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Finn laughs at that. “For the record, if you ever buy me a gift, I’m partial to sweaters. Maybe even a nice pen and pencil set,” he says.
I smack the steering wheel. “Well, there went my idea. Oh, you of the boring birthday presents.”
“Sorry to burst your literal gag gift bubble.” He scratches his eyebrow. “So, how do you know so much about it?”
“I helped Susie—the girl from the hotel last night?—with something like it last year. She didn’t do it on a computer, though. She saw a commercial for it on CBS and called the phone number. One of her kid’s dads tried to claim he wasn’t the father so he could avoid paying child support. Turned out he was and is now paying her four-fifty a month.”
“Wasn’t that more of a DNA test, though?”
I shrug because he isn’t wrong. “Yes, but I think they’re similar. Maybe? All we had to do was swipe her son’s cheek with a cotton swab. He barely even noticed.”
“The baby she asked you to watch?”
I nod and turn on the blinker. “One and the same.”
“Cute kid. Deserves better than that.”
“He is and does. Susie does too, but life isn’t always kind to those who deserve it.” The Audi’s tires hit the gravel driveway, and I ease the car slowly forward. Mr. Bailey’s drive is filled with potholes that he’s too stingy to fix, so anyone driving down his lane maneuvers an obstacle course at every visit. I pull up close to the house and put the car in park.
“We’re here.” The front curtain flutters, but the window is closed. Seems we’re being watched. I look over at Finn, who’s suddenly gone quiet. I assume from nerves until I see his face. His eyebrows are creased, his gaze fixed on the dash, unblinking.
“You okay?” I ask, sensing he isn’t.
My words break whatever spell he was under, and he looks over at me. “Just thinking about what you said, how people don’t always deserve it when life throws unkind things at them.”
He’s talking about something specific, but I haven’t known him long enough to pry. The empath in me never seems to listen to that sort of internal reasoning, however.
“Anything you want to talk about?”
He straightens his shoulders and reaches for the clipboard on the floor. “I’m good. Let’s go get this first interview over with.”
I tilt my head in concession. No one should ever talk unless they’re ready, and I know better than to push.
“Let’s go do it.”
I climb out of the car and close the door. Next to me, Finn does the same.
6
Finn
In short, Mr. Bailey’s story bank is filled with useless information, none of which is about the hospital fire and most I tuned out hundreds of seconds ago. My tape recorder has run nonstop from its spot on the table, so I can listen to this whole interview later in my hotel room. Right now, I’m distracted by the memory box and even more preoccupied with thoughts of my surprising companion.
Up until yesterday, I thought life had been kind to me. Before the death of my parents, everything had been about as close to blissful as a person can get. Now, as I sit here listening to Mr. Bailey speak, I wonder if my entire upbringing was nothing but a mirage of well-kept secrets.Who was Baby Boy Hardwick?
And Billi…who is she?
So far, she has managed to smash every preconceived notion I had of her in the span of a single morning. Take now: she’s wearing a Celine Dion t-shirt and a pink cardigan, making her look like a sorority girl princess. But with bleach blonde hair shorn close to her scalp above her left ear and enough eyeliner to make Billy Idol nervous, the princess side of her would be cowering in fear. Add a two-inch strip of black leather bands on her right wrist that covers up what looks like the edge of a one-word tattoo, and the princess is nothing but a memory. If rocker-chick was a word in the dictionary, Billi’s scowling face would reside under it.
Except in the twenty-four hours I’ve known her, I’ve never seen her scowl once. Instead, there’s an ever-present smile on her face, and she keeps dropping the kind of one-liners a poet could center sonnets around.
“Do you think you could answer some questions about the fire now? Take your time, of course. Words can be a struggle when they come unearthed for the first time in decades, and we’re not in a hurry.” Billi has tried this sort of steering tactic already with no luck.
Despite his initial offer, the fire is a subject the man resents having to discuss, mainly because he believes there was more to it than merely a tragic accident. Considering he knew most of the parents who lost children that day, I can’t say I blame him. Everyone needs someone to blame, and no one wants to revisit the worst tragedy of their lives in gory detail. But that’s what it takes to write a good story, especially one that could earn me a promotion. I’m a reporter, sure, but everyone has something that drives them. For me, it’s the promise of advancement. A little recognition wouldn’t hurt, either.
“Can you remember where you were the day the fire started?” Up until now, Billi has been carrying the conversation. Time to take the reins.
“I was at the school, getting ready to start sixth hour.”
