Authors: Pat White
“Because I’m crazy,” I tease, but don’t look into his eyes.
He awkwardly pulls off his shirt, fumbling with the casted arm. I want to help, but fear he’ll take off running if I get too close. He drops his shirt and I take a chance. I press the washcloth against his wound.
“Here.” I hand him the second washcloth. “For your nose.”
“He’s never drawn blood on me before. I guess I’m a man now,” he jokes and offers a half smile so similar to J.D.’s.
“You need to tell the police.”
“No, and don’t you call them,” he begs. “J.D. says they’ll split us up.”
“Okay, it’s okay,” I hush and wipe his wound clean.
He eyes me. “How do you know about this stuff?”
“Spent a lot of time in a hospital.” It’s meant to be a joke, but I regret the words the minute they slide off my tongue.
Billy looks away. I’m guessing guilt tears him up inside.
“Awk-ward,” I mutter. I can’t tell him I know the truth. I’m afraid of what it will do to him in his fragile state.
Billy looks at me with sad green eyes. “I have to tell you something.”
“Yeah?” I focus on spreading antibiotic ointment on his wound.
“It was me.”
I hesitate. “What was you?”
“I was driving the car that hit you.”
I’m not sure what to say.
“I didn’t mean to hit you. I was trying to get away from Dad, and I have a permit, but not a lot of practice and I guess I took the turn too fast and—”
“Hey, stop. Shit happens. We have to move on or we’re stuck there forever.”
“In shit?”
“Yep.” I apply a gauze pad and secure it with tape. “You guys should really tell someone about your dad.”
“I thought J.D.’s cop figured it out.”
“You’re giving him too much credit. He can’t figure out that J.D. was framed by Greg.”
“Hoffman? Why?”
I shake my head. I can’t get into it right now.
Billy looks puzzled, then curious. “Wait, are you and J.D…?”
“We were, but not anymore.” I close the First Aid kit.
“Why not? Because he’s in jail?”
“Because he lied to me.”
“About what?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“He only lies for one reason.”
“Yeah?” I glance at him. “What’s that?”
“To protect someone he cares about.”
“Whatever. Come on, your dad’s gone. It’s safe inside.”
“It’s never safe.”
I glance into his eyes, only briefly, and look away. His words break my heart. He and his brother live in a war zone, tortured by a parent who’s supposed to love them, take care of them.
No matter what lame things my parents do, I know they’re motivated by love, something neither Billy nor J.D. have felt in a long time.
I help him stand up.
“Catherine!” My dad’s voice booms from across the street. “What the hell are you doing?”
I whip around in time to see Dad marching across the lawn. He’s wearing that killer glare, the one he wore the night he clutched a shotgun and stormed through our house intending to teach J.D. a lesson.
Billy stands there, frozen, like a statue. I sense his adrenaline rush as he clicks into defensive mode.
And he’s got a knife.
“I asked you a question,” Dad shouts. “That boy is naked!”
“Here.” I hand Billy the supplies and turn back to Dad. “No, Dad, he’s not naked.” I swipe the shirt off the ground. “His father cut him.” I turn to Billy. “With what?”
“Broken bottle.”
I glare at Dad. “A broken bottle, Dad. The kid’s bleeding and he can’t go to anyone for help because his neighbors are heartless jerks.”
I shove the bloody shirt in Dad’s face.
Dad eyes Billy and grabs my arm. “How could you?”
I’m so tired of people passing judgment on me.
I wrench free of him. “You mean, how could I help a kid who was assaulted by his own father? How could I clean his wound and bandage it because there’s no one else to do it?”
“Adam! Catherine? What’s going on?” Mom rushes up to us, takes one look at Billy and stops short. “My God, what happened?”
“Your daughter has taken up with the brother of that degenerate.”
“Taken care of, Dad. You guys can ignore the abuse going on over here, but I won’t. You raised me better than that. You raised me to take care of people. You’re proud of me when I’m raising money for cancer research, but I can’t help my own neighbor? You’re both such hypocrites!”
I nod at Billy, whose green eyes widen with respect. “I apologize for my parents, Billy. Do you have a friend you can stay with until J.D. comes home?”
“I guess.”
