Someone Else's Fairytale (18 page)

It took me a moment to process what Beth had just said. Chris was paroled? He was out of jail? A shiver went through me. Calm, I told myself. Who cares? It's not like he's going to bother you now.

“Okay. Thanks. For telling me.”

More fidgeting. Beth ran her fingers through her hair and flipped it back from her face. “Lillian told me someone vandalized your house and your car.”

“Lillian?”

“Vanderholt.”

“You talk to her?”

“She called to say she'd seen you.”

“She did?” Why? That wasn't a good idea.

“You know how to get a restraining order?”

“Against Jason's fans?”

“I don't know that it was Jason's fans. Chris has been cruising your mother's house. Maybe he found yours. He still blames you, you know, for ruining his life. Dad's got him at his house right now. I talked him into taking away the car, but I don't know how strict Dad is about that.”

My head spun as I processed this. He'd hit my mother's house? I'd assumed her broken windows had to do with her e-Harmony habit, or the fact that she lived in not the greatest neighborhood.

But Beth saw the stricken look on my face and picked up her purse. “I can't help you any more with this, okay? Don't tell anyone I came here. Please. My family's been through enough...” She gave me another nervous glance. “I know that sounds selfish.”

“I won't tell.”

“I'd better go.” She slung her purse over her shoulder and clip-clopped her way out of the restaurant without a backwards glance.

Those were more words than I'd ever exchanged with her in my entire life.

The next day was the beginning of Labor Day Weekend, which meant the District Court was closed. According to their website, that was where I ought to go to pick up information on how to file a restraining order.

Skype rang while I surfed. I right clicked the icon and shut it off. Then I went into the program's settings, and switched it so that it wouldn't be on every time I booted up my computer. I needed to not give Jason so much attention. As nice as he was, he wasn't that good of a friend.

First thing Tuesday morning, I was at the District Court, with its arching, blue roof high overhead. The day was overcast, so the broad expanse of concrete in front of the doors wasn't quite frying pan hot. As soon as I stepped in the glass doors, I had to go through security, just like I was getting on an airplane. I put my purse on the conveyor and took off my shoes. I still set off the alarm so I had to take off my belt and my earrings too. That thing was sensitive.

It took me five minutes to dress myself again on the other side. “Where do I go to find out about restraining orders?” I asked the uniformed guard.

“How to file one?”

“Yeah.”

“I think you talk to the clerk.” He pointed across the rotunda to a low doorway.

“Thanks,” I said. The front lobby of the courthouse had a ceiling clear up at the top of the building, which drew the eye up and up. Curved staircases invited people to climb them towards whatever lofty things happened in the chambers there.

The way to the clerk's office felt like going down a little rabbit burrow. I joined a line of people wearing polo shirts with law firm logos on the breast and waited for a clerk. They were all behind glass windows, like bank tellers. When I finally got one, I told him what I wanted. He scratched his nose, handed me a stapled packet, and said, “You need anything else?”
           

“I don't know.”

“Well, get in line again if you do.”

I took the hint and moved off to one side. The packet instructed me on how to fill out the enclosed paperwork and file it with the court. It was a fill in the blank sort of form, where I put in who I was, Chris's name, what had happened, and why I wanted a restraining order.

This seemed simple enough, but I knew at once that it wasn't simple at all. This was what people without lawyers used. Chris, if he was still his father's son, would have a lawyer. I couldn't just fill this in with a pen and expect to win against the reams of professionally typed documents that would be filed in response.

Think, I told myself. How would I make this professional looking? Well, I would first need to cite the court case that had put Chris in jail. I had no idea how to find it. I assumed my name wasn't confidential anymore, since I wasn't a minor, but I really knew nothing.

Last time I'd faced Chris in court, the DA had been on my side. This time I needed to at least find a non-profit attorney. The line for the clerks was long, though, and snaked out the door. My car was being charged by the half hour in the lot across the street. I decided to head home and try an internet search. But first, I had class.

That evening I typed “Legal Aid” into Google and found that the
New Mexico
office dealt mostly with housing issues. I didn't think vandalism was what they had in mind. I wracked my brain for other ideas. “Non-profit lawyer” yielded a bunch of names, but how would I know if any of them were good?

My gaze slid to the Skype icon in the lower right hand corner of my screen. It'd been a week. Maybe if I logged in, Jason would call.

And then what would I do? He wouldn't want to be dragged into all this. The person I really wanted to talk to was his mother, but I didn't really know her. Steve's name sprang to mind, but I didn't really know him either.

But Beth's visit had set my heart racing. The very idea of Chris out of jail was enough to make me break into a cold sweat.

I launched Skype and logged in. Jason was online, and his call came at once. I blinked in surprise.

“Not to be rude,” I answered, “but don't you have a life? You can't possibly be watching Skype all day.” The video resolved itself into an image of him sitting in his kitchen chewing on what looked like a carrot. From the angle of the video, I surmised he was on his laptop this time.

He smiled at my comment. “Nope, no life. I just work out and work on my tan. I take it you're busy?”

“Actually, I was just going to try to call you.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Do you have a minute?”

He sighed. “I
guess
so. Though I'm afraid this tan might flake.” He rubbed his arm. “What's up?”

“Well...”

Those blue eyes searched my face. He put his carrot down.

“It's a long story.”

“I do actually have time, if you need.”

“And a very personal one.”

“Okay.”

“Except your parents already know it.”

“My parents?”

I buried my face in my hands a moment. “Okay, so... ten years ago, I'm the one who sent Chris to prison.”

He blinked. “For drugs?”

“For what he did while on drugs.”

“What did he do?”

I fiddled with my pen. “Got into a steroid rage and attacked me.”

“Ten years ago, you were a little kid.”

“Yeah.”

“This isn't why you've got a gunshot scar on your leg, is it?”

“You recognize that, do you?”

“Holy...” He sat back. “I had no idea.
No
idea.”

“Well, my name was kept out of the public record. I was only eleven, you know. But if your parents worked for the DA, they would have known it. And if they know the Winters...”

“They never breathed a word. This wasn't when Chris was in high school was it?”

I shook my head. “After he dropped out.”

“Oh, I didn't know he dropped out. I guess that's why Jen and Steve don't know anything about this. So, you said Chris was in prison. He's not anymore?”

“I've just learned. And I think him getting out might have something to do with the broken windows on my house.”

“But I thought that was a fan.”

“Me too, but the thing is, my mom's windows also got broken. I didn't connect the two incidents because she was conducting a relationship on the internet and I just kind of jumped to a conclusion there. But one of the reporters who was at my house said he saw a guy cruising past. I didn't think anything of it because... you know, it's been ten years and I thought Chris was still put away and this guy was a reporter who wanted me to talk about you.”

“You really think your brother would come after you again?”

“Well. Yeah. Beth came to warn me. She came to visit me at work – though I don't think she wants people to know about that.”

“Who was the pap?”

“Huh?”

“The photographer. I wonder if he took a pic.”

“I don't know. Short blond guy.”

“I'll get Dave on it. I can't believe I used to hang out with Chris. You must think I'm the shallowest-”

“Well, I assume you never got involved with his drug binges or anything like that.”

“No. Nope. I don't do stuff like that. Never have.”

“So, listen, I want to get a restraining order against him, but I'm in over my head here, and I can't afford a lawyer so-”

“I'll call my parents, if that's okay?”

“Do you think they can recommend someone?”

“Yeah, much better than I can. I know nothing about this kind of stuff.”

“
Thank
you.”

“For what? Being related to my parents? I didn't have any choice about that.”

“For talking to them for me.”

“Well, of course. Gimme a minute here.” He cut the connection.