Shattered Castles 1 : Castles on the Sand (26 page)

Just because he knows the child protection system so well. Of course he would.

“It'll be a long process,” Alex continues. “Months. Did her dad really try to attack you?”

I nod.

Everyone gawks, except for Alex.

“Wow,” whispers Carson.

“But if I go home now, when will I see her again?”

“Does she have her cellphone? Call it.”

I do and her phone rings. It's on a table right by the bed.

Alex picks it up, looks it over, and sets it back down. “Should be fine. The nice ones sometimes get stolen, but that's a cheap one. The hospital number is on Sonya's card.”

“Alex,” says Wendy. “Since when did you talk this much?”

He shoots her an exasperated look. “I don't hear any of you helping out here.”

Carson steps forward. “Madison, not to be mean, but you look like a wreck, and Mrs. Beale is gonna come out any moment to see Kailie. You should get home.”

Alex puts his hand on my shoulder. “Yeah, I'll take her.”

Carson opens his mouth to object, then looks at Alex, and holds up a hand in surrender. “You need anything,” he says to me, “call.”

“Yeah,” I hear myself say. “Thanks.”

C
arson shakes his head, but doesn't say anything as we leave. We walk through the featureless hallways flooded with light, or at least that's how they look to me. I don't bother to focus my eyes, just rely on Alex to guide me. After what feel like random twists and turns, we emerge in the lobby, cross it, and step out the sliding glass doors into a soft rain and dusky light. The air is muggy. Only then do I take stock of where I am, which is a street I don't recognize at all. “Where are we?”

“Crescent City.”

I look up at him in surprise. The ambulance drove much faster than I'd realized. “Oh, I thought we'd be in Sequoia Ridge.”

“They don't do 24-hour emergency. They close at six.” He turns me to face him. “You hungry?”

“No.”

“Did you get dinner?”

“No.”

“Then you need to eat. What do you want?”

“Nothing. Really.”

His gaze holds mine a moment longer, then he turns to lead me to his car, I presume. Now that I'm outside, in the fresh air, I feel foolish. “Look,” I say, “I'm sorry.”

He quirks an eyebrow at me and I explain, “For being all clingy. You know. Back there.”

He doesn't favor that with an audible response, just heads to his car and holds the door open for me and I inhale the scent of sandalwood and Tiger Balm.

I glance at my watch and am shocked to see that it's past nine. Where did all the time go? “Thank you,” I say when he climbs into the driver's seat.

He flicks his gaze to me, then turns to look out the back window as he reverses out of his parking space.

I feel doubly foolish now, like I'm babbling like a little kid while he takes care of me. I clasp my hands in my lap and look down.

“First met Sonya in eighth grade,” he says as he puts the car into drive. “Got taken to the emergency room with a nasty cut on my arm and my mom couldn't give a coherent account of what had happened. The caregiver didn't see it happen. Thing is, I cut myself by being stupid.” We turn out of the parking lot and onto the street.

“You whittle a stick towards yourself?”

He glances at me again. “I offered to hold a target while Ryan practiced knife throwing.”

“No way.”

“I was thirteen years old, too. How stupid is that? And try to explain that to someone without talking. I drew a picture.”

“Then what happened?”

“Ryan stepped up. When Sonya called him, he told the story just like I did, except with more words. Back then our police officer was Officer James, you remember her?”

I shrug. “Not really. I've never had much interaction with the police.”

“She told me it was too bad it didn't hit my face. Would've been an improvement.”

“No it wouldn't.”

“That's really the last time I had a run in with CPS. The older I get, the more willing people are to assume that I'm just an idiot.”

His insults about himself bother me, but I don't know how to say that without sounding petulant, so I hold my tongue.

“I shouldn't have mouthed off to Sonya, but I guess she still gets on my nerves. I should've said I don't do drugs because it's against the Word of Wisdom.”

“What's that?”

“It's in the
Doctrine and Covenants
. All the dietary restrictions and health... I dunno what you'd call it. Not a health code. Revelation on what's supposed to be healthy.”

“So it's a Mormon thing.”

“Yeah.” He flicks his glance to me and looks away again. “I'm going to get baptized.”

“When?”

“No set date yet. I kind of haven’t told anyone else.” The car slows with a tick of the turn signal flashing, and I see that we're at a fast food joint. As we pull up to the drive through, Alex says, “Okay, eat something. My treat. Just get something in your stomach.”

I am not hungry. “Your mom have this week's toy giveaway? Or does she even collect from this chain?”

“She has it. You want fries? Milkshake? What?”

“Sure. Either.”

“Two milkshakes,” he says to the intercom. “What flavor?”

Even that is too much for me.

“One chocolate, one vanilla. That gives you at least two minutes to decide. Put your wallet away.” He pulls on up to the window and hands the cashier his credit card.

“Thanks.”

“You need to eat.” He props his elbow on the open window and drums his fingers on the roof of his car, nonchalantly. A couple of minutes later our shakes arrive and he demands that I choose one.

I just grab the closest one, which turns out to be vanilla. Even though I'm really not hungry, he's right. It does feel nice to put something in my stomach. As I drink, I fidget with a piece of lint on the scrubs that I'm wearing, and it hits me. “I think I left my clothes in Sonya's office.”

