Promises I Made (20 page)

I shifted in my seat at the front of the courtroom. Scotty and Marcus were next to Detective Castillo in the row behind me, and Logan and his mother were at the back of the room. Detective Fletcher hadn't come. I guess he was looking for his next piece of steak. Selena wasn't there, either. She had texted me from the airport, on her way to Nicaragua, after we got back from Seattle.

It didn't matter. Everyone else was in the periphery. My eyes were on the doors at the side of the room.

“You ready?” a voice whispered.

I turned to face the woman next to me. Her name was Kate Levy, and she had copper-colored hair and kind green eyes. Scotty and Marcus had insisted on hiring her to represent Parker and me. They'd waved me away when I promised to pay them back.

I nodded, trying to swallow the nervousness that seemed to block my airway.

She met my eyes. “Just remember what I said: Keep your answers short and sweet. Don't volunteer anything. The plea has been arranged, so this is just a formality.” She smiled. “Everything will be fine.”

I wanted to smile at her, but I was starting to feel sick to my stomach. The pessimism that had kept me alive all my life was fighting against my fledgling belief that when you did the right thing, everything would somehow be okay. There would always be tough things, hard things, but there would be good things, too. It was one of Scotty's many New Agey beliefs that made sense to me, and I'd vowed to do my part from here on out, to do the right thing and let the chips fall where they may. That was one of Marcus's sayings, but I'd found that Marcus's peculiar brand of wisdom came in handy just as often as Scotty's, the two of them a perfect mix of practicality and faith.

I glanced at the table on the opposite side of the courtroom. The plea had been orchestrated by Kate, but I recognized the assistant DA—his name was Brandon Melville—from the news. A woman stood next to him in a crisp pencil skirt and suit, but I had no idea who she was.

Detective Ling had called Detective Castillo as soon as they had Cormac in custody. It had taken over a week—and an official delay in Parker's trial date—to extradite Cormac to Playa Hermosa. I'd given them a new description of Renee along with my cell phone. Maybe their tech geniuses would
be able to do something to track it. I was still confused about my feelings for her, but I couldn't afford to feel bad. We'd all paid a price for what we did—Logan and his family most of all. It wouldn't be fair to protect her. I'd been afraid that Scotty and Marcus would be mad that I'd kept my meeting with Renee from them, but Scotty had just draped an arm over my shoulders and squeezed, and Marcus hadn't said a word. Somehow I think they understood. After that, the details of the plea had been handled by Kate and the DA's office until they'd reached an agreement that Kate said was fair.

Everyone swiveled as the door opened at the side of the courtroom. A uniformed bailiff stepped through the doorway, and behind him, another bailiff holding on to Parker's arm.

I stood, forcing myself to remain in place. I hadn't seen him since the night he'd dropped me off at Logan's house almost seven months before. The night we'd stolen the Fairchilds' gold. He was thinner, his body lost in the folds of the suit Kate had sent for him to wear to court. He also looked older, the hard angles of his face accentuated by the short haircut he now wore.

But he was still Parker, and his eyes scanned the courtroom until they found mine. When they did, I couldn't keep the smile from my face. The corners of his mouth turned up just a little as the bailiffs escorted him to the defendants' table and the chair next to mine.

“Grace . . .” He breathed my name, like he couldn't believe
it was me. He shook his head. “How did you do it?”

I smiled. “I had help.”

I turned and introduced him to Scotty and Marcus, and I could see that they were sizing Parker up like protective parents, trying to connect the dots, to match all the things I'd told them about Parker with the person who stood in front of them.

“Thank you,” Parker said to them. “For everything you've done for Grace. And for me.”

A sharp voice barked from the front of the courtroom before they could respond.

“All rise for the honorable Judge Elizabeth Hancock.”

We faced the front of the courtroom and watched as a woman in a long black robe stepped up to the judge's seat.

“Please be seated,” Judge Hancock said. “Now calling for the record the case of the people of the State of California versus Parker Dawson, and, concurrently, the people of the State of California versus Grace Abbott. Counsel, please identify yourself for the record.”

“Kate Levy for the defendants Ms. Abbott and Mr. Dawson, Your Honor.”

Judge Hancock turned her eyes on the other table.

“Brandon Melville, representing the County of Los Angeles, Your Honor.” The woman next to him spoke next. “Maude Gillcrest, family court social worker, Your Honor.”

