Chapter 13
13
DULCE
O n Monday, I place the cakes in the display case and turn the temperature to the right setting to stay fresh.
“So Danny turned out to be an overlapper,” Katie says, packing today’s deliveries.
“An overlapper?”
“Yeah, it’s when a person starts a relationship while still in another one, knowing that the current one will not work out. They suddenly break up with the person when they feel secure in the new one.”
“I’ve never heard of that?”
I don’t have experience in any kind of relationship because I’ve never had a boyfriend, but that sounds like a lame thing to say to someone like Katie. She’s spunky and full of spirit. She’s had three boyfriends and has more experience than I do when it comes to guys.
“Yeah, it’s like an emotional airbag. Some are even habitual or serial overlappers.”
“Sounds like they’re serial killers.”
She snorts. “Yeah, of people’s feelings. They try to convince themselves that they’re not cheating when, in fact, emotionally, they are because they are trying to forge a connection with the next person.”
“I think it’s cheating. How can you string someone along like that, giving them hope when you know you're not interested in them anymore.”
“Ford Keller raced to your rescue, huh?”
“He was there at the right time.”
“Do you think it was a coincidence or the luck of the draw?” she asks curiously.
I never thought about it. I was so wrapped up the entire weekend when he stayed until the sun came up to make sure I was okay. I cleaned and spent time with my grandma for the rest of the weekend. I was thinking about what it meant that he stayed and how I responded to being in his arms. I felt safe. None of it made any sense. I should’ve been afraid, but maybe my subconscious was trying to tell me something.
“I’m not sure. Ford was?—”
“Perfect?”
I sigh. “He isn’t perfect, but guys like Ford usually seem like they are, and women want to believe it.”
“How many hearts do you think he’s broken?”
“I’m sure plenty. He’s famous, rich, and good-looking, but I won’t be one of them.”
“Why not?” she asks, placing the orders gently on the counter.
I grab my back from underneath the counter by the register. “It would never work. He’s him, and I’m…me.”
And I’m not sure if he had anything to do with what happened.
Even if he didn’t, a guy like Ford doesn’t end up with a girl like me. I’m stuck in this town like most of the people here.
She snorts, giving me a doubtful look. “I think you're selling yourself short.”
“You haven’t lived in this town long enough.”
“You’re probably right, but I’m here working with this town's best baker. Here are the invoices, keys, and the address for Ford’s delivery.” My stomach does a little flip thinking about seeing him again for some reason, and I slide my hands down the front of my uniform.
Katie gives me a knowing smile. “You look great.”
I check the time, knowing Danny will walk in any second for his coffee, and I don’t want to see him. I grab the invoices, keys, and three boxes while Katie grabs the other three, and we head out to the white van.
After securing the orders in the back, I open the driver’s side door, ignoring its weird sound, followed by the loud slam when I close it. The van is old. Some would say it was considered a piece of shit clunker.
The starter whines and then pops after a series of spluttering backfires, but it finally catches. A cloud of smoke spills from the back. It’s a hot day. The heat and the smell of burning oil and gas float across the parking area. I place the van in reverse, and it jerks. It’s worse than last week, but I don’t have money for repairs, and the last place I want to go was to a mechanic who would break my heart with the estimate to fix it.
After the first delivery, I start the van, surprised they don’t call the cops for a noise complaint as I drive down the road. I set my phone's GPS between the cracked gray vinyl on the dash and follow the directions.
My heart starts beating wildly in my chest when I notice I’m on the road heading to the middle of nowhere, following a ribbon of asphalt. Flashes of me in the dark, running naked toward red and blue lights, breaks through the memories I tried to suppress.
I blink, and the sunlight glistens with heat. The air conditioner doesn’t cool as much but blows air over the blanket of sweat on my skin. I check the dash, and the car starts making a funny noise. I press the gas, and it doesn’t pick up speed, making my heart curl in my throat. I glance at the GPS, and it says I still have fifteen minutes until I arrive at my destination. I let the van crawl, but it’s slowing down by the second. I press the gas, but nothing. It doesn’t pick up speed. I tap the brake and change gears with the shifter by the steering wheel, and that’s when the car slows. I changed it back, and I’m screwed.