“Good. Get away from this house before your dad gets back, okay?”
He nods.
“Promise?”
“Yeah,” he says.
I turn to Mom and Dad. “Come on. You’ve embarrassed me enough for one day.”
I motion for them to walk ahead of me, but Dad hesitates and for a second I’m afraid he’ll go after Billy.
Then he looks at me like I’m a stranger. I stare at his forehead. I’m so disgusted with him I couldn’t make eye contact if it was safe to do so.
“Let’s go.” I push.
Mom encourages him with a hand against his back. They walk across the lawn and I glance over my shoulder at Billy. “It’ll be okay.”
I’m totally full of it, of course. My parents probably didn’t hear a word I said and if they heard it, they didn’t understand it. They’ll head out after dinner to buy a padlock for my door, call four more specialists and have me admitted to the mental unit first thing tomorrow.
Why? Because although I’m brain-challenged, I still have the same integrity they taught me for the past seventeen years. Go figure.
We get inside the house and I slam the door. I start up the stairs.
“Honey, wait,” Mom says.
I turn to them. Dad stands next to her, his forehead creased, his mouth tight.
“Did someone call the police?” Mom asks.
“Like who, Mom? You?”
“Don’t talk to your mother that way,” Dad scolds.
“Sorry, but I’m sick to my stomach right now. Sick about a helpless kid whose mother abandoned him to a monster who beats the crap out of his sons. But you can’t see that. All you see is the danger to me. You guys have to stop being so self-absorbed that you can’t see what’s really going on. I’m okay. I’m not the same girl I was before so just…deal with it!”
I race up the stairs and slam my bedroom door. I want them to know it’s shut. I won’t lock it. That’s overkill and I have nothing to hide.
Well, except my feelings for J.D.
I flop down on the bed. I was so mad at him for lying. Beyond furious.
Then I found his little brother crying beneath the cedar tree and my anger lifted. I wanted to protect him, too. I wanted to fix him and make it all okay.
There is something about Billy that reaches into your soul. Maybe it’s the freckles or the round eyes that reflect a hint of innocence, even after everything he’s been through.
I know one thing: he won’t survive living in that house without J.D. Billy will surely get spooked and pull the knife on his dad.
I can’t let that happen, nor can I let J.D. sit in jail for something he didn’t do.
I’m helpless again, but I won’t allow helplessness to paralyze me. I’ll come up with a plan and get J.D. out of jail, which might set Greg’s plan into motion. I’ll need to stop that too.
“You can do this,” I whisper.
* * *
I’m anxious the entire next day at school. Anxiety from my condition? More like the buzz of anticipation. I know what I have to do. It’s not going to be easy and it may ruin my life for good.
But I have to try.
I’m the ultimate poser. I smile at my friends, pretend to be engrossed in their conversations, and even let Greg kiss me.
I hold my breath.
As I head out after school, Taylor stops me. “No Cheer again?”
“Doctor’s appointment.” I roll my eyes.
“Bummer.”
“Yep. Text me later.”
“K, bye.” With a pinky finger wave, she bounces off with Andrea and Clarisse.
“Hey.”
I turn to find Billy standing there with a serious look on his face.
“You okay?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
“Good.” I want to check his bandage. Hug him.
I don’t dare.
He hands me a sketchbook. “I thought you should have this. It’s my brother’s.”
“He probably wouldn’t—”
“Yeah, he would.”
I take it and clutch it to my chest.
Billy glances down the hall and back at me. “I have an idea that might get him out.”
“Me too. I’m heading there now.”
“I’m going after cross country,” he says.
“Good luck.”
“You too.”
We both hesitate, like we know we should hug, or shake hands, or something. But that would be way too radical: a senior girl hugging a sophomore boy.
Billy puts out his fist and we bump knuckles.
“Later,” he says and heads down the hall.
* * *
I hesitate outside the police station. My heart is racing so fast I’m afraid I’m going to pass out. This is the right thing to do. I take a few seconds to regain my courage and I open J.D.’s sketchbook.
It’s filled with drawings of me: dozing in history, smiling up at him, wearing my sunglasses and my beanie, gazing to a faraway place. He probably remembered that from the time in the greenbelt when he showed me the mountains from his secret spot.