“Thank you,” Judge Hancock said. She looked at Kate Levy. “Has counsel advised the defendants against concurrent proceedings?”

Kate nodded. “I have, Your Honor. However, since a plea agreement has been reached with Mr. Melville's office, the defendants have opted to stand together.”

Judge Hancock nodded, dropping her gaze to a stack of papers in front of her. She paged through them for a few seconds before speaking again. “I see a plea has been reached in exchange for your cooperation in the apprehension of Peter Bukowski. Terms and conditions as follows: For Parker Dawson, a reduced charge of ten counts misdemeanor vandalism, one count accessory to petty theft. Sentence will be five years' probation, one hundred hours' community service, and time served. Should Mr. Dawson commit further crimes during his five-year probationary period, he will be immediately remanded back to Los Angeles County Jail.” She leveled her gaze at Parker. “Do you accept this plea, Mr. Dawson?”

“Yes, Your Honor,” Parker said.

“Very well.” The judge turned her eyes on me. “For Grace Abbott, a reduced charge of trespassing, one count petty theft, one count felony fraud. Sentence will be five years' probation and one hundred hours' community service. Furthermore, the minor defendant will remain in the custody of Mr. Scott Thompson and Mr. Marcus Fitzgerald until this Friday, after which time she will be remanded into the custody of Child Protective Services until her eighteenth birthday, effective . . .” She looked down, checking her calendar. “Next February twentieth. Do you accept the terms and conditions of this plea, Ms. Abbott?”

I hesitated. Not because I didn't want the deal. The alternative was jail, and I definitely didn't want that. But I'd avoided thinking about leaving Scotty and Marcus. Now it was right in front of me, only four days away. I'd be back in foster care, back to living with people I didn't know, being wary, hoping for the best. But it was part of my new plan: finish high school, go to college, build a life that no one could take away from me. Scotty and Marcus had promised to keep in touch wherever I was, and I'd be eighteen in just seven months. This was what it meant to make good choices—doing the right thing even when it was hard.

“Ms. Abbott?” Judge Hancock said again. “Do you accept the terms and conditions of this plea?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

She nodded. “Very well.”

After that, everything moved quickly. Judge Hancock repeated the details of our plea agreements and Parker and I repeated our acceptance of them under oath. We had to answer a bunch of questions: were we under any kind of duress in our acceptance of the plea, were we under the influence of drugs or alcohol, did we know we were entitled to a trial if we wanted one. About twenty minutes later, Judge Hancock instructed us to contact the Office of Probation. Then it was over, and I had a few seconds to hug Parker before they took him away to sign the papers that would set him free.

Kate Levy shook my hand. “Good luck, Ms. Abbott. I hope you get the second chance you deserve.”

“Thank you.” I found myself choking back tears, not because it was over, but because someone else thought I deserved something good. Someone besides Marcus and Scotty.

She turned to leave, and Detective Castillo took her place. He'd been there every step of the way, just like he'd promised, urging the DA to give Parker and me a break. It turned out that Parker knew more than I did, and he was perfectly willing to share the information once he knew I was safe. But none of it would have been possible without Raul Castillo. His had been the voice on the other end of the phone when I'd had no one else.

“I can never thank you enough,” I said.

He shook his head. “It was all you. And I have a feeling this is just the beginning; you're going to do great things.”

“You think so?” I asked.

He smiled. “I know so.”

We promised to keep in touch, and then Scotty was there, pulling me into his arms in a giant bear hug. I held on tight, trying to memorize the feeling of being loved and protected, of being safe.

“I'm so proud of you, honey,” he said.

“I couldn't have done it without you.”

He pulled back to look at my face. “You could have and you would have, I have no doubt about that. But I'm glad we were here to help.”

He stepped aside for Marcus, in his dress chinos and a freshly pressed shirt in yellow and orange that made him
look like a tropical fruit salad. He grinned. “We did it, kid.”

I smiled. “We did.”

We stood there for a minute, grinning at each other like idiots.

“Oh, for Christ's sake,” he said, grabbing me for a hug. I laughed into his shoulder. “Let's get out of here,” he said. “This place gives me the creeps.”

I grabbed my bag, and we headed for the hallway to wait for Parker. Marcus and Scotty were talking to the social worker when I heard a soft voice behind me.

