8. Nicola
Nicola
A bolt of anger rises in my chest.
You should have dealt with him when you had the chance.
I shake my head, releasing the thought that isn’t mine.
When I get inside, I find Emmy on the couch watching YouTube videos on her laptop and eating cereal, Scotch next to her, his little white head resting on her thigh.
“How was school?”
“Yeah, fine,” she mutters and strokes Scotch’s back. “But I’ve been thinking. I would really like to take a mental health day every week.”
“A mental health day?”
“Yes,” she says matter-of-factly. “I’ve been researching it. Some schools let their students take one day a week and study from home. I want to do that.”
“As in, you go to school four days per week?”
Emmy nods enthusiastically. “It would be good for me. I wouldn’t have to stress out so much, you know?”
I nod and come sit next to her. “I do know, baby, but I’m not sure it’s the right thing.”
Emmy nods and stares at my face. “What’s wrong with you?”
“With me?” I pull back. “Nothing. I’m fine.”
“Liar,” she says. “I know when something is wrong with you. Your eyes are all puffy, and your face has that look.”
“Look? What look?”
She shrugs. “Just a look. Like sad, but also angry, and something else, too.” Emmy thinks. “Like you’re dead inside.”
The words hit me hard. Dead inside. Am I dead inside?
I force a smile. “If I were dead inside, would I be able to do this?” I dive forward and start a tickle war. Emmy leans back and starts laughing as Scotch gets up on all fours, tail wagging excitedly.
After a moment, Emmy pulls away and holds the side of her head. “It was bad today,” she tells me. “I took a pill during class and almost fell asleep.”
“Oh, Em.” I wrap my arms around her and pull her close to me to examine the long, glistening scar on her scalp. My fingers touch the skin lightly, and she winces. “I think we should see Dr. Ching.”
“I don’t know,” she says, her voice growing small. “I really don’t want another surgery.”
“Don’t worry about that now. Let’s just see what she says first.”
Emmy nods and hunkers down into the sofa cushions. “Can we have mac and cheese for dinner?”
“Sure.” I smile at her.
You should tell her you got fired today.
Again, I release the thought with a flick of my head, like I’m batting away a fly.
Tell her. She can handle it.
I know she won’t stop, won’t be quiet until I do. So I do.
“Em?” I start. “There’s something you should know.”
She looks up from her computer.
“I quit the hotel job today.”
“What? Why?”
I shrug like the whole episode was no big deal, like it didn’t matter that I came face-to-face with her father’s killer, that I have his driver’s license in my phone now, his face in my mind, and a photo that places him in the same car, in the same city, at the same time on the day of the accident.
“It wasn’t working out. But I don’t want you to worry.”
“Okay,” she answers. “But we need the money, so …”
“Don’t worry about that,” I say confidently. “I’ll find something else.”
“Something else? Like what?”
“I don’t know yet,” I tell her and rub her back. “Try not to worry.”
We sit for a moment in silence. The feeling of holding her is the calmest I’ve felt all day. I wonder if she can sense my unease.
“You know, sometimes I get so upset that it’s hard to think straight,” Emmy says.
I sit quietly, just listening. She’s so much like me at her age sometimes, it scares me.
I shake the thought from my mind. Emmy scratches Scotch behind his ears. One of them twitches, and they shift with the sound of a passing truck outside.
“Sometimes I think I want to know who did it, you know? Even though we can’t.
I just imagine them, the driver, out there in the world living their life, or whatever, and I get so angry I could explode.
Everything is one big, horrible mess, and we can’t do anything about it. It just seems so unfair.”
Emmy stares into the floor, her eyes burning. I would reply, but the sad fact is, I agree with her.
Except I know who did it. I’m the only one who does.
“The whole case. Nothing is happening. They’re not actually doing anything, are they?”
“These things take time, Em,” I say, repeating Steve’s words to me.
I don’t have the heart to tell her that there is no wrongful death case, not really.
That Steve won’t take it on contingency, that basically, she is right.
The law is not on our side. There is no justice, no redemption here, even though I’m determined to get it.
“Yeah, but even if we win, how does getting some money make things even?”
“It doesn’t, but we need money to pay us back for everything we lost, all the medical bills. The case could help us with that, Em.”
“Maybe, but it won’t bring Dad back.” Emmy pulls at the hair on her right side, away from her scar, and my heart breaks. “It’s like I’m just realizing now that he’s never coming back, that things won’t ever be the same again.”
I hold her close, unsure what to say.
“I hate them,” she says bitterly. I look at her.
“Who, Em?”
“Everyone. The lien doctors. Steve. The police officers. Everyone.” I feel Emmy’s anger running deep and true like mine. Only hers is different. Hers has controlled disdain, like a small fire someone could extinguish with one quick blast.
I wrap my arms around her. Under all the bubble gum fragrance and shampoo, she still smells like a baby to me. I want to tell her: You are my reason for living. You are everything to me.
I take her hand, and she pulls it away.
The blooming Jasmine makes the night seem so much kinder than it is.
I park my car near a large oak tree, its leaves, like the others on the street, beginning to carpet the ground.
I get out and gaze up and down at the houses, their warm lights dotting the road.
Walking along, the only sounds are my uneven footsteps and the distant hum of traffic, the occasional police siren wailing.
A dog barks, and birds stir in the overhead trees.
It’s a street like any other, and yet my heart beats wildly, my temples pounding as I approach what can only be described as the mansion at 1900 North Alpine Drive. I lower myself to the curb and cradle my knees, my arms shaking.
The tall stone-like gated entrance blocks most of the view of the driveway, but behind it, a tall structure rises up and extends back far into the distance.
I imagine a pool, loungers, and a giant backyard, big sweeping lines of a stark white kitchen, modern furniture in fresh, mild hues.
The lights are out, so everyone must be asleep, but I imagine the Redferns sitting at a long, extended dinner table, candles lit, voices all talking at once, a group of other well-known, famous faces aglow amid wine glasses and silverware that twinkle beautifully in the dim light.
I imagine them happy, unaware of the destruction they’ve caused, oblivious to our pain and suffering.
Deep inside, the itch returns. I want a closer look, but I know that would be risky. I stretch out my bad leg into the street, willing the sensation to return to my toes so I can eventually stand.
Headlights approach, and a flicker of fear darts into my gut. I push myself up and try to get back onto the sidewalk, where a normal person would be.
I scan the darkness. The headlights are bigger, rounder, and as the engine approaches, it becomes louder. I wait, my heart racing. The glow from the headlights widens, and I hobble backwards from the road as the car approaches, feeling it catch my feet in the edges of its high beams.
The gate begins to open to their driveway. My body freezes as the white Wraith pulls up, waiting for the gates to open.
It’s him.
My stomach turns as Jason Redfern pulls in and the gates close slowly behind him.
I shouldn’t come back here.
I should leave the Redferns alone.
I should ignore the voice telling me that this is my chance to make things right.
But I can’t because he’s right here, and I’m so close now. So very close.
The voice is talking again …
You didn’t really think I’d let you leave this alone, did you, Nicola?