Chapter 39
THIRTY-NINE
“Hey,” I greet, stepping into the lab.
College is on winter break, so I spent my free time today on chores like grocery shopping and laundry. Normally, I take on another part-time job over the holidays. However, thanks to the generous pay from the NYPD, I told myself I don’t need to do that this year.
I hope Sophia has something good to distract me, or I will just think about Joshua and his fingers the whole day. I already did it the entire morning, so why not just continue?
I smile down at my phone and read the text he sent me earlier again as I walk over to my desk.
Joshua
Can’t stop thinking about you. I want you back in my bed and arms. You have no idea how much you already mean to me.
“Carolina,” Sophia says, her tone serious like I’ve never heard it before.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” I ask.
“I checked the file for your parents,” she says, putting a damper on the butterflies still fluttering in my belly.
I freeze, my phone nearly slipping out of my hand before I place it on my desk. “You did?”
She nods. “I’m not sure if you’ll like what you see. Are you sure you want to do this?” Her voice is filled with genuine concern.
“I am,” I state, taking a deep breath and bracing myself for whatever she has to share.
Sophia brings the file from her desk and stands in front of me, handing it over.
As I open it and scan its contents, my heart aches as I see my parents’ names.
There are pictures from the car wreck, and it looks terrible—the front of the car seems to be completely destroyed.
They crashed against a building at high speed.
“I took out the more explicit pictures. You don’t have to see that,” Sophia says with sympathy.
I nod, grateful. I don’t think I could have handled seeing those.
I skim over the report, finding the toxicology screening they did. There it is, clear as day. There was a significant amount of heroin found in their blood, and there’s no room for doubt about the results.
“This can’t be right,” I say, reading over that part again and again.
“I’m sorry, Lina,” Sophia says, her voice gentle. “I checked the results multiple times, looked at it from every angle possible. They were under the influence when they crashed.”
“No,” I whisper, looking up at her, tears streaming down my face.
She takes the file from my hands and places it on the desk before pulling me into a comforting hug. “I’m so sorry.”
That night floods back to me clear as day, stopping me in my tracks.
The soft glow of the television illuminates the dim living room.
I finally managed to get Chiara to sleep after what felt like hours of bedtime stories.
It’s been ages since I’ve had the television to myself, and tonight, with Mama and Papa out celebrating their wedding anniversary, I can finally indulge in the movie I wanted to watch for so long, but my dad found it silly.
I settle on the couch and pull the blanket over my legs, pressing play.
Just as the opening credits begin to roll, the doorbell rings. I frown, glancing at the clock. It’s past nine.
Who could it be at this hour?
Hesitation grips me, but curiosity wins out. I pause the movie and make my way to the door, opening it just a bit to see who is on the other side.
Two police officers stand there, their uniforms crisp and badges shining. Behind them, a man in a plain suit, presumably a detective, and a woman with kind eyes and a gentle demeanor. The officers look stern, their expressions grave. But the woman offers a small, sad smile when she sees me.
“Ms. Costa?” one of the officers asks, his voice deep and authoritative.
I open the door wider and swallow hard, my voice shaky. “Y-yes, that’s me.”
The officer takes a deep breath, his gaze never leaving mine. “I’m sorry to inform you that there’s been a car accident. Your parents… they didn’t make it.”
The world stops. My heart feels like it’s been ripped out of my chest. The words echo in my ears, but they don’t make sense. This can’t be happening.
Not tonight.
Not ever.
The detective steps forward, his voice a distant murmur. “We have some questions about your parents if you’re up for it.”
But I can’t hear him. Everything is muffled as if I’m underwater. A ringing sound grows louder in my ears, drowning out everything else. My vision blurs, the edges of my sight darkening.
Suddenly, a warm hand touches my shoulder, grounding me. I blink, my focus shifting to the woman who has stepped closer. Her eyes are filled with compassion and understanding.
“It’s going to be okay,” she whispers, her voice gentle. “We’re here to help. I am going to stay with you girls until your next relative is able to get you.”
But nothing feels okay. The weight of reality crashes down on me, and I’m left grappling with a world that has suddenly turned upside down.
“Lina?” Chiara stands in the doorway to our room, wearing her pink pajamas with little hearts on them, rubbing her sleepy eyes. Her hair is wild.
A sob breaks out of me.
How in the world am I going to explain to her that they’re gone?
“Carolina, are you okay?” Sophia asks, and I shake my head, trying to rid the memory of that tragic night.
Howie asked if I was ready to hear this all over again. And I was sure I was. But reading it again, in black and white, with no room for argument, has me shaken.
A couple of hours later, I’m still feeling overwhelmed. I’m convinced this has to be a mistake. I just know in my gut that my parents did not take heroin. But now, the question is, why does the file tell something different?
I’m so lost in my thoughts that I nearly jump when a finger strokes my cheek.