“Grace.”

I turned to see Leslie Fairchild, clutching her handbag.

“Mrs. Fairchild,” I said. “Hello.”

I don't know what I expected. She looked a lot like she had in December. Maybe she had a couple more wrinkles around her eyes, a little more gray in her hair, but her back was still straight, her gaze still strong. We had hurt the Fairchilds, but somehow I knew we hadn't beaten them. I was glad about that.

“I'm happy you have a chance to start again.” She looked down at the purse in her hands before returning her eyes to mine. “I wanted to tell you I forgive you.” She nodded, like she was pleased with the words she'd chosen. “I understand the predicament you were in, and I forgive you, Grace.”

I shook my head. “Please don't make excuses for me,” I said. “I hurt you and your family when you were nothing but kind to me. I'm so, so sorry for that. I know it doesn't change anything, but I want you to know it anyway.”

“Thank you,” she said.

“You didn't deserve what we did to you.” I was still trying to reconcile all the things that happen to us in this life with my naive sense of justice. There didn't seem to be any rhyme or reason to it all. Bad stuff happened to good people, and just as often, it seemed like undeserving people got everything good. It made life that much harder to understand. Had I ended up in foster care because I'd been a bad kid? Even I knew that was unlikely. And the Fairchilds hadn't deserved what we'd done to them, either, however much Cormac tried to convince us otherwise. No one was guaranteed anything. That was the sad, scary, screwed-up, and, yes, beautiful truth of it. All we could do was keep our little corner of the world clean and hope for the best.

Leslie Fairchild smiled a little. “If only it were that simple.” She took a deep breath. “I think . . . well, I think we're all just here to help each other figure things out.”

“But we stole from you. Hurt you. Hurt your family.”

“Yes, but I learned something, too.” She didn't wait for me to ask to give the answer. “Logan and Warren and I are stronger than we knew. And I think that will make me a little less afraid from now on.” I hardly had time to register my surprise—Leslie Fairchild had never seemed afraid to me—before she continued. “I wish you well, Grace. I hope that frees you somehow. It does me.”

She gave me a quick hug and stepped aside. And then Logan was there. Right in front of me.

“Congratulations,” he said. I shook my head. Despite the
fact that Parker was being released, today wasn't a congratulations type of day. “What will you do now?” he asked.

I shrugged. “Finish high school. Go on to college. Try to make up for what I've done.” He nodded, his eyes burning into mine. He was beautiful. More than that, he was good and true. But all the magic that had been between us was gone, murdered by my own hand. “What about you?” I asked him.

“Summer, then college.”

“Where are you going?” I asked. And then, because it had only just occurred to me: “If you want to tell me, I mean.”

“USC,” he said. “I need to try living out from under my dad's illness, but I also need to be close in case my mom needs me,” he explained. “Which I guess doesn't make sense at all.”

“It makes perfect sense,” I said.

He shifted from one foot to the other. “Well, I better go.”

“Take care, Logan.”

His mother took his arm and they started down the hallway. They were almost to the elevator when he turned around. “Abbott, huh?”

I nodded.

He smiled just a little. “Good luck, Grace Abbott.”

I was packing up my things Sunday night when a knock sounded outside my door. It was late, too late to be Scotty or Marcus, which meant it had to be Parker.

We'd spent the last couple of days sitting outside in the hammock, watching the birds while we talked about the past few months. “Come in.”

The door swung open and he stepped inside. I was still getting used to seeing him again. Sometimes I'd look at him and it seemed like the last seven months apart had been nothing but a bad dream. Other times, his presence made it even more real, and I'd have to stuff down my fear at the knowledge that we'd be separated again all too soon. I knew he'd visit me, but it would never be the same.

“Hey,” I said, throwing my pajamas into the suitcase Scotty had insisted I keep. “Can't sleep?”

They'd given him back his bracelets when he'd been released, and the leather bands marched up his arm in familiar formation. The smudges under his eyes had faded a little, but he still looked haunted and a little off-balance. Scotty and Marcus had told him he could stay as long as he wanted. I hoped he would take them up on it. He was still too thin, and nothing could cure that problem like Scotty's cooking.

He sat down on the edge of my bed. “Grace . . .” He rubbed his hands on his thighs like he was trying to wipe his palms clean. “I'm leaving.”