“No, no. Not again. What is it with this place?”
The engine of the van stalls, and it rolls until it comes to a stop.
It's the same road, but this time, it’s daytime without a cloud in the sky.
The sun peeks through the tall trees, casting shadows over the road. I’ve never had a delivery this far.
I grab my phone and exit the map, looking for the nearest tow truck. I'm glad I have enough battery and signal.
Someone picks up. “Dean Towing,” the man says through the phone.
“Hi, my name is Dulce Webster?—”
I get out of the van when it gets too hot, fanning myself. The man on the phone named Dean said it would take about thirty minutes for him to show up. I'm glad I was smart enough to place the cookies and cake in a cooler. I don’t want to open it and check because it could allow heat to filter in. I walk around to the other side, closer to the grass on the shoulder, and look into the trees. I see something brown through the streams of light. I step closer to get a good look and notice a small house—more like a cabin.
It wouldn’t be surprising that plenty of people live in cabins in North and South Carolina. Looking down the road, I see if I can find the place where Danny found me, but I can’t. It could have been farther up, but I know it’s this road because I can feel it like evil fingers tickling my skin, reminding me that I was here stranded and attacked four years ago.
Four Years Ago
DULCE
There were times when I wished I died with my parents. If it weren’t for my grandmother reminding me of all the beautiful things in this world, I would have done something to be with them. I never told a soul because there wasn’t anyone I could tell.
Perhaps it was her subconscious telling her she needed me. To take care of things when her cancer came back, and it wasn’t fair if I was gone too. But who would be with me when it was my time to go? I knew the answer before even thinking about it. No one because everyone hated my existence.
I thought of death many times since then. How would it happen? How would it feel? Where would I go? Would I float in the air or go out like the tide? Would it hurt? I knew the answer when I felt death was looming. I wanted to live, and I wanted the pain to stop.
My eyes open, and I take a large gulp of air. My lungs burn, making a strange sound like a broken bellows, each breath a short, wheezing burst. The pain between my thighs swallows me whole, like from rubbing alcohol in an open wound. I don’t remember a pain like this. This pain is anguish.
I sit up, and my head feels heavy like a brick. My clothes are completely gone, and I try to remember what happened when a trickle of something wet drips on the side of my face. My hair sticks to my neck. I wait for my eyes to focus in the dark. I place the palm of my hand on the ground, feeling the wet dirt and leaves on my fingers. The moonlight breaks through the trees, and I look down and see dirt, leaves, and…blood smeared over my skin. How I got here. Memories come flashing. Something crusty between my thighs. With trembling fingers, I touch the inner part of my thigh, hoping it’s from dirt. Except it isn’t dirt, it’s blood.
No. Please God, no.
I try to stand, but my wobbly legs feel like hundreds of needles are stabbing them. With a cry, I fall back down. I look up at where the moon kisses the trees while I try to breathe through the pain. When it subsides for a few seconds, I turn my head and follow the trees to the embankment and catch a glimpse of the road.
A twig snaps, and there’s a subtle rustling of leaves somewhere nearby.
Panic seizes my chest. Fear causes me to crawl up the embankment with a strangled cry, ignoring the burning pain with an electric jolt as my heart hammers like a drum. I make it up to the road. Using a tree trunk to pull myself up, I begin staggering down the asphalt.
Two headlights head toward me like yellow eyes on a black canvas, blinding me. Then the familiar red and blue lights flash like a beacon. A sob rips from my throat. My knees almost buckle when I flail my arms.
I let out a hoarse scream. “Please! Help!”
The car stops.
The headlights blind me. I let out a guttural cry when the familiar blue and red lights shut off. “Oh…please! God .”
