Chapter 4
CROW
My stomach rolls over, and I immediately break out in a fresh sweat.
“So, what happened here today?” The cops are oh-so casual, but my heart’s rocketing through my chest. I’m debating what to say, when the little kid jumps in and surprises the shit out of me.
She gets up off the couch and walks right up to the officer. It occurs to me this kid hasn’t been taught to fear the police. She’s likely never had reason to.
I look down at my hands, every instinct inside telling me to just keep it cool. There’s nothing to fear here. I did nothing wrong. I don’t even know these people, and I’m going to leave as soon as they take Bridget away.
“My mom fell down the stairs and got hurt,” Mia explains, still gripping Gavin tightly. “I know how to dial 9-1-1, but I couldn’t find her phone. She dropped it when she fell.”
One of the officers is looking at me, and the other is kneeling down to focus on Mia. “Are you hurt, sweetheart?” he asks.
Everything inside me is screaming. I should never have stopped. I should never have gotten involved. This bullshit instinct inside me to help, to run in, has already been my undoing once. The officers split up, one taking Mia aside, while the other heads over to chat me up.
“Tough morning, huh?” The second officer is acting casual, but he’s looking me over in a way I’m all too familiar with.
I hold my head firm. “For Bridget, unfortunately, yeah,” I say, trying to deflect his attention back on her.
They’re clearly assessing me while they assess the scene overall. I’m not going to make it easy for them to come to the wrong conclusion.
“Is Mia okay?” I ask, nodding at the little girl.
She’s crying again and talking fast to the officer.
“I’m sure she’ll be fine,” the second officer says. “What’s your name, sir?”
And here we go. The questioning.
“Logan Taylor,” I say.
“And do you live here, Logan?” he asks.
I shake my head. “No, sir.”
“Can you tell me what happened this morning?”
“Mama!” Mia cries out again when the paramedics roll a stretcher into the house.
“Excuse me,” I say to the officer. I half expect him to grab me, but I’m a free man now, a private citizen, and he just lets me go up to the little girl.
I bend down and meet her eyes. “Hey, Mia.” I tap Gavin’s head with two fingers. “Gavin’s feeling pretty nervous about the ride in the ambulance. You think you can tell him it’s going to be okay? He looks like a brave giraffe, but he could use his best girl right now.”
Mia nods and clutches Gavin tightly. I keep her focused on me while they get Bridget settled on the gurney.
She’s a lot more alert now and is able to talk and answer questions. Once she’s sitting up, she points to Mia. “My daughter,” she says.
“Mama, I want to go with you.”
Bridget’s words don’t make much sense. She’s slurring a little but clearly trying hard to answer.
“You two can follow us,” the paramedic says. “We need to go.” He tells me the hospital he’s heading to and instructs me where to park.
“I…I don’t have a car here.” I try to explain, but Mia hands me her mother’s purse and keys.
The cops walk up to us and intervene. “You want to ride with us, honey? We can take you in the police car.”
She looks from them to me, and for a minute, I’m torn between desperately wanting her to go with them and realizing that if she does, I’m likely to end up right beside her. In the back of a cruiser. My throat feels like it’s closing up. My shoulders drop as I feel a small hand on my sleeve.
“Can you drive my mom’s car? I’m not allowed in a car without my car seat.”
I look into those wide eyes with wonder. This is a smart kid. A kid who’s been trained to be smart. She trusts the police and authority figures, knows how to dial 9-1-1. I start to suspect there’s more to their story, but the cops are looking at me, waiting for my answer.
“Absolutely,” I tell Mia. “You got shoes? Let’s go.”
The police officer who was talking to me bends down to meet Mia’s eyes. “You want to ride with him, honey? Is this your mom’s boyfriend?”
I don’t know how the guy concluded I’m not Mia’s dad, but I don’t care. I hold my tongue and thank my lucky freaking stars when the kid says, “He helped me and my mom. I want to ride with him.”
I have no idea why she feels that way, but I’m not about to question it. Thankfully, neither are the police. But they do leave me with a warning about meeting me at the hospital for an official statement about what happened.
I know how this has to look. Like I’m some asshole in her life who hit her or pushed her. Whatever they believe or suspect, for now, they are letting me drive the kid to the hospital.
The cops are watching our every move, and I have no clue where my phone is. I don’t even know which car is hers. I call out to her, “Mia, why don’t you meet me at the car? I need to grab my phone.”
