“Mrs. Maddox!” Drake Chambers exclaims. “What are you doing here?”
He’s standing in the elevator, dress shirt and tie, no jacket, with a big brown bag in each arm. Italian food, by the smell of it. My stomach lurches.
“I hope you’re hungry. Jules ordered enough to feed a family of five.” He gestures me onto the elevator.
I glance to my left. Martinez is getting out of the car. I step forward.
“Hit three, will you?” Drake asks.
I do as he asks. He stares at me expectantly. Whatever he asked, I’ve already forgotten, and besides, my voice doesn’t work.
As the silence stretches, his friendly expression doesn’t change except for his eyes and the cast of his mouth—the face that shows behind his mask. Everyone is so fake. Plastic figurines walking around.
“You’ve got good timing. I was going to duck out for racquetball after lunch since my two o’clock cancelled.”
We arrive on the third floor, and Drake nods for me to get off first.
“Will you be a dear and grab the door?” he asks.
I do, holding it open for him.
“Lunch!” Jules jumps up from her desk. “And Mrs. Maddox. How are you?” She bustles over. Drake passes her the bags, and she props one on each hip like babies.
“I have to get out of here,” I blurt. “I have to get out of town. I can’t be here anymore.” I force the words past the logjam in my throat, trying to sound calm and rational, but I have no control, and my tone and volume careen like a slide whistle.
Both of them stare back at me, fake-faced,thatlook in their eyes, the one I’ve seen hundreds of times before—what isthis? What problem have we here, what noncompliance, what hassle? This isn’t part of the job description.
“Please,” I beg. Their bland, helpful smiles freeze, hiding their disdain.
Pretty girls are supposed to break like electronic toys—quietly, with no real loss of appeal. We’re not supposed to be pitiful. To make people uncomfortable. We exist for the opposite purpose, right?
“Why don’t you come into my office, and we can talk?” Drake is holding his office door open. How did he get over there?
I scrub my eyes. I have to figure out what to do.
Instead, my dumb feet follow his suggestion.
“Have a seat. Would you like some water?” he asks.
I sink into the upholstered chair across from his desk. I can wait here a minute. Collect my thoughts. Figure out how to get out of this.
He murmurs something to Jules and then takes his ownseat. He’s brought a brown bag with him and unpacks it as he speaks, “Would you like some? Let’s see—” He peels the plastic lid off an aluminum container and sniffs. “We’ve got stuffed shells. This place—Casa di Roma, they’re just a local place, a hole in the wall—but they make the best sauce. Homemade. Delicious.”
He kisses his fingers and takes out another container—a salad—and a small loaf of Italian bread.
“Let me make you a plate,” he says. “Stay here. I’ve got plates in the kitchenette. Are you sure you don’t want something to drink?” he asks as he disappears.
I don’t know how long he’s gone. A while. My brain crisscrosses back and forth. I have to get out of here, but Martinez and Johnson are downstairs, or they might have found the office by now. They could be sitting in the waiting room. I have to get past them somehow, and then what?
I can’t let CPS take the girls away.
I swore I’d never let anyone hurt them, and I put them in danger.Idid.
My cheek itches. I scratch it. My fingers are wet when they come away.
I shouldn’t have buckled my seatbelt. I should have driven for the wall on the far side of the garage.
No, no, no. I scratch my cheek again, digging the nails in. I can’t think like that. Pearl and Winnie love me. I’ll never leave them like that. They willneverthink that they’re not worth fighting for with every ounce of my strength.