I hear a car door open. “Ma’am?”
I shudder at the sound of the man’s voice. I cross my arms, my hands shaking as I tuck them between my legs, trying to cover my naked body. “Please,” I gasp.
“You’re saying you were supposed to be at prom with Ford Keller?” Detective Fisher says.
I stare at the white wall in the hospital, refusing to look at Detective Fisher directly standing across from me in his wrinkled black suit jacket and yellow collar on his white dress shirt from wearing too much cologne. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days.
I nod. “Yes,” I say hoarsely.
“But that he didn’t pick you up.”
I grip the blanket under my chin. “That’s right.”
“Who did?”
My lip quivers. “C-Chris Ellis and Trent Walker. T-they left me.”
They started an IV and drew my blood, but I refused everything else. I want to go home. I cannot afford another hospital bill. The cost of the ambulance that brought me here is probably already in the thousands.
The door opens. A nurse and the police officer who found me walk in, but I’ve been sitting on the bed in this cold hospital room for hours, wearing a gown and wrapped in a blanket.
“Detective Fisher, are you done here?” the young police officer asks with eyes the color of his black police shoes. His hair is expertly combed to the side without a hair out of place. “The doctor is asking for you.”
Detective Fisher straightens. “I’ll be right out.” He turns back to me. “Miss Webster, this is preliminary. I know right now isn’t a good time, but I need you to try to remember how you were attacked.”
“Detective, she was assaulted, and she’s in shock. The questioning can wait,” the officer declares with a frown.
Detective Fisher’s eyes cut to the police officer. “I’m aware, Officer Mays,” he says in an annoyed tone. “According to the statement from Mr. Ellis and Mr. Walker, they were at the Airy High School prom with their dates around the time the attack happened. We have no suspects. Even if she agreed to take the rape kit, we cannot test it if we don’t have a suspect in the state of North Carolina until the law passes, and she doesn’t recall if she was assaulted or what exactly happened.”
“She’s scared,” the nurse asserts, angrily raising her voice.
They both pause and cut her a glance.
The nurse looks at me with a soft expression before glancing at them. “Can you give her a minute?”
My hands shake. The dirt stuck under my fingernails stains the white blanket. “They left me…”
The nurse places the tray in front of me, causing me to pause, and then she glares at the detective.
“I don’t disagree,” Detective Fisher says, “Maybe I can get statements from the boys. I’m sure they already have their lawyers on their way. If you could answer one last question before I go, Dulce.”
“I’ll try,” I say darkly, having a good idea what he is going to ask.
“Were you sexually assaulted by Chris or Trent?”
I turn away. My mind tries to search for anything. A clue, a memory—anything. But there’s nothing. It’s dark. It burns. The blood. You know what will happen, Dulce. They will make you pay. It’s now or never. I shut my eyes. The little voice in my head won’t stop. Damned if I do, damned if I don’t. No name. No witness. No description. Nothing. Maybe I just made it all up? Or maybe it’s a nightmare, and I’ll wake up in the morning and realize it didn’t happen.
“Miss Webster,” Fisher calls out.
“I don’t…NO…”
Be careful what you say, Dulce. It will be used against you. Trust no one.
“Even if they didn’t assault her, they abducted her, broke her phone, and left her in the middle of nowhere?—”
“I understand, Mays. I was trying to get them on a personal property charge, but the phone is less than two hundred dollars. I checked,” Fisher says. He isn’t wrong, but it was the way they left. Why they left me. What they said to me… “I’m trying to find out what happened as much as you are. All we have is a high school prank gone wrong and a broken cell phone. Keeping her in the car against her will is a crime, but she told them she wanted out of the car when she realized she got in the wrong car. They did pull over and let her out but broke her cell phone. Unless we have evidence of anything else, there is nothing we can do.” He looks at me. “Is there anything else you can remember? Something, an animal, or someone.”
