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“Why would you say that? She likes you.”
Oh, to be that young and naive, Erica thought grimly. Or not.
“I’m not having a conversation with Allison.”
“Why not? Don’t be mean. You have everything and they have nothing and my dad’s in jail.” The tears returned. “I can’t believe you won’t help! They’re family. Our family.”
They weren’t her family, a thought Erica kept to herself.
“She’s pregnant and alone and what about Jackson? Mom, please just go talk to her.”
She knew her daughter could keep going like this for hours. She’d never been a fan of circular arguments, but Summer was a teenager and an expert. She didn’t want to demand a change in subject or imply she wasn’t equally distraught about Allison’s problems, although she wasn’t. And the comment about her being mean had stung.
“Stop badgering me,” she said, careful to keep her voice calm. “I had nothing to do with what happened and I’m not the bad guy.”
“I’m sorry.” Summer reached her arms across the table. “Mom, please. Please, for me.”
Ugh. Children—what had God been thinking? Because resisting her daughter had always been impossible.
“Give the situation a few days to settle down,” she said grudgingly. “After that, if your stepmother wants to speak with me, then I’ll go talk to her.” She held up her hand to keep her daughter from interrupting. “I mean that. You aren’t to push her into saying yes. Me showing up uninvited won’t make anything better. This situation is difficult for her, and your job is not to make it worse. I know you think you know what’s best, but please consider that every now and then you’re wrong. Don’t play games with Allison’s life.”
Summer’s eyes widened. “That’s a really good point, Mom. I don’t want to make things harder. I’ll wait until we know more, then I’ll ask her if she thinks talking to you would help.”
Summer rushed around the table and hugged Erica. “Thank you, thank you. You’re the best. I’m sorry to be such a pain, but it’s all so scary.”
Erica held her close. “I know. I wish this wasn’t happening, too.”
7
Allison spent a restless night, falling to sleep only to wake up, her heart pounding, her body damp with sweat. A little after five, she gave up and stepped in the shower to start her day. By five thirty, she was on her phone, trying to make sense of the visiting rules for the Federal Detention Center, SeaTac, Washington.
There was a pdf that detailed much of the information, but it wasn’t easy to understand. From what she could tell, Peter would qualify as a pretrial inmate, so he could have visitors on either odd or even days, depending on the fifth number of his register number.
“What?”
She blinked at the screen, then read the example. Hmm, if his register number, something she would think of as a prison number, was 12345-086, he had visitors on odd days. Which meant she needed to know his number.
Social visits were up to two hours long, he could only have one social visit per visiting day and there were no visits on Tuesday, Wednesday or Thursday. And before she could schedule a visit, she had to fill out an application.
The times of visiting hours varied. Some days it was 7:30 a.m. to 2:30 p.m., and some days it was 2:00 p.m. to 9:00 p.m. She continued to read. There were exceptions for holidays. On those days everyone could have visitors. She scanned the list. Memorial Day, July 4, Christmas and New Year’s Day. It was late March. Surely Peter wouldn’t be in jail on Memorial Day, or worse, Christmas.
She felt the familiar flicker of fear and panic and immediately looked away from the screen. She was fine, she told herself as she took a deep breath. She would be fine. She had enough money to get through the next couple of weeks. She was going to get paid and that would help. She still had to solve her housing crisis, but not today. She missed Peter more than she could say, but she was figuring it out as she went.
She’d promised herself she would get through the day without giving in to the terror that lurked just under the surface. She needed a break from that. Today was about being practical. Later this morning, she would go by the office so she could tell Peter what was happening there. This afternoon she was working. This weekend she would go look at apartments.
Not that she had a clue as to how she was going to move—not just physically, but money-wise. She might be able to swing a security deposit, but wasn’t sure she could qualify on her own. With Peter’s income, getting a place wouldn’t be a problem, only there was no paycheck anymore and all their money had been frozen. Just as frightening, how was she supposed to have a baby with no one to care for Jackson?
A few days ago, she would have considered Liz a possibility. They were friends—at least she’d thought they were, although she’d been wrong. So if not Liz, then who? She supposed Jessie, her shift partner, was a maybe, but she didn’t know her that well and leaving Jackson with her was a huge ask.
An ask that got bigger if she allowed herself to consider the possibility that something went wrong and she had to stay in the hospital longer. Even if everything went well, how was she supposed to care for a toddler and a newborn by herself?
A cold knot formed in her chest. Once again she consciously slowed her breathing and told herself she would be fine. “Not today,” she whispered. “Not today. I’ll panic later. Today is going to be a good day.”
She put down her phone and woke up Jackson. The early morning passed quickly as they ate breakfast together, then had some playtime. A little before ten, she put him in his car seat and drove to Peter’s office building.
His accounting firm was on the third floor. When she got there, she tried to open the door but it was locked.
A sense of foreboding trickled down her spine. Shouldn’t the business be open? Gail, the office manager, always got in early. Peter used to joke that one day he was going to beat her there and then he would celebrate. And what about the other employees?
