29. Lillian
The restof the night went by fast. The Thai food was delivered, and Becca and I managed to convince Lincoln to throw out the leftovers without hurting his feelings. Becca had pulled the puppy dog eyes, and I pretended that I haven’t been able to eat any pork since Grace threw it up on me a year ago.
Which never happened, but the minute Grace’s name was mentioned, he panicked and threw it out. Becca and I had low-fived under the island. I only felt marginally bad at manipulating him and using Grace to do it, but there’s no way I could pretend to eat that dish.
I got a glimpse of it as he threw it away and understood immediately why Becca had gone green at the thought.
After dinner, Lincoln and I watched a movie as Becca went back to painting, telling us goodnight on the way. It was a quiet, peaceful night, and after Lincoln showed me where he put all my things from the suitcase, I fell asleep in his arms.
We stayed in the same position, holding each other, until he had to get up and get ready for work.
That was about four hours ago, and it’s coming up on lunch now. Becca left a little over an hour ago, saying she wanted to go on a walk. So it’s just me in the quiet apartment.
I’m keeping busy with work. I started on a request for a small logo design an indie author sent me to get back into the swing of things. Next in my queue are some bigger, complete company redesigns that are going to take a lot from me.
Just as I’m finishing up the first order and thinking about what to make or order for lunch, my phone rings from down the hall. It’s been plugged into the charger since I fell asleep last night before charging it.
Exhaustion weighs me down, though, and I take several moments to decide whether I want to get up and answer it at all. While I’m deciding, the phone stops ringing, making my mind up for me.
Only for it to start back up again.
Ugh. Whoever is calling must be reaching out for an important reason. Maybe it’s Kim calling about Nicky. Or Jim calling to tell me Kim has gone into labor. At that thought, I jump out of my seat and rush down the hall.
The bedroom is semi-dark, and I see my phone lit up, lying on my pillow. It goes dark just as I get in the room.
Shit.
Unplugging it, I glance at the screen and see the missed calls aren’t from Kim or Jim or even Lincoln.
They’re from Yasmine.
Seeing her name makes my heart drop into my stomach, my gut telling me something is wrong with Grace. Pulse racing, I unlock my phone and scroll until I get to her name, prepared to call her back.
But then the phone rings again.
Yasmine.
I pick it up immediately.
“Hello?” My voice is shaky.
“Lillian, thank God, I got you. I didn’t want to leave this over voicemail.” Yasmine’s voice is laced with no small amount of stress and worry, which makes my own emotions bubble to a breaking point.
“Leave what over voicemail?” My voice feels far away, ears ringing.
“Talia missed her phone check-in last night. A social worker came by today to do it in person, but nobody answered. The cops are on their way now to do a wellness check.” She pauses. “Look, I shouldn’t even be calling you. But my gut is telling me something is wrong. If you wanted to?—”
I cut her off. “Tell me where. I’m on my way.”
A breath of relief is blown through the phone. “I’ll text it to you and meet you there.”
A text comes through immediately, and GPS says it’s a ten-minute drive from Lincoln’s apartment. Racing through the apartment, I stop only long enough to put on some shoes and grab my car keys.
Minutes later, I’m speeding in and out of mid-day Phoenix traffic, honking at anyone driving the speed limit in the left lane. Normally, this kind of driving would bother me, but I’m beyond caring about things like road etiquette or politeness.
Each stoplight I hit feels like the longest two minutes of my life, and I seriously think about running them anyway. All the while, I’m studiously ignoring the angry fingers and looks being thrown my way as I speed closer and closer to my daughter.
I make the final turn onto the road my GPS says the address is at, and I don’t even have to look at it anymore. Up ahead are four cop cars with their lights on and an ambulance with its back doors thrown wide open.
When I’m twenty yards away from the closest car, I slam on my brakes, throw the car in park, and jump out. Not even bothering to shut my door behind me, I’m running at full speed to the apartment a stretcher is being pushed through.
I get to the apartment complex’s lawn before a tall, muscular cop throws his arms out to stop me. I try to push through, but the man isn’t budging, and slamming into him feels like hitting a wall.
“Ma’am, you can’t go in there,” he says with a bite of impatience, not even winded holding me back.
“Get off me!” I yell, pushing against his arm with all my might. “My daughter is in that apartment!”
Please be okay. Please be alive.
“You mean your mother?” The guy looks at me with a confused frown. I push off him, taking a step back, and try for a calmer approach.
“No, I mean my four-year-old daughter. I need to see her.” I can feel the tears start to prick the backs of my eyes.
“Ma’am, the only person in that apartment is the woman that OD’d,” he says as if he’s solved the problem. Just as he says it, I see Talia being rolled out on the stretcher. There isn’t a sheet covering her, so they must have been able to revive her.
“Did you check the entire apartment? I have a four-year-old daughter. Her name is Grace, and she should be in there, too.” My voice cracks at the end just as I feel a body rush up to my side.
“It’s true,” Yasmine says out of breath as her shoulder brushes mine. “I’m her case worker. This is her mom.”
Now the cop’s eyes dart between the two distraught women standing in front of him. His brows furrow as he brings a hand up to the radio attached to his vest shoulder. “32, did you guys check the apartment? Possible four-year-old inside.”
There’s silence on the other end. Yasmine grasps my hand hard, waiting on pins and needles with me. She’s grown so close to Grace over the years, watching her grow up, that I think she’ll be almost as devastated as I will be if anything happens to Grace.
Shit. We’ve got a little girl in here. Hiding in the bathtub.
The words crackle through the radio, barely finishing his sentence, before I’m sprinting for the door. The big cop must have been too surprised that we were right, or maybe now he believes I’m her mother and understands my need; either way, I get by him.
As I break through the doorway, the first thing that hits me is the smell. Body odor mixed with cigarette smoke and a general, disgusting musk about the room.
The next thing I see that blurs my vision with rage is the spoons and needles. There’s cotton and torches on one of the nightstands, liquor on the other. The place looks like several people went on a weekend-long bender.
The sound of tears from the bathroom filters through my boiling fury—familiar tears. My feet carry me through what looks like roach-infested carpets until I’m outside a door where three male cops are surrounding my crying daughter.
“Move!” I grit out through clenched teeth. They all look my way just before I shove through them. “Hey, baby,” I whisper through a tight throat as I take in my tear-stained, rumpled Gracie. Her hair’s a mess, and she’s wearing an outfit I packed in her hospital bag that looks like it hasn’t been taken off and washed in days.
“Mommy!” she sobs and throws her tiny arms around my neck as I crouch in front of the tub. “Where were you?”
Her tearful question feels like a stab in the heart, a seething accusation. “I’m here now, baby, and I’m so so sorry. Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
I pull away and run my hands all over her arms. Checking her hands, the front and back, elbows, upper arms. I lift her shirt to make sure there aren’t any bruises or marks. At first glance, she seems okay, and she shakes her head at my question, so the stranglehold on my heart loosens just a little.
“Can we go home now?” She sniffles and snuggles into the crook of my neck, not letting go.
“Yes. We’re going home,” I answer her, then whisper to myself a silent promise. And I’m never leaving you again.