“I don’t know. I was hit on the head and blacked out.” I tuck my chin in as two tears run as my chest tightens, hating that I have to say it. “I woke up like this. My clothes missing and…”
“Dulce, I’m so sorry. I know it’s hard. But an examination would help us find out what happened to you and who did it.”
I shake my head. “No, please. I need to go home. My grandmother…”
“We already notified her nurse; Mary is with her now. Your grandmother is fine and asleep,” Officer Mays says softly.
“Thank you,” I say softly.
“If you’re done, you can leave,” the nurse says firmly.
Detective Fisher nods, hands me a card, and says, “If you remember anything, you call me right away.”
I nod. “Thank you.”
“I’ll be right outside when you’re ready to be discharged to give you a ride home, Miss Webster,” Officer Mays says with a nod and follows the detective out the door.
“My name is Sharon. I’m the registered nurse assigned to you. I’m not sure if the charge nurse told you, but I need you to take these,” the nurse says, holding out a cup with water and another clear cup with pills. “The antibiotics are just in case and help fight any infection. You’ll be sent home with a prescription to continue taking them when you’re discharged. It’s important that you finish the course of antibiotics. Your lab results so far are negative. We have to wait for the rest of the results.”
Nodding, I take the cup of water and pills and swallow them in one go. I wince when they slide down my throat. It feels like a sharp nail scratching me on the inside. “When can I go home?”
Your discharge papers should be ready for you to sign,” she says and gives me a concerned look. “If you don’t want the examination and the rape kit, will you please see your primary doctor? It is important. I’m sure he or she can do one there.”
The last thing I want is to be touched or prodded. “What you just gave me…”
“It’s an antibiotic to cover the basics. If anything doesn’t look, smell, or feel normal, you come back right away.”
I lower my head. “If I get a fever…”
“Right. I’m sure the charge nurse and the doctor went over it with you when you came in, but I’m making sure you understand. The number for the hotline is in the pamphlet. It’s free. If you need to talk to someone. This is important. I overheard what the officer said, and I know you’re scared, confused, shocked. It is why…”
“You urged me to go to my primary and have the examination there.”
She has no idea how I feel. She is just doing her job. Empathy is what they are taught to feel. Not sympathy. She will go home tonight and talk about me to her boyfriend or husband. Feel pity. I’m stupid for refusing an exam and that she would’ve made better choices if she were me. But she’s not me, and she can’t know how she’d feel if something like this happened to her.
“It’s important to go as soon as possible. It will help the police catch whoever did this.”
“The way this town is, people will know…”
“Maybe, but the police will catch whoever did it since you can’t remember.”
“They don’t have a suspect. The law to test hasn’t passed in the state. They will leave it on a shelf somewhere, or someone will make sure it stays that way,” I blurt.
It’s all over the news the law they are trying to pass to test the rape kits that have no suspects or enough people to test. There are hundreds of them. Hundreds of cases. It’s best I keep quiet for now. Maybe I will remember if I go home. If I open my mouth and say the wrong thing, my grandmother will find out. My life will get worse. Everyone at school will blame me. Chris, Trent, and Ford. Their families run this town. They all have money. It will be me against them because they are the ones who left me there for it to happen. Their parents will come after me with everything they have. I’m eighteen.
A shiver runs through me. “I don’t…”
“You’re still in shock. Are you sure you’re okay to go home?” Sharon asks with concern etched in her features.
I have to. Mary needs to get home to her family, and my grandmother can’t wake up alone or, worse, find out what happened. This will crush her.
“Yes. I want to go home.”
Present
There was no reason for me to look up different types of wild animals in the area to report like the detective asked because a coyote or a bear didn’t attack me, but a man—an animal of a man who made sure to keep what he did a secret.
I went one step further, trying to get a close look at the small house to see if someone lived there because, to this day, I don’t remember. But my body remembers. It remembers what my eyes can’t see, what my mind can’t figure out as panic grabbed me. I vividly recall my breath becoming stuck in my throat and refusing to escape. As if engulfed in a black hole, the world around me shrank until I could make out nothing but the pain. With a trembling palm, I reached out for anything solid, but all I could feel was empty space and the crushing realization that I was completely alone.