“Hey, it’s just me,” Joshua says, standing beside me at my desk.
“Hey, sorry,” I say, standing to hug him.
“How are you?” he asks, looking into my eyes and gathering my hair behind my head.
“Confused, I—” I start to say.
“Because you don’t know if you want this? Was it too soon? Fuck, I knew I should’ve waited. I promise I can take it slow with you. I can wait. I—” He starts to ramble, but I stop him by pulling him down to me by his uniform and kissing him on the lips.
He freezes for a moment, surprised by the sudden gesture.
I let go of him. “What are you even talking about?”
“I don’t know, I thought you were about to break up with me,” he explains hesitantly, and I can see the hurt in his eyes.
“What? No, of course not! Why would you think that?” I ask, genuinely surprised.
“Well, we did some stuff yesterday that I really enjoyed, but maybe it was too much too soon, and—”
“What makes you think I wanted to break up with you?”
“I texted you, and I know you’re not big into texting, but I got nothing back, not even a damn emoji. Just nothing. I thought you were ghosting me.”
Fuck, I feel terrible.
“Joshua,” I say softly, taking his head between my hands and bringing it down to mine so our foreheads touch. “I loved what we did yesterday, and I’m looking forward to doing it again,” I whisper.
He closes his eyes and lets out a breath. “Fuck. Okay, sorry.”
“No, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to send you a fucking emoji in response to your sweet text. I wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed it and how much you mean to me too, but I wanted to do it in person,” I assure him, kissing him gently.
“A short text like ‘I’m going to tell you later’ would have helped.” He smiles.
“I couldn’t do that,” I say, and he looks puzzled, so I take out my phone, open the messenger app with his name, and hold it out to him. “Text yourself something.”
He takes the phone and starts pressing on the screen, soon realizing the problem. “So that’s why we’ve been sending only emojis back and forth?”
He started sending me whole stories with just emojis since I only answered him with them. It was funny, but I should have told him earlier.
I grimace. “I’m sorry, I can’t afford a new phone right now. Maybe after Christmas. But I swear, I am not going to dump you, and I am really, really happy with how things are between us.”
He leans back down, kissing me again. “Me too,” he whispers with a smile.
“Costa! Did you leave your head at home today? Table three,” Lennard snaps, pushing a plate at me from the kitchen.
“Sorry,” I murmur, quickly serving the plate before returning behind the bar.
My head is spinning as I try to make sense of the evidence I saw today. The more I think about it, the less it adds up.
How could my parents have been driving with such a high amount of heroin in their system?
They were going out to eat, celebrating their anniversary. They were dressed up and had a reservation at a restaurant. It doesn’t make sense to me that they would take that much heroin right before going out.
If I try to look at it objectively, the results are clear, and there’s nothing to dispute. But everything I remember about that evening and my parents tell a different story.
It just doesn’t add up.
I’m wiping down the counter with a cloth when a new patron walks in and sits in front of me. His eye is swollen shut, and his white shirt is tainted with blood. I look at him with wide eyes.
“You should see the other guy,” he jokes. “Give me a beer, please,” he says, and I quickly pour one, placing it in front of him on the counter.
“Do you need something for that?” I ask, gesturing to the blood on his shirt.
“Nah, don’t worry. That’s not my blood.” He shrugs.
His words hit me like a ton of bricks, and I gasp.
“It’s not their blood,” I whisper to myself.
I was so fixated on checking the evidence that I did not check the blood type.
“What did you say, Shorty?” the guy asks, but I turn and nearly run through the kitchen, heading back to my locker. I grab my phone and call Sophia.
“Hello?” she answers groggily, and I realize I probably woke her up.
“Hey, fuck, I’m sorry I shouldn’t have woken you,” I apologize.
“Carolina? What’s wrong?” Sophia asks, sounding more awake now.
“Did you see what the blood type was for the blood that was tested for my parents?” I ask her.
“Uhh… yes. I think they were both O positive, why?” she says.
“It’s not them!” I nearly yell.
“Lina, what do you mean?” she asks.
“It can’t be them! I don’t know what their blood type was since I never asked when I was a teen, but Chiara and I are both A positive.”
I hear some rustling on her end before she responds, “And are we sure you guys aren’t adopted or anything? I had this one guy in my biology class in high school who found out like this, he—”
“No, I’m sure. Chiara and I are spitting images of my mother. And I have enough of my father’s features to know he’s mine,” I tell her.
There’s a moment of silence on the other end before she speaks again. “So you think the case has been tampered with?”
“Yes! This is what I’ve been telling everyone for five years, and now there’s proof,” I exclaim, my emotions bouncing all over the place.
“Okay, don’t jump to conclusions just yet. I know you want this badly, but we need to stick to the facts,” she cautions. “We’ll talk about this tomorrow. I’ll check some things and maybe ask some colleagues for their input.”
“Thank you,” I whisper.
“See you tomorrow, Lina.”