These were crafted by the hand of love, not manipulation. I’d already figured that out. I was so shocked, so angry about the lie that I’d completely lost my perspective yesterday. My time with Billy helped me get it back.
I close the sketchpad and march into the station.
“Is Detective Ryan in?” I ask the receptionist.
“Is he expecting you?”
“No, but it’s important. I’m Catherine Westfield.”
“I’ll let him know.”
I wander to a chair and wait. Forever if I have to.
A few minutes later the detective comes out from the back. “Catherine? You wanted to see me?”
“I need to talk to you.”
He waits.
“In private.”
“O-kay.”
He leads me into the back office and offers me a seat next to his desk.
“More private?” I push.
“The only thing more private is the chief’s office.”
“Is he here?”
“Actually he’s at a conference but—”
“Trust me. You’re going to want to hear this.”
He cocks his head to the side and eyes me as if he’s calculating something.
With a nod he says, “Okay, follow me.”
We go into an office and he motions me to a chair at a round table. He sits across from me.
God, can I intentionally do this? I know it happens when I feel anger or love. Neither of which I want to feel for the detective.
“I’m guessing this is about your boyfriend?” he asks.
“Greg?”
“Your other boyfriend, the criminal boyfriend.”
“J.D. isn’t a criminal.”
“Yeah, yeah. If that’s why you’re here you can forget about it.”
“He’s innocent.”
“Ah, young love. It’s a beautiful thing, but misguided.”
“I’m not misguided. I know he would never do this.”
“You can’t argue with the evidence.”
“I can if I know someone planted it there.”
“Man he’s done a number on you. What, did he tell you that your friend Greg is the real perp?”
“He didn’t tell me. I told him. I overheard Greg talking about it.”
“Okay, now you’d say anything to save Pratt, which makes no sense since you should hate the kid. Maybe you’re mixed up.”
“Why? Because I’m stupid from the accident?”
“I didn’t say that.”
I know the “stupid Catherine” thing is a trigger so I keep pushing.
I rip off my sunglasses and hope to hell I can do this.
“But you’re thinking it, right?” I’m staring into his dark blue, cynical eyes. “You think I’m the naive girl taken in by the juvenile delinquent.”
“I think you’re confused.”
“I’m not that either.”
“I think you should go home.” He stands.
I stand as well. “But I have information—”
“You’ve got nothing. You’re infatuated with the wrong guy because your judgment is off.”
“I’m not infatuated. It’s more than that.” I block him from opening the door.
My heart races. I’m slipping. This time I don’t fight it.
“Go see your shrink, but don’t come in here wasting my time with garbage about love.”
“Love…” I grab his arm just as I zip through a portal like never before, long, dark and slippery. I land with a thud and I look up.
I’m in a baby’s room decorated in pale pinks and purples.
A mobile plays ‘Greensleeves’ as colorful ladybugs float over an empty crib.
Detective Ryan sits in a rocking chair in the corner clutching a stuffed animal. He stares at the crib like he’s in a trance.
“I’m sorry, my sweet Brianna,” he says.
It feels like a hand is gripping my heart and squeezing.
“I should have…” he whispers. “I miss you.”
“Patrick?” a woman says from the doorway. She’s wearing a nightgown and her long, dark hair falls across her shoulders. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
He clears his throat and stands, places the stuffed animal— a blue dog—on the chair. “Had to pick up a few things.”
As he crosses the room he hesitates and eyes the crib. The prick of a knife plunges into my heart. I struggle to breathe as I watch more.
He passes by the woman and she touches his arm. “Don’t go.”
His shoulders sag. It’s like he wants to speak, but can’t. With a shake of his head he walks past her. The woman slides down the doorjamb to her butt, her eyes welling with tears. “It’s not your fault,” she whispers. “Please come back to me.”
A sob wracks my chest and I gasp for air.
“Hey! Catherine, what’s the matter with you?”
I’m leaning against the wall and someone’s got a firm grip of my arm.
Detective Ryan.
He broke her heart. Losing a child was bad enough, but then he abandons his wife?
“What’s wrong?” he says.
I take a few deep breaths and place the sunglasses to the bridge of my nose.