The sound of a loud, powerful engine cracks through my focus. As I turn back around, I see a flatbed tow truck drive around my van, parking in front of it.
I hear a door slam, followed by the rattle of a chain hitting metal. His stomach hangs like a teardrop over dirty jeans caked in grease. His white beard is long like Santa Claus decided he wanted to tow cars in his spare time before Christmas.
He grabs a pair of gloves and slides them on. “Dulce Webster? You called a tow?”
I sigh in relief. “Yes, my van made a funny noise and then died.”
He nods, looking at the white van with rust caked in the corners. “Okay. Where do you want me to take it?”
I lift my hand to shade my eyes from the sun. “I need to make a delivery.”
“I can take you up to a garage so you can see it before it gets fixed.”
“Is it too far out? I was heading down this road.”
He gives me an appreciative glance that makes me lose my appetite.
He secures the cooler in the back of his tow truck and the van on top of the flatbed. I get in the truck and pull down the hem of my dress.
Dean clears his throat. “What are you doing delivering cakes this far out from town?”
“We all need to make a living, Dean. I’m sure you understand. It’s like asking you what a guy like you is doing towing cars this far out.”
His watery eyes tinged with red around the white find mine. “There is only one difference, Miss Webster. No one would take a second look at a greasy old fat fuck like me.”
He said it, not me, but I get his point.
The truck’s engine rumbles low as it lunges forward, sounding like a purring cat, mixing with the air whirring from the air conditioner.
At least it was cold, but the cabin smelled like aged gas and stale cigarettes. The kind of smell you would have to shower to get out of your hair.
He nudges toward the side of the road, the tree line whizzing by. “I saw you peering through the trees when I pulled up. It’s hard to see it, but that’s old man Moody’s cabin.”
“Does he still live there?” I ask curiously.
“Don’t know,” he says with a shrug. “He’s an old bastard. It’s why they call him old man Moody. Probably why he lives out here in the woods.”
“Why do you think he lives out here?”
“I think… maybe because he doesn’t like people, or maybe people don’t like him. He’s old, pushing seventy, but he’s a dirty old man.”
My stomach clenches. “What do you mean?”
“Likes ’em young.”
Bile rises in the back of my throat.
“How do you know that?” I’m trying to steady my breath and swallow down the nausea without him noticing. The bottled-up stench in here isn’t helping.
“You know how word gets around in this town. I’ve heard stories. Like how he got handsy with a cashier at the grocery store. She was wearing a dress like you are, bent down to pick something up, and he just shoved his fingers up inside her.”
I cup my hand over my mouth, my fingers trembling. “Seriously?”
He laughs. “That’s what they say.”
I frown. “They didn’t arrest him?”
He shakes his head in disbelief. “He played the blind old man excuse. Conveniently provided a medical diagnosis that he was completely blind in one eye, and since he was old and the girl eighteen, they do what they always do in this town.”
“They brush it off, look the other way, like it’s some wild secret.”
“That’s right. No harm, no foul.”
My throat is full of acid, but I manage to ask, “Is he still alive?”
“I haven’t seen ’im. Not for a while. I thought maybe the son of a bitch died. Ain’t no one going to miss the sick bastard. I didn’t buy that blind excuse. I don’t think no one did, but the girl moved to another state, and old man Moody returned to his cabin with his peaches.” He laughs on the last part, finding it funny while I was falling apart inside.
We pass roadkill, and it’s a dog with his guts spilled out over the road. Probably didn’t see a car coming in the middle of the night.
“Poor thing,” I mutter.
“You’ll see that a lot in my line of work. There is always a poor animal bleeding out his asshole and a crowd of flies around his eyes on the road.”
“That’s disgusting.”
“Ah, you’ll get used to it. I’ve seen worse. Dead bodies from car accidents.”
