Chapter 3 #2
“Really?” He perks up, excited, showing his age.
“Yeah.” I take pity on him.
Several of the zookeepers don’t want Jace around because it wasn’t disclosed to us what he did, and they’re scared of him, but I’m not. I think he’s just a kid who’s been misunderstood. I remember being like that. I rebelled against my parents when I was younger.
He shifts from foot to foot, then looks back at me again.
“Did you divorce your baby’s father?” he asks nervously.
“Why do you ask?”
“My parents are divorced. I’m living with my dad full-time now, and my grandpa is moving here.
I feel bad for kids who go through divorces.
It might be the parents breaking up, but it affects the kids too.
” His words are soft, carrying a knowledge beyond his years, and I can feel the emotion in them.
I step a bit closer to him.
“My parents divorced when I was a teenager. I completely agree with you. No, Mari’s father and I were never married. He died.” I give him the easiest truth.
My throat constricts around that last word, like it always does. It makes me self-conscious because people automatically assume I’m upset he’s dead. How do you tell a stranger that your baby daddy dying was for the best, and that you hope he got his invitation to hell?
I turn away from Jace. “I’ll talk to you soon.”
I head into the back to my office to chart notes before I have to clean the exhibit again and head out for the day.
As my day progressed, I kept thinking about Tucker. His body wrapped around mine when I finally came to my senses. His voice when I was so lost in my head from the panic attack brought on by the fireworks sounding like gunfire. When the vice around my head finally lifted, I took him in.
The smell of him—clean soap, cedar, and something uniquely him.
I kept getting distracted by my thoughts and found myself doing something I hadn’t done in months. Daydreaming. Something in me wants to take a chance with a man like him. Could I really do that?
Jace made me think of everything I’m hiding from the people close to me.
He also reminded me of what it felt like as a teenager alone in a world that changed in ways I couldn’t control.
My father choosing to leave us and start a new family.
A family he’s now devoted to, and he doesn’t even speak to me at all.
When I was in the hospital, he never once tried to contact me.
I climb into bed exhausted and drift off into a fitful sleep.
“Sydney Parrish.” A deep voice comes from the doorway of my hospital room.
I look over and see a man in a South African Police Service uniform. His dark brown eyes take me in. His voice is heavily accented, and I immediately start to shake. My mother’s hand gently lands on mine, trying to give me strength.
“I am Captain Lathabo Bawani. I’m working with a sergeant with the Zimbabwe Republic Police. We are investigating your claims. From what we’ve been able to find, we are going to need to question you. Is now a good time?”
“Sir, my daughter will not answer any questions without her attorney present. She should be back here shortly,” my mom says.
“Mom, I can answer his questions. I want the people responsible for the attack to be held accountable.”
I’ve been in the hospital for two weeks.
The first week I was pretty much unconscious.
They thought I would lose my baby, but so far it is holding strong, and we are going to find out what I’m carrying soon.
I have a long list of surgeries to face, but most will have to wait until after the baby is born.
I need reconstruction on my right ankle.
I have a bullet in my shoulder that needs to be removed too. My other wounds are healing.
Whenever I am conscious, I try to answer questions and get people out to identify the bodies so they can be recovered, buried, and give their families closure.
“Murderer,” a woman screeches as she pushes past the officer and into my room.
I look her over. I can’t place her, but something about her looks familiar. Her dark skin is flushed. Her hair is pulled back from her face. Her pretty brown eyes are rimmed in red.
“Mrs. Abara, I told you we are still investigating your claims and Ms. Parrish’s too,” the captain says.
“Arrest her! She killed my husband. What do you have to investigate? He’s dead and she’s alive.” Tears roll down her face.
I realize who she is now.
“Get her out of here.” My mom raises her voice as the woman advances on me.
My mom tries to protect me, but the woman pushes her away and hits me before anyone can stop her. Her fist slams into the side of my head, and I cry out.
I did kill her husband. But the pain of being punched is minor compared to the pain in my heart from his betrayal and what I had to do.
I come awake as a sharp pain slams into my chest and I can’t control my breathing. I roll to the side of the bed and stumble into the bathroom, barely making it before I throw up what little food is in my stomach.
When I’m finally done, I stand on shaky legs to rinse my mouth and wash my face.
I look in the mirror and stare at the woman looking back at me.
She isn’t the same woman I was a year ago.
A year ago, I found out the man I was sleeping with was married.
I found out he had been lying to me. I found out he was worse than I could have ever imagined.
A year ago, my life changed irrevocably.
As I crawl back into bed, I know I’m not going to sleep well for the rest of the night. I toss and turn until I finally fall asleep again. My mind reruns every moment of the attack and every regret I carry.