She runs up to me and holds out her little hand. “I put it in my pocket.”
I’m impressed that tiny dress has pockets, but I don’t much care as long as I’m reunited with my phone. “Great job, kiddo.” I nod at her and grab Bridget’s purse. Then I follow the cops and paramedics out, locking the door behind us using her keys.
Mia is standing by the beat-up red sedan parked right out front. The same one I was using as my landmark earlier. She’s waiting by the back seat, and I can see through the window there’s a kid’s car seat back there.
“You still ride in that thing?” I ask quietly. “How come?”
“It’s the law,” she explains, and I almost smile.
“Yeah?” I unlock the car and open the door for her. The ambulance is already pulling away from the house, but the uniformed officers are waiting until we take off. I groan and try to still the thundering of my heart in my chest. I’ll bet any money they follow us all the way to the hospital.
Mia climbs into the seat, handing me Gavin while she fastens the belt.
“I either have to turn eight or weigh forty pounds,” she explains.
She sounds like she’s repeating the answer to a question she’s asked her mom a hundred times.
Then she holds out her hand for Gavin. “I turn eight in a few months.”
“All right, then. You know how to do that, right?” I ask quietly. “You’re all belted in?”
She nods. “I do it all the time. Mom just checks to make sure I did it.”
I look at Gavin. “Gav, can I trust you to check on Mia’s seat belt? I’m not an expert, but I bet you are.”
Mia grins huge, and it’s such a relief after all the tears, the tightness in my chest eases a little at the sight.
I climb in and immediately adjust the mirrors and move the seat as far back as it will go. The low fuel light goes on the moment I turn the key, and I curse softly under my breath.
I have no clue how much gas in is here, but the hospital we’re going to is only a few miles away. I’m going to press my luck yet again and hope the guardian angels of good deeds look kindly on me for once.
Just as I turn over the engine, my phone rings.
“Goddamn…” I look up at the kid in the back seat, and I hold back the rest of my curses. The caller ID is Arrow, probably wanting to know why I didn’t respond to his text earlier. I swipe the screen and bark out, “Hey, Arrow, man, now’s not the best time.”
He’s saying hello and starts talking, but just then, I see the blue and red lights on the cruiser behind me turn on.
“I’ll call you later,” I tell him and toss my phone in the passenger seat.
“Are you okay?” Mia asks from the back. “What’s your name again? I kind of forgot.”
“I am, sweetheart,” I say. “You can call me Crow.”
“Crow?” she asks. “That’s not your real name, is it?”
I meet her eyes in the rearview. She looks amused. Interested.
“No, it’s a nickname,” I tell her. “Didn’t you tell me your mom’s name is Bridget, but people call her Birdie?”
Mia’s eyes open like I’ve just unlocked a treasure chest of toys in front of her. “No way,” she blurts. “Crow is a bird, and my mom’s nickname is also about a bird. That’s crazy.”
“If you want, you can call me Logan.”
“Logan kind of rhymes with Gavin,” she says, clutching her giraffe.
“It kind of does,” I agree, but it so doesn’t.
“I like both,” she says. “Logan and Crow. Can I call you both? Like I sometimes say Mom but mostly call her Mama?”
I nod. “That works, kiddo. Do you have a nickname?”
She smiles. “My mom calls me sweetie and honey, but those aren’t really nicknames. She just says that because she loves me.” She’s quiet for a moment and then says, “You just called me kiddo. My dad calls me kiddo sometimes. Is that a nickname?”
“Sort of,” I say, distracted. Since she’s brought up the issue of a dad, I latch on to that. “Mia, do you know how to reach your dad?”
She nods. “His number is in my mom’s phone.”
Well, for fuck’s sake. Of course it is. And her mom’s phone is some place in their house.
“Is your daddy at work? Is he coming back home tonight? Someone should find a way to let him know what’s going on with you and your mom.”
Mia shakes her head. “I don’t know where he works. He’s never lived in the house with us.” She seems totally casual as she adds, “I only see him once in a while. It’s been a long time. I don’t think Mama would want me to call him unless it was a real emergency. But this is an emergency, isn’t it?”
She looks ready to start crying again, so I redirect the conversation. “Do you have any grandparents? Brothers or sisters? Anyone else your mom calls when she needs help?”