I look away, thinking about my parents and how they both died in a car accident on the way back home from getting me a surprise birthday present a few towns over.
He pulls out onto a main road, which is freshly paved. “Here we are.”
I look at the big white building, freshly painted sitting in the middle of nowhere, oddly placed. I read the sign, and a wave of dread washes over me. This is the last place I want to go, but my phone chimes and says, “You have reached your destination.”
I frown and look at the order form. This is the same place I was headed, and it’s the last place I would think Ford would be staying when he asked me to personally deliver his order.
“This is Trent’s garage.”
“That’s what it says,” he says sarcastically. “It’s the only mechanic shop still open in town. The last one closed. The owner called it quits and retired. If you want your van fixed without paying hundreds to another shop outside of town, I’ll gladly do the tow. Call me, and I’ll give you an estimate per mile. If not, Trent is the only one that can help you.” He gives me a wink. “He’s not a bad-looking guy. I’m sure he’ll give you a good price.”
A darkness creeps in from the edges of my memory and threatens to swallow me whole, fragmented, disjointed—a series of flashes and sensations that refuse to fade. But the fear, profound and unfathomable terror is still as real as it was at that moment, always lurks just beneath the surface, ready to drag me back into that place.
I swallow, trying to calm the lump in my throat.
“You never went to school with him.”
“Oh, so you know ’em.”
“Something like that.”
He pulls to a stop and gets out, giving me a full view of his plumber’s crack as he slides off the seat.
Walking up to the overhead door, I catch a glance from a few guys working on a Mustang out front.
“Is Trent here?” I ask, my voice cracking on the last part.
“Let me do it.” Two guys are arguing. “I want to do it.”
“Whatever, man,” the other kid whines.
“Yo Trent, we got a customer!” a blond guy says, giving me his lame attempt at a sexy smile.
I roll my eyes and wait, listening to the flatbed system from the tow truck as it tilts.
I hear the deep growl from an engine. Then it roars so loud that I squint and cover my ears.
“Woohoo!” someone cheers. “That sounds awesome!”
“Yo, Trent!” the blond guy fires off.
“I’m coming,” he yells, his voice cracking in frustration from somewhere in the back, and then I see him. My nightmare in the flesh.
“I have a delivery, and…” I look over my shoulder at Dean unloading my van, dragging the chain away from the tires and back. “I need an estimate to fix my van. I broke down on my way over.”
He casts a hesitant glance at the van and then at me. “You need me to fix your van?”
I fold my arms protectively over my chest with the order form from the cookies still clutched in my hand, not caring that I’m crumpling it. I do,” I reply and look away, not wanting him to see the tears I’m holding back. “I don’t know what is wrong with it. It was backfiring earlier, and then it died on the way over here.”
“Alright,” he says softly. A far cry from the way he looked and treated me back in high school. I haven’t seen him since it happened. I hoped I never would.
“Here you go, Missy. That will be three fifty,” Dean says with a clipboard in his hand. “I need you to sign here. After you pay, I can hand you the keys.”
“Let me get my cooler and bag out of your truck.”
I turn around and run into a hard chest. I look up, and eyes the color of blue flames hold me. “Good morning, Dulce,” Ford says softly.
“Good morning,” I murmur, hating that he’s here with Trent and hating Trent more. “I brought your order.”
I walk around him, but he holds me gently by the arm. He leans close and kisses my cheek softly, washing away the hate and replacing it with a fire. “Are you okay?” he whispers and looks warily at Dean and Trent. “Did Dean do anything, say anything?”
I shake my head.
“Good. Let me help you.”
He follows me to the tow truck, helps me with the cooler, and then carries it inside the garage.
I open my pocketbook and grab the money. “You have a great day, Dulce,” Dean says, passing me and getting inside his truck. I frown, watching him back out after he blasts his horn. He didn’t take my money. I glance at Ford, and he gives me a wink before glancing behind me, narrowing his eyes.
