Trail of Broken Wings (31 page)

“Are you following me?” I ask, sounding harsher than I mean to.

“Yes,” he answers without hesitation, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I’m only pretending to be a doctor. My real job is to watch your every move.” Giving me a quick wink, he lowers his voice. “But please, whatever you do, don’t tell the patients. That would ruin my reputation.”

Having been thoroughly put in my place, I can’t help but grin back. “Your secret is safe with me.”

“Excellent. I owe you one.” Turning toward the coffee machine, he grimaces when he sees all that is left are hours-old coffee grounds at the bottom of the carafe. “If I make a new pot, will you join me?”

I shake my head no. “I need to head home.”

“Right.” He turns back toward me, forgetting about the coffee. Holding my gaze, he says gently, “I was hoping to talk to you. Hence, the stalking.”

Feeling the familiar unease, I step toward the door. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

As I move past him, he reaches out, his hand gentle on my arm, stopping me. “What you said the other day. Can we talk about it?” Gently pulling me toward him, he dips his head to stare at me. “Why do you want your father dead?”

“It doesn’t matter,” I say, pulling my arm from his. The warmth of his touch still lingers. Without thinking, I rub the spot, trying to erase the tingling. His eyes follow my movement, narrowed in question. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

“No,” I almost yell, needing to get out. The oxygen levels in the room drop, and I can’t catch my breath. “You have everything,” I say, pointing around me. “Your life is good.”

He laughs, the sound hollow. “What does that have to do with anything?” He shakes his head in confusion. “You matter to me.”

“Don’t care,” I beg. “About me, my life.” I pause, struggling to explain without revealing too much. “Please, just let it go.” When I leave, I don’t look back. But I know, without a doubt, that he’s not following me.

MARIN

Days have passed since the arrest. Gia has remained in her room, eating only when they take her food, and showering every other day. She refuses to speak to any of them. Even Raj has been stonewalled, Gia’s despair shutting her off from those closest to her. Marin is tempted to march in and throw off the covers, order her daughter to get up and return to the living, but she holds back. She will allow Gia five days to go through whatever process she needs to before demanding she return to school and her life. Five days feels benevolent, more than necessary. But Raj insists. A full week off to mourn the man who beat her.

On the last day of Gia’s self-imposed exile, Marin is at her desk working when the call comes in. Sleep has eluded her. Instead of wasting time tossing and turning, she spends every night working. When her body demands a reprieve, she lies down on the sofa in her office and closes her eyes for a few minutes. But thoughts of Gia cause her heart to race and adrenaline replaces the exhaustion, forcing her to return to work or chance a panic attack.

“Yes?” Marin answers the phone on the first ring, without bothering to check the caller ID.

The detective on the line asks what would be the best time for some questions he has for Gia. Anytime, Marin answers. They agree to after lunch. Leaning back in her chair, Marin stares at the flickering computer screen, the blue haze creating a halo over her desk. The thought of Adam behind bars gives Marin a sense of completion, of closure.

“Raj?” She leaves her office to search for him. Finding him in his office on the other side of the house, she closes the door behind her. “A detective is coming to ask Gia questions.”

“What kind of questions?” he demands.

He has tried over a dozen times to talk to Marin privately about what happened. How the steps played out that resulted in Adam’s arrest at the school and Gia’s subsequent trip to the hospital. Each time, Marin sidestepped him, her answers vague and quick. When he pushed, she pushed back, demanding to know why it mattered when the end result was what they both wanted. Raj finally gave up, but a silence descended between them, leaving them farther apart than they already were.

“I don’t know, Raj,” Marin bites, lack of sleep causing her to lose patience. “I’m not a psychic.”

“Yet, you seem to have all the answers,” Raj murmurs, returning to his seat behind the desk, dismissing her.

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing. I’m just surprised you thought to include me in this when you failed to in everything else.”

“If that’s your way of trying to say thank you for saving your daughter from the boy who was beating her . . . you’re welcome.” Marin slams out of the office. Taking the steps two at a time, she throws open Gia’s door and hits the light switch with more force than necessary. “Get up,” she orders, pulling the covers off like she had yearned to days ago.

“What?”

Gia’s hair is tangled, the brown and gold strands in knots. Her face is swollen from tears, and she has lost weight. Her eyes are empty, searching for something, finding nothing. Marin, taken aback at the sight of her daughter’s state, pauses, wondering what the right thing to do is. But conditioning from years of practice takes over, and she defaults to what feels normal.

“A detective is coming to ask you some questions.” Marin starts to rifle through Gia’s drawers, pulling out a respectable top and jeans. Walking into the adjoining bathroom, she turns on the shower to warm. “You need to get dressed.”

“I don’t want to talk to anyone,” Gia says, lying back down and pulling the covers over her head. “Leave me alone.”

The words trigger a reaction Marin is too tired to censor. Pulling the covers off again, Marin raises her voice. “Get up now.” Each word spoken slowly and precisely, leaving no room for argument. “Do not push me.”

“Why?” Gia asks, throwing her feet over the bed. “Will you slap me again?”

“I already apologized for that,” Marin says, refusing to allow her daughter to provoke her. “You will look respectable in front of the detective.”

“What does it matter what he thinks?” Gia continues, insistent on getting a reaction. “Or is how other people see you all that matters?”

Marin has never confronted Gia about what the girl knows of her mother’s childhood. Fear kept her from saying anything. “Watch how you speak to me,” she says instead. Marin takes a step closer, knowing her move could be perceived as threatening. “Whatever you think you know, whatever story your teenage brain has conjured up is a lie. There’s nothing there. I don’t have to pretend to be anything. Everything I am, everything I provide for you is from my hard work. You can thank me anytime.” She calmly walks over to the bathroom, pushing the door open. “Now.”

