Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Jaxi
The purr of the engine is somewhat soothing to my raw nerves.
Boone pilots the car down the city streets. We float in and out of traffic breezily, as if we aren’t on our way to the Savannah Police Station. The officer’s words pelt me over and over, telling me that he can’t say much until I meet with him face-to-face.
My stomach twists into the tightest knot I’ve ever felt, and a voice in my brain screams at me not to go. That being summoned to the police can’t be a good thing.
But if I was wanted for something, surely they wouldn’t call and ask me to come down. Right?
I close my eyes and remind myself that I can’t be wanted for something. I haven’t done anything. I’m not a criminal.
But what if someone planted my DNA at a crime scene?
I choke back a mouthful of vomit.
“Hey, how ya doing over there?” Boone asks. His voice is eerily calm, only mildly tinged with a curiosity that I feel too.
I look at him. “I feel like I’m gonna puke if you’re really looking for an answer.”
“Well, don’t do it in here.”
“You offered me a ride. To the police station,” I say, raising a brow. “I have to think that you realized I might be a little nervous.”
He rolls his tongue around his cheek before turning at me with a cautious twinkle in his eye. “I figured that women who do breaking and enterings were probably used to this kind of thing.”
I roll my eyes. “Under the circumstances, I’m not laughing.”
“Oh, come on. That was funny.”
“Maybe later it will be.” I focus my attention back on the road. “Time will tell.”
He regrips the steering wheel. “You really don’t know what this is about?”
“No. Believe it or not, I have had one interaction with the police. That was about three weeks ago when my landlord told me I could pay my rent in blow jobs and I threatened him with a baseball bat.”
A shadow sweeps across Boone’s face. His jaw tightens. “He did what?”
I ignore the question. It doesn’t matter.
“So, unless they have a question for me about that or if Chuck decided to press some kind of charge on me for something—I have no idea.”
“Chuck’s the landlord?”
I nod.
He lets his gaze linger on me for a long second before looking at the road.
Boone flips the turn signal, and as we take an exit to the right, the gray building comes into view. With each roll of the tires closer, the sicker I get.
Something is wrong. I can feel it.
My palms sweat as Boone parks the car, and my heart races as he turns off the ignition. Silence descends upon us, and I feel like I’m drowning in it.
“You don’t have to wait,” I tell him.
I’m not sure how much time passes with me sitting next to him, my eyes fixed on the large doors leading into the precinct. But eventually, I realize that there has been no response.
I turn my head and see him sitting with one arm draped over the steering wheel.
“Either I’ll be right here or I’ll go in with you,” he says. “Whatever you want.”
A lump settles in my throat at the genuineness of his words. Why is he so nice to me?
“That’s not necessary—” I begin, but he cuts me off.
“I gave you two choices.” He grins softly. “Pick between them.”
I open my mouth to argue again, but the grin pulls into a smirk, and I know he’s not going to give in.
The door to the station opens and snatches my attention away from Boone. Instantly, my chest tightens with anxiety.
“I’m going with you,” he says with a finality in his tone. “Let’s go.”
I want to tell him no, but he’s already out of the car. And, if I’m being honest, the idea of walking in there alone puts me on the verge of blacking out.
Boone waits for me at the front of the car.
I climb out and close the door. With one foot in front of the other, I make my way to him.
He stands tall and sturdy as if he’s not the least bit concerned that he’ll be nabbed as a co-conspirator in some made-for-television drama that he knows nothing about.
Hell, I’m worried about it, and I know I’m innocent.
We make our way across the parking lot. Gravel crunches under our shoes. The sun is bright, a weird juxtaposition to the situation.
“I was thinking,” he says as we get to the door. “I’ll cook for you tonight.”
“What? Why are you thinking about that?”
“Isn’t it obvious that I might just like spending time with you,” he says, echoing the statement I gave him a few minutes ago.
We pause at the door. I face him, taking in the pools of green that feel like the safest place in the world at the moment.
“In case I forget to tell you,” I say, the words wobbling. “Thank you for bringing me here and coming in with me.”
His shoulders drop the slightest bit. “You’re welcome.”
I nod, gathering my courage. “Okay. Let’s go.”
“After you.”
He swings the doors open, and a blast of chilled air billows out of the building.
I shiver from the temperature and the surge of uneasiness as I approach the deep blue counter. A woman on the other side looks up.
The room smells of disinfectant and stale air. The lights give everything a strange white glow. It’s a place I hope to never have to come to again.
“Hi,” I say, feeling Boone’s presence behind me. “I’m Jacqueline Thorpe, and I’m here to see Sergeant Boudreaux.”
“Just a moment.” She picks up a phone and turns away from me.
Boone rests his hands just below my shoulders. The contact surprises me in its abruptness but also in its warmth. He runs his palms up and down my arms, easily encapsulating my biceps in his hands. It takes everything I have not to lean back against him in response.
“Miss Thorpe?”
A loud, thickly Southern voice comes from a doorway to my right. I jump and turn.
“Yes,” I say, stepping toward him. “I’m Jaxi Thorpe.”
“Please come into my office.” He looks over my shoulder. “And you are?”
“Boone Mason.” Boone extends a hand as we approach. The sergeant shakes it. “I’m a friend of Miss Thorpe’s.”
Sergeant Boudreaux smiles at Boone. “I know your father. He’s a good man.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“My father, he was in his eighties, used to play poker with your dad and his buddies,” the sergeant says as we enter his office. He shuts the door behind us. “He really looked forward to that every month.”
Boone and I take a seat across the desk from him. I shift my weight back and forth as I will the two of them to shut up so we can get on with it.
“Your dad was Duke then,” Boone says. “He was quite the character.”