“Yeah, I don't know if they'll want them for evidence or what,” says Alex. “I forgot to ask. She'll let you know. You've got other clothes, right?”

“Yeah. I'm not
that
poor.”

But he only shrugs.

Silence stretches between us. He barely looks at me, just drives. Fifteen minutes later and we're at my house. “Thanks for driving me.”

“Sure.” He gets out and walks me to the door. The night has cooled off and away from the lights of Crescent City, we can see the stars overhead.

“You've been a really good friend,” I say.

“Night,” he says, before he goes back to his car without another backwards glance.

T
he house is empty. Mom's still working, so I head back to my room, pull out my phone, and call John.

“I'm sorry,” I say when he picks up. “I know it's late.”

“What happened?”

“I think this was the worst night of my life.”

“Hang on.” I hear him talking to someone else, someone who does not sound like one of his guy friends. “Madison,” he says into the phone, “I'll call you back in ten, okay?”

I wince, but he's already said goodbye and hung up. For the next ten minutes I have a lightning quick shower, put on my pajamas, and brush my teeth. When he calls again I say, “You were on a date, weren't you?”

“I get major points for being a shoulder for my little sister to cry on.”

“I am so sorry.”

“Don't be. I figured you might call, and I even told Lisa that, so it's all good. What happened?”

“I just got back from the hospital. Kailie slit her wrists.”

“Yeah, if you hadn't called me and disrupted my date, I'd have been mad. Talk to me. Tell me everything.”

“I have never seen that much blood in my life.”

“Did you see her do it?”

“No, I'm the one who found her.”

“She okay or-”

“I think so. It's all kind of a long story.”

“Black Bear and I are listening.”

So I tell the whole story all over again, but this time I cry and sniffle loud enough to make the line crackle. Finally I just break down and sob.

“Hey,” says John. “I love you. Thanks for calling me, okay? I'll stay on the line as long as you need. All night if you want. Black Bear wants to give you a hug.”

“Thanks.”

“You can say no, but you want me to say a prayer?”

“What? Over the phone?”

“Yeah. Only if you want to.”

“Um, I dunno.”

“Well, yes or no?” says John.

“What am I supposed to do?”

“Kneel. I usually just kneel by my bed and fold my arms. You don't have to, but that's what I do.”

I feel a little silly, but I kneel down. “Okay.”

“All right, so, you always pray to God the Father, and you usually open a prayer with what you're thankful for. So I can say I'm grateful that you called and that I found you – I always say that I'm grateful that I found you – and then you ask for whatever it is you need. You need what?”

“For the nightmare to be over. I don't know.”

“'Kay, bow your head.”

I rest my forehead on my comforter as my brother starts to pray. While I do my best to listen, I only hear about half of it before my concentration starts to slip. My head feels heavy and my knees like they want to give out. I'm only dimly aware of him saying, “Amen,” and I mumble it back reflexively.

“How you feeling?”

“Really, really tired.”

“Like you can sleep?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. You do that. Call me if you need anything.”

“Okay. Love you.”

“Love you too. Sweet dreams.”

I
wake up the next morning to Mom shaking my shoulder. “Honey, Greg Beale is here. He wants to talk to you.”

“What time is it?”

“It's seven.”

I roll over and sit up. Amber sunlight peers through the gap between my window and the drapes and paints the floor deep gold.

“He's in the front room,” she says.

“Don't leave me alone with him.”

“You got involved, this is your problem.” She's gone before I can even grab her arm and beg.

Even worse, Mr. Beale is in the front room with one of Mom's largest wall hangings that I know was for sale in the Pelican Sky Gallery. Those take Mom almost a month to make. I step into the room, heedless of my rumpled pajamas and unkempt hair.

He looks me over, then frowns.

I brace myself for a fight.

I
get ready to defend myself. Kailie's gone and it's my fault and he's going to use his position on the Municipal Council to make my life miserable, I just know it.

“Thank you for finding my daughter.”

For a moment I don't know what to say. “Well... you're welcome.”

He shakes his head. “We had the situation under control, you know. She was starting to see things our way until you took her in overnight.”

“No,” I say, “maybe she was starving to death and putting up less of a fight, but-”

“I don't expect you to understand how we run our household. Your mother would let you deal drugs from a drive up window cut into the side of this house if you wanted to.”

“Maybe, but I don't. I'm not like that.”

“Kailie always wished she could have your life. Have your freedom.”

“Okay...”

He pats the wall hanging, which he's slung over our couch. “Listen, this isn't easy for me, but there are two truths that we need to deal with. One is that your mother's art does not sell, and given her rate of production, she takes up more and more of our inventory space, and we can't justify it anymore. There are other artists who apply and can sell ten, twenty times the volume your mother does.”

“So you're going to pull my mom's art from the gallery and kill her career.”

“The other is that we can't hope to make things work with Kailie while you are still here. You're the worst influence possible.”

“I have only ever been nice to her.”

“I'm sure that's how you see it. I know you can live in these houses on a shoestring, but you can't live on nothing. I think it's time you and your mother moved on. Go set up a new life in a different town. And I'm going to ask you to never contact my daughter again.”