Moving past Marin, Gia walks into the bathroom and shuts the door. Rooted to her spot, Marin waits, listening for the signs of her daughter stepping into the shower. Once satisfied, she leaves to get ready for the meeting.

“Thank you for meeting with us on such short notice.” The detective, Greg, takes a seat on the sofa in the den.

“Anything we can do to help the process move along faster,” Marin says from her seat on the chair. She avoids Raj’s sharp look. “What’s the next step?”

“We need a statement from Gia about everything that happened. From the beginning to the last incident.”

He’s young. If Marin had to venture a guess, he just earned his detective badge. Marin wonders if teenage domestic violence falls at the top or bottom of the promotion ladder. A prelude to real violence—except for their family, this was not a foreword; it was real.

“There were no incidents,” Gia says, looking down at her hands. “I don’t want Adam to go to jail.”

“That’s not the information we have,” Greg says, glancing at Marin.

“Then you have the wrong information,” Gia says with a gumption that surprises Marin. In another circumstance, she might actually feel pride in her daughter’s comeback, but right now it only fuels her simmering anger.

“Answer him, Gia,” Marin barks, startling everyone with the vehemence in her voice.

“Why don’t you?” Gia says. Seeming to accept she’s already lost the fight, she comes back with the only thing she has left—defiance.

Greg retrieves an envelope from his bag and starts to pull out pictures. Laying each one on the table, he faces Gia and Raj. “Photographs of your bruises. You remember them being taken?”

“Yes,” Gia murmurs, cringing at the sight of them. Raj visibly tenses next to her, his jaw clenched.

“And these?” Greg lays out another set, the ones from when Marin hired the detective. Dozens of Gia and Adam in front of his house, each one clearly date-stamped. “You acknowledge they are of you.” Gia nods. Greg takes out the final few, offering them to Gia. “These are the ones from the night before the arrest. The two of you together.” He pulls out the final pictures, hesitant in handing them over. “Here are the pictures of him hitting you.”

Raj takes the pictures from Gia’s hand, flipping through them, flinching at the ones that show Adam hitting her. Swallowing, he blinks back tears. Dropping the pictures, he starts to turn away when he notices the date and time stamp at the bottom of each photograph. “Who took these?” he demands, his eyes on the detective.

“A private investigator,” Greg says, oblivious to the storm brewing.

“Your office hired the PI?” Raj asks.

“No, we did not.”

“I think we need to focus, Raj, on the next steps for our daughter,” Marin interrupts, stopping the line of questioning. Gathering the pictures into a stack, she hands them back to the detective. “Do you need an official statement from Gia?”

“Yes.” Greg turns to Gia. “This young man hurt you and we have the proof. If there’s a trial, you will be subpoenaed to take the stand.”

“What do you mean if there is a trial? He will be going to jail for what he did to Gia,” Marin says, interrupting him. Everything she did can’t have been for nothing.

“His lawyers may advise him to plead it out. If it’s a first offense, he could get some community service and a fine,” Greg cautions.

“So he won’t go to jail?” The relief on Gia’s face is palpable. “He’ll come back to school?”

“From my experience, he won’t be allowed to return to the school you were attending together. The DA will likely request a restraining order,” Greg explains. “It’s standard procedure when there’s a domestic violence situation.”

“So he wouldn’t be allowed near our daughter again?” Raj asks.

“That would be the intention.” The detective watches Gia carefully. “No matter what, this will stay on his record forever. His life will never be the same.” Greg looks to Marin, trying to reassure her.

“What if he violates the order?” Gia asks.

“He goes to jail.”

Gia drops her head in her hands. “But he didn’t do anything.” She starts to beg anyone who will listen. “He didn’t mean to hurt me. It wasn’t his fault.”

I am doing this for your own good.
Brent standing above Marin. He was so large and she felt so small. She would nod; she had no choice. It was her fault; he made sure she knew that. If only she were smarter, prettier, a better student. Straight As weren’t good enough. Where were the A-pluses? Why did another student get two awards when she only got one?
It’s your fault. It’s your fault.
A mantra in her head, beating her harder than his fists.

“He did it before,” Marin bites out, shocking all of them into silence. “He beat the girl before you. Made her his own personal punching bag. Was it her fault too? Was it?”

“How do you know this?” Raj asks quietly, staring at her.

Marin lifts her chin, refusing to apologize or hide from the fact that she saved her daughter’s life. “I hired the private investigator. He researched Adam’s past and provided me with the information.”

Raj nods, disappointment weighing him down. “Without telling me.” He rubs his neck with the palm of his hand. “This was a public record?”

“No,” Marin says. “It was a sealed juvenile record.”

Gia glances between her father and mother. “You did this?” she asks, picking up the stacked pictures. “You had me followed?” She stands, dropping the pictures onto the floor, allowing them to scatter everywhere. “Do you know what you did?” Tears start to flow down her face. “I was a nobody until Adam liked me. The perfect school, the perfect life you created for me? I hate it. Adam . . .” She swallows, trying to get the words out. “He made me popular. He made people like me. He made me important! And now . . .” Gia wipes at the tears. “Everyone hates me. They hate me, Mom. Are you happy? You got what you wanted.”

“That is never what I wanted,” Marin says, standing to face her daughter. “I did what was best for you. Do you have any idea what could have happened to you? You were ruining your life. I saved you.”

“No, you didn’t. You left me with nothing and I hate you. I hate you so much.” Not waiting for anything more, she leaves them, running up the stairs and into her room.