I scanned him for evidence that I'd misunderstood. It was only then that I saw the backpack in his hand. I sat down next to him.

“What do you mean?”

He shook his head. “I just . . . I need to get out of here. Scotty and Marcus are awesome, and I'm glad they've been here to take care of you. But I have to go.”

“Go? Go where?” I was trying not to lose it as I thought of Parker getting farther and farther away from me all over again. “You're on probation. You can't just go.”

He looked up at me. “Probation's just another prison. I can't spend the next five years checking in every week, picking up trash on the side of the road, explaining my record to everyone who interviews me for a minimum-wage job.”

“Your record will be wiped clean if you meet the terms of the plea agreement.”

He sighed. “I know. But it's not enough, Grace. I just . . . I can't live that way.”

“Where will you go?” I asked. “What will you do?”

“I don't know.” His shoulders lifted a little, and he almost smiled when he said it. “But I still have that money in my account from before. It's not a lot—it wouldn't even have paid for Kate Levy's retainer—but it'll get me out of the country, maybe to Mexico. After that, I'll make my way. Don't worry about me.”

I shook my head. “You can't go. Not now, after everything that's happened.” But I knew I was being selfish. I wouldn't even be in Playa Hermosa. What was he supposed to do? Hang around my new foster home? Live a life he hated while he waited around for me to finish college?

“Grace . . .” He reached out for my face, and I realized my cheeks were wet. “Don't cry. Please don't cry.”

“You're not even going to ask me to come with you this time?”

He smiled a little. “No, because you deserve better, and you wouldn't come anyway. You already told me your plan: high school, college, a life of your own, an honest one. Remember? It's a good plan, Grace.”

I realized with surprise that he was right. I'd outgrown my willingness to cling to the things that weren't good for me, even if they were the only things to hold on to, even if I loved them so much it hurt. Even if it was sad and scary to see them go.

I wrapped my arms around him and leaned my cheek on his chest. He smelled more like Parker now, but there was still something other, a scent that he'd picked up while we'd
been apart. Maybe I smelled different, too.

“I'll miss you,” I said.

“I'll miss you, too, Grace. But this isn't good-bye. I'll find you, wherever you are.” He pulled back and looked at me. “We're family. It's always you and me. No matter what.”

I nodded, choking on my tears, already feeling the loss of him. “No matter what.”

“And if you need me,” he said, “I'll be there. You can count on it.”

We clung to each other like survivors of a shipwreck. I didn't try to hold back my tears. I was starting to think that life was a series of gains and losses. I guess Scotty would call it balance, but whatever it was, sometimes you needed to stop and mourn the things you lost along the way. It was a way of marking their presence, of acknowledging what they meant to you so you could finally take a step forward.

“Tell Scotty and Marcus thank you.” Parker bent down, picked up his backpack, and headed for the door. When he got there, he turned around one last time. “I love you, Grace. Always have, always will.”

A sob broke free of my throat. “I love you, too, Parker. Always have, always will.”

And then he was gone.

My eyes were still red and raw the next morning when I put the last of my stuff into my suitcase and zipped it shut. Marcus and Scotty hadn't said much when I'd told them about Parker. Scotty's eyes had gotten a little wet when I started to
cry, and he'd immediately pulled me into a hug. But Marcus hadn't looked all that surprised.

“Don't worry, kid,” he'd said. “I know survivors, and Parker's a survivor if there ever was one.”

Now I was bracing myself for another good-bye, repeating some of Scotty's mantras to keep myself from breaking down. How had I come to love him and Marcus so much? I couldn't imagine a day without Scotty's kindness, his steady presence. And what would I do without Marcus to make me laugh, to call me “kid” and remind me how funny life could be just when I needed it most?

I was getting ready to say good-bye to the birds when Scotty and Marcus came into my room.

“Hey, kid,” Marcus said. He eyed my suitcase on the bed. “You might have jumped the gun on the packing.”

“If I put it off any longer, you'll be shipping my stuff to Riverside,” I said.

I didn't know much about my new foster family, but I'd been told they lived inland, about an hour and a half from the beach. I hated the thought of being away from the water, but it was the least of my worries, and Scotty and Marcus had promised to come get me for visits.

Scotty stepped toward me and took the backpack from my hands. He set it on the floor and smiled. “The thing is, honey, Marcus and I have been thinking. . . .”