed to it. And even if pregnancy was a factor, that doesn’t mean her death is on you.”
“Maybe,” she whispered.
She would need some time to process. Hopefully, just getting the admission off her chest and having him shed doubt on her fears would help.
“Is that how you’re getting through it?” she asked. “Telling yourself that stuff and believing it.”
“Perhaps I do need to heed my own advice,” he said, not realizing until then that they had something in common. They’d both just lost someone they loved, and they both blamed themselves for it. Just like Hope, he had some guilt and shame to work through and overcome.
“I have to tell Faith, you know?”
“Do you though?” Hope asked, a hint of her old sarcastic self returning.
He huffed out a laugh. “Yes. And your dad.”
“Ugh. In this town, they’ll find out anyway,” she said with a shrug. “So, um, why am I in the driver’s seat?”
“I’m too high to drive.” When her jaw dropped in surprise, he explained. “My leg was killing me. I had to take a pain pill. I didn’t think through how we’re going to get you home and me back to Tess’s.”
“I’ll drive you to Tess’s and then walk home.” She started the car and adjusted the rearview mirror.
“It’s after midnight.”
“And? It’s less than a mile. I’ll be fine.”
She was probably right. The streets were well-lit, and Green Valley Falls wasn’t downtown Boston. He laid his head back on the seat. It wasn’t like he had much choice. “Okay.”
It was only a few miles, but he nodded off, and Hope had to jostle him awake when they arrived. They got out, and she met him on the sidewalk and handed him Tess’s keys.
“Thanks,” she said before turning and heading off. She was only sixteen but seemed to carry the weight of the world. Maybe he’d said something to minimize that burden. If only he could apply his words to his own life.