56 Christian
I don't think any of us slept.
Ryan and I both kept insisting Francesca try, but she just curled up between us in her new bed, crying quietly while we held her.
The moment sunlight begins creeping through the windows, she sits straight up.
Her eyes are swollen.
Her cheeks are blotchy.
She looks exhausted.
But she’s obviously filled with that fierce determination that’s gotten her through a thousand hard days before.
"Let's go."
"Frankie, it's six in the morning,” Ryan says, sitting up.
"Yeah. And Jamie's been in jail since yesterday morning."
She throws the blankets aside and climbs out of bed. "We need to get to the station."
"Love-" I start.
"No."
She turns to look at us.
"Ryan needs to give his statement. The lawyer said the sooner we get everything straightened out, the better."
Her voice wavers slightly.
Just enough to remind me how scared she is.
Then she squares her shoulders.
"So get dressed."
~
The drive to the station is quiet. I spend most of it trying not to think.
Trying not to think about holding cells and arraignments and judges.
Trying not to think about prison.
I know enough to know this could go very, very badly.
Jamie is already in the system. No one is going to give him the benefit of the doubt. He’ll be judged and tossed aside as just another thug.
The thought of him actually going down for this hits me like a punch. I haven’t let myself really think about it.
It would destroy us. All of us.
Ryan would be riddled with guilt. Francesca would be absolutely devastated. And me…
No. I don’t let myself go there.
We aren’t there yet.
I’m itching to touch base with David. He office shares with the real estate attorney I use and I’ve met him a few times, but don’t really know him. But he took my call last night with no questions, then went straight to the station.
I didn’t even ask how much he charges. It doesn’t matter.
The station smells like bleach and sweat. Francesca clings to my arm as we stand in the lobby. I can feel her trembling. I want to tell her it’ll be okay, but I don’t know that and I’m not going to lie to her.
A officer comes out to take Ryan back to give his statement. He glances over his shoulder at us as he walks away, forcing a tight smile.
“It’s gonna be fine,” he whispers, but there's worry written all over his face.
Francesca and I settle into an uneasy quiet in the lobby, broken only by the distant hum of fluorescent lights and the occasional murmur from the front desk.
I feel every second gnawing at me. Knowing Jamie’s in this very building, locked up somewhere feels like a cruel joke.
Then a door opens and David walks out. His suit is wrinkled and he looks exhausted, but sees us and immediately comes over.
“Mr. Smith,” he says holding out his hand to shake it. “And you must be Frankie,” he says to her. She nods.
“Ryan just went back to give his statement,” I offer.
He nods. “Good.” There’s a calm efficiency about him, and I relax just a touch.
I swallow. “So… do we know anything?”
He moves over and moves a chair, sitting down in front of the two of us. It’s comforting how comfortable he seems here, like this really is no big deal. “Not yet. But whatever happens, we’re going to handle it.”
He turns to Frankie and smiles a bit. “He told me to tell you that he’s fine. His exact words were, and please excuse my language, ‘Tell Frankie I’m fucking fine and to stop freaking the fuck out.’”
She giggles, and the sound loosens the knot in my chest just a little.
“So,” David continues, “Ryan’s statement will help. But they’re known associates, which means it may be dismissed as covering for Jamie- especially since neither of them can even describe the shooter.”
And just like that, the knot is back. Tighter than ever.
The door opens again and my head snaps up instinctively. It’s not Ryan. Just another officer, coffee in hand, not even glancing our way before he walks out the front door.
“Would it help if I talked to them?” Frankie asks quietly. “If I- ” she swallows, “- if I told them about everything with Gary over the years?”
“Not yet," David says gently. "Right now it'll look like we're trying to justify why Jamie would want to shoot him. We don't want that."
She slumps back against me, and a small knot of anger mixed with guilt flares in my chest.
This feels like my fault.
I’m the one who decided how we handled things back then. The one who didn’t call the cops. Who didn’t push to have Gary arrested, locked away for what he did to Frankie. And because of that, he was still around- still breathing- until he ended up dead in an alley like the piece of shit he was.
If I’d taken care of it years ago…
The hallway door opens again.
This time, it’s Ryan. He looks wrung out- shoulders slumped, face pale- but when his eyes find Francesca, he manages a small nod.
David walks over, introduces himself, and shakes Ryan’s hand.
“So I do have some news I wanted to share with all of you,” David says, taking his seat again.
He then tells us that Jamie’s dad’s fingerprints are on the gun, but he doesn’t know exactly what that means.
“It means this is Jamie’s dad’s fault. He’s fucking his son over yet again,” I grind out.
“Maybe,” David says, standing. "I'll know more soon. The fingerprints are important. That's all I can say right now."
Back in the car, Francesca finally speaks.
“I don’t want to go home,” she says quietly. “Not without him.”
“Okay,” I say, meeting Ryan’s eyes in the rearview mirror.
“Let’s go to my parents’ place,” he says.
It seems like the least bad option, so I turn the car that way. She leans her head against the window, staring out as the streets slip past.
.