Mia’s lower lip starts to tremble, and I immediately regret asking the question.
“There was just my grandma,” she starts. “She’s in heaven now. There’s no one else.”
Double fuck.
“That’s okay,” I assure her. “No problem. How about school, honey? Where do you go to school? Do you ever have a babysitter come watch you?”
I assume the school will have a list of emergency contacts. There’s got to be someone I can notify that Bridget is hurt and Mia is going to need care.
“My friends Sophia or Kylee…their moms watch me sometimes if Mom’s going to be late picking me up from afterschool,” she says.
I have no idea what afterschool is, but I roll with it. “Okay, that’s great. Sophia and Kylee, you said?” Helpful moms are great news for me if I can find this Kylee or this Sophia and one of their moms. “And your school?”
She tells me the name of a local elementary school, a place I’ve never heard of, because of course, why would I? I’ve never spent this much time with a kid, let alone been anywhere near a school. At least not since I was a student in one myself.
I flip on the radio and let some pop music play for the few minutes while I follow the ambulance and police cruiser as best as I can without breaking every traffic law.
I breathe a sigh of relief as soon as we hit the hospital parking lot. “All right, Mia. We’re here.” I go around to the passenger side and help the kid out of the back. “You forgot something,” I remind her.
Gavin the giraffe is lying facedown on the floor. Mia grins at me and shakes her head. “That would have been a pain in the neck,” she says, chuckling.
I crack a half smile. “Hey,” I say. “Good joke. You remembered.”
She looks at me awkwardly, as if I’m supposed to take her hand or something.
We are in a parking lot after all, and even though she’s, like, a sort of big kid, I don’t know what the rules are.
I hold out my hand tentatively, and when she grabs it firmly, I guess I did the right thing.
Whether it feels right or not is another thing.
But whether I’m doing this right or doing this wrong isn’t something I’m going to worry about right now.
Mia, and Gavin, for that matter, are looking up at me—the only grown-up around—and they are waiting for me to do something.
“Let’s find your mom,” I say, and I walk her through the parking lot toward the emergency department.
As we walk into the hospital, I realize I forgot her last name. “Mia, what’s your last name?”
“Connor,” she says. “Same as Mama’s.”
“And your dad?” I ask.
“Mama and my dad never got married, so he has a different last name. Bryan Harris.”
Her answer is so polished, so well-rehearsed.
We walk into the emergency room, and it’s a lot less busy than I would expect for this hour of the morning. Mia and I head up to the registration desk, and before I have the chance to open my mouth, Mia starts in.
“Can I please see my mom?” Her lip is trembling, but she’s got a firm, clear, big-girl voice on.
Hearing her sound so brave, I feel like a little fist clenches around my heart. I can’t imagine how scary this is for her, and yet here she is, asking loudly and politely all the right questions.
The triage nurse looks like she feels the same way, her eyes going soft. She cocks her head to the side and directs all her questions to Mia.
“All right, sweetheart. Let me get some information. What’s your mother’s name?”
Mia and the nurse talk, and with a few taps on her keyboard, the nurse nods at me. “Sir, may I get your name?”
I give it to her, and she motions for us to take a seat.
“I’ll have someone come out and bring you to your mama as soon as I can, sweetie.”
As easy as that, we’re sitting together, me, Mia, and Gavin.
And oddly, it doesn’t feel terrible. I’m uncomfortable about the cops, but if not for them, I have nowhere else to be.
And the thought of leaving Mia alone and not knowing that Birdie is safe and on her way home… I lean back in the chair and wait.
Mia swings her legs and asks me questions about my tattoos.
The birds I have inked on my flesh. Typical old-school sparrows, with red breasts and black wings.
The inkwork is simple but still perfect after all these years.
I can’t count the times I looked at those birds while I was in prison, wishing I could spread my wings and fly away.
I tell her the story of where I got them, leaving out the R-rated details, since the truth is, the sparrows were a gift from a stripper I dated about a decade ago who worked days as a tattoo apprentice.
We’re sitting in the chairs, shooting the shit with ease as if we’ve known each other for years instead of just hours.
For a second, I think about what Morris must have gone through meeting Alice and Zoey.
He saw a woman in need and stepped right up to help her.
Zoey was right there, and they snagged Morris, hook, line, and sinker.
When the nurse calls Mia’s name and she jumps off the chair and takes my hand, I realize how easy it would be to become attached.