I turn around, and Trent remains standing in the same spot, watching me with a worried look. What is he afraid of? Or who? Is it me? Why would he, of all people?—
Then it hits me. Ford is back in town. And Ford doesn’t know what Trent and Chris did to me. Maybe he doesn’t know they ruined my life.
Four Years Ago
DULCE
After feigning a headache from a long night, Mary was sick with worry when she found out what happened but promised me she would not tell my grandmother. She would be devastated. She told Grandma this morning that I was tired from prom.
There’s a knock on the front door. I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping whoever it is will go away, but then another knock is followed by the doorbell. I drag myself out of bed before my grandmother wakes up. I look at myself in the hallway mirror and cover the gash near my hairline. There are dark circles under my red eyes from crying. Red splotches on my cheeks. My lips look like I had lip fillers. I look horrible. I look hung over, and I’m too young to drink.
I look through the peephole. A man in a black suit holds a briefcase. The top of his head is bald, and the gray hair is short on the sides.
Maybe it’s a different detective.
The man smiles. “Good morning.”
“Can I help you?” I ask cautiously.
“I’m Attorney Richards, and I’m representing Chris Ellis. Can I have a few minutes of your time?”
“I don’t think?—”
“Just a few minutes. Chris and his family want to ensure you’re okay. It’s unfortunate what happened. I assure you my visit is in your best interest.” His eyes are cold like a shark.
“Miss Webster?” His voice is low and commanding.
I nod. I don’t want to, but I feel like I need to know why he’s really here. I step forward and shut the door behind me.
“What is this about?” I ask in a hard tone, crossing my arms to keep my hands from shaking. From the look in his gaze, I can tell this isn’t a friendly visit.
“Look, I know high school can be tough, and it sounds like you’ve been through a lot. My client said you were the target of a harmless prank gone wrong.”
I scoff and let out a humorless laugh even though I’m screaming inside. Harmless prank? Is he kidding?
“I understand you are in a tough spot right now with your grandmother’s illness and running the bakery,” he continues without waiting for me to answer, his mouth lifting in a sickly smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “If you want to keep it open, I suggest you move on from this.” He lowers his voice. “Everyone knows your situation. It would be a shame if your grandmother had to close her bakery after being in business for so many years,” he says, leaving a rigid taste in my mouth. “My client’s family understands lineage, and they have the power and means to end things the way they see fit or make it better by making sure rent at the bakery is affordable. Maybe helping you out for six months after graduation. I’m also very good friends with Trent Walker’s family …” He pauses. “They also hope you can accept as a way to resolve things.”
They think they can pay me off? Bastards.
“And what if that’s not good enough for me? What they did was a crime.”
“I recommend not going that route. Your story has holes, starting with Ford asking you to prom, seeing that he left the country yesterday at five o’clock. Chris and Trent have alibis, and you have no proof of who did any of it. Not to mention, you don’t have anyone to support your side of the story, and this town doesn’t tolerate liars.” I want to slap his threatening smile off his face. “You and your grandmother risk losing everything.”
My grandmother would be heartbroken, and we would be penniless if we had to close the bakery. The bakery is what pays for her medications that are not covered to keep her comfortable. State long-term care gives her eight hours Monday through Friday to pay Mary for personal care and homemaker for four hours each. Anything over that needs to come out of pocket, or I have to do it myself. Chris and Trent’s family have the power to destroy me. They have the power to pay people off to look the other way.
“I understand,” I say through clenched teeth, hating him— all of them.
“My clients are willing to replace your cell phone and any medical bills you received in urgent care if you keep things to yourself. If you need to see a doctor, one will be provided for you at no cost.” He smiles like a car salesman. “I hope you feel better, Miss Webster, and good luck. My secretary will be in touch.” The bloodsucking lawyer turns around and walks down the broken steps. I want nothing more than for him to trip and fall on his smug face and then scream at the top of my lungs.