Sergeant Boudreaux laughs. “That he was.” He shuffles some papers around on his desk, the levity falling from his face. “I was surprised that you were in town, Miss Thorpe. My notes said you were in Columbus.”
“I’m house-sitting,” I say. “I grew up here and have a cousin here. It’s just by chance.”
He frowns. “Well, it’s well-timed. I’m afraid I have some bad news for you.”
I run my hands down my thighs. “Okay. What is it?”
“Jeanette Hannigan is your sister. Correct?”
My stomach revolts against the stress. It churns and twists so hard that I lean forward slightly to try to ease the pain.
Boone angles his body toward me.
“Yes. She is my half-sister,” I tell him. “We had the same mother but different fathers. Why?”
He folds his hands on his desk. “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, but your sister has passed away.”
What?
No. It can’t … She can’t be … dead.
I sink back in the faux-leather chair, my clothes squeaking against the fabric as I move. My gaze falls to an uneven grout line on the floor as his words echo in my brain.
My palms are cold now, the sweat having evaporated into the cold room. The pain in my stomach easing, only to have relocated into my chest.
Nettie died?
I blink slowly and try to pry myself out of the downward spiral in my head. I need to pay attention.
Boone’s hand rests on my forearm. I don’t really even feel it.
“What happened to her?” I ask. The words sound like they are coming from someone else.
“From what I understand, she went to the emergency room sometime in the past forty-eight hours and was diagnosed with sepsis. You need to talk to the medical professionals about that if you have questions.”
“Okay.”
My voice is as hollow as I feel. It’s a strange sensation to process.
I have seen my sister twice in the past fifteen years.
Once when our grandmother died. I think Mom guilted her into attending the funeral.
The other instance was when Mom passed away when I was nineteen, Nettie twenty-seven.
We spent two days together for that six years ago. I haven’t seen or heard from her since.
“I always thought she was so cool,” I say, mostly to myself.
“I would tell everyone she was my sister. You’d think she was a movie star or something by the way I talked about her.
But if she was around, she’d emphasize half-sister and then explain that we had different dads and different last names. ”
The gazes of Boone and Sergeant Boudreaux are heavy. Still, I keep talking.
“She was so talented,” I tell them. “She would constantly be singing Mariah Carey songs, and she loved to dance. I used to watch her and then go to my room and try to mimic it.” I smile at the memory. “She was a better cook than our mom, even as a teenager. And she has the best hair.”
Boone squeezes my forearm. It causes the dam in my eyes to break and a cascade of tears to drop across my cheeks.
I sniffle. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to cry.”
“It’s all right,” Boone says softly.
Sergeant Boudreaux hands me a tissue. “Crying at the loss of a loved one is a normal reaction, Miss Thorpe.”
I nod and dab at my eyes.
It might be normal, but I still hate it.
“There is one other thing that I’d like to talk to you about,” Sergeant says. His Adam’s apple bobs. “Are you aware that your sister has a child?”
“No,” I say, scooting to the edge of my seat. “I had no idea.”
“Well, she does. And your sister, Jeanette, signed a Last Will and Testament at the hospital and named you as her guardian.”
Whaaaaaaaaaaat?
My jaw drops to the floor as I let that bit of information sink in.
I hold my head in my hands. “She named me as the guardian. What does that mean?”
“It means that if you would like custody of the child, a little girl, then that’s what the State would like to do. But if you don’t, then the State will take custody and put her into foster placement.”
“No. I’ll take her.”
I answer quickly—probably too quickly, but there’s no way I can let that happen. This little girl that I’ve never seen before is my flesh and blood.
A flurry of questions and situations and potential problems catapult through my brain, and the influx of energy causes me to feel light-headed. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to stay balanced.
The sergeant says something that I miss altogether. I sense him getting up and walking to the door, but my gaze falls on Boone.
His eyes are wide, but the centers of them are calm. I grab onto them like buoys in a raging ocean.
“Miss Thorpe?”
I look up to see a woman in a black pencil skirt and tan blouse standing in the doorway. She walks toward the desk and sets a pad of paper on it.
“I’m Shera Wan, and I’m sorry for your loss,” she says.
“Thank you.”
“Sergeant Boudreaux told me that you are opting to take custody of the minor. Is that correct?”
All I can do is nod.
How is this happening? How the hell is this happening right now?
Nettie … Oh, Nettie. What happened to you? Why did you not reach out for help?
I blink back tears.
“Are you in a place to financially and emotionally care for the child?” she asks me.
I nod even though I have no idea if that’s actually true.
“Okay.” She scribbles something on the paper. “This is a process we will have to work through together. But because this is probably quite a shock to you, we will make it as painless as we can today.”
“I would appreciate that.” My brain picks one question out of the queue and blurts it into the room. “So do I adopt her or … how does this work?”
She smiles. “You can. Right now, you’ll have guardianship. The State gives us a process to follow to ensure that the child is in the best environment.”
“I understand.”
Lies. I don’t understand at all.
She scribbles something again. “So you can care for the child. I just need to confirm that you have permanent housing and the address of that location, and we’ll be set for the moment.”
Oh. Shit.
Sweat dots my forehead as panic floods my veins.
I don’t have permanent housing.
The closest thing I have to that is in freaking Hawaii with a family that I haven’t even technically met before. And with Ted boning the neighbor, I can’t even stay with Libby until I figure this out.
Will they take a hotel room? Can I afford that long term? No, but I could get one for now and then—
Boone clears his throat. “It’s 7639 East Scott Street.”
My head whips to his. He ignores me.
“Does anyone else live at the home?” Shera asks.
Slowly, Boone twists in the seat until those gorgeous eyes find mine again.
“She lives with me.”