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Tuesday
As I approach the SUV, the passenger window rolls down, and I see Chloe in the driver’s seat. “You can sit up front with me. It’s just us.”
Sliding in, I ask, “Where’re Aggie and Danny?”
“I’d be a bit offended if I didn’t love that you love them so much.”
“I love you the most.” I lean in and hug her.
“We’re going to get Aggie from Whit and Pope’s. She woke up, wondering where all the kids were. Probably should not have gone to get her last night after the bar, but with Gwen York showing up and Leland Locke, and her … whatever Frankie is—a player for sure, maybe a great lay …” She shakes her head. “Whatever. Long story short, I wanted to make sure Gwen and Whit had time to unpack all that.”
She said so much last night.
“So, I took her back this afternoon to see her friends,” Chloe explains.
“Gotcha.” I buckle. “That’s kind of a mess with Gwen and Locke, huh?”
“Leland and Gwen were one of the two couples I remember back in high school, thinking they would be together forever.” She sighs dreamily then huffs. “Now, they don’t even speak. Frankie approaching him was clearly for the purpose of starting a fight after his team lost to the Jags.” She turns in her seat and faces me. “So, I have a favor to ask.”
“Anything,” I assure her.
She closes her eyes and exhales slowly. “Where to start?”
“At the beginning is as good of a place as any.”
She nods and looks up, cocking her head to the side. “Don’t freak out, but Marks is in California, and he’s a great PI.”
Numbness sets in, or maybe it’s my armor taking form. “My father was released from prison.”
Tears immediately fill her eyes, and she nods. “Danny and I went to the parole hearing. I told my story—our story—again, like I have every time. A week later, they decided to release him.” Her face scrunches up. “I fucking hate them, CeCe. The man is a monster and doesn’t deserve to be free.”
My stomach knots. “I should have gone. I should have gone and told my story. The one about the little girl whose father told her that her sister would die just like their mother, and she’d never see her again if she didn’t tell the social workers, school psychiatrists, everyone who interviewed me, his truth—that you were an out-of-control and troubled teen. He?—”
“They know, CeCe. They have your letter. Nothing changed from then.” She takes my hand. “I need to tell you more.”
“Okay.” I swallow back bile. “Back then, he threatened that I’d never see you again if I didn’t change my story.”
Confused and pained, I see her struggling with something more, something worse than what we lived? I take her hand.
“He got me, too. Told me he’d hurt you if”—a cry tears from her chest, and I feel it to my bones—“I had a baby. I was fifteen, and I had a little girl. I gave her to strangers.”
Tears fill my eyes. “Oh, Chloe.”
“I know they were good people because they read the letter I’d hidden in her blanket, and they’re the reason that bastard got what he deserved. I met them. They set us up with that church couple we stayed with.” She wipes away my tears, and I wipe away hers. “When we left and went to Texas, I lied to you. We didn’t have permission and?—”
“You kept us safe,” I cut her off, because I don’t care about a lie. “Chloe, you kept us and that baby safe from a monster and a system that doesn’t give a fuck about people like you and me. You cleaned houses and did dishes at Nancy’s diner and?—”
“The lies I’ve told to do that?—”
“Oh, Chloe, you did what you had to do. You kept us safe. You gave us a life.”
“Now that he’s out, he might try to find her, and he might lie about me like he did to everyone else.” She shakes her head as if to sort her scattered thoughts. “I need to keep her safe, too.”
“We.” I hold her hands tighter. “We do that together.”
She exhales and wipes her eyes as she nods. “That favor?”
“You want me to catch the moon? I’ll do that for you. You?—”
