I was beginning to hate that word because it never actually meant it. Any woman who said fine might as well have a neon sign over their head flashing “not fine.”
"Well, I'm glad to hear it. You know if you ever need anything, all you have to do is ask. The guys would be more than happy to help as would I. And don't worry, your job is still safe at the shop."
Tears pooled in Vanessa's eyes. "But I haven't been there in three weeks."
"Think of it as a paid vacation for however long you need."
The tears no longer pooled but actively flowed down Vanessa's cheeks. "I don't deserve all of you," she said right before turning around and rushing away. I could only imaginehow much it had to hurt her to move like that with her ribs. The need to get away must've been great.
I was prepared to chase after her, but Aaron stopped me with a hand to the arm. "Give her a little space. I think with everything going on, she needs it."
"But she won't talk to me, so how are we supposed to know what's going on?"
"She'll talk when she's ready." It was Valerie's turn to defend Vanessa.
"She knows who attacked her." The offhand comment was only supposed to be in my head, but I realized I said it out loud when the two of them gasped.
"She told you that?" Aaron asked, shocked.
"Of course not but I've been reading body language for years, and hers is screaming she knows exactly who is behind the attack."
"Then why keep it a secret?" Valerie looked equally shocked by my admission.
"That's something I plan to figure out." Along with why she seemed so desperate to find out who B. Feather was.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Vanessa
Like a toddler who wasn't getting their way, I was hiding in my room, refusing to speak to the people who were downstairs probably talking about me.
Valerie was sweet to hold my job for me even though I didn't deserve it. But that was just who she was as a person. Always kind and willing to help others. I saw it day in and day out while I worked for her for the six months before everything went to shit.
I loved working for Valerie. It was the first time in my life that I felt like I was doing something for me rather than always helping my younger sister.
See the problem with being the older sibling and your mother dying during childbirth was that even though I was only nine years old when Hannah was born, I was thrust into the roll of caretaker.
Don't get me wrong, our father was great, but he didn't know the first thing about raising girls, and he had loved our mother so much that the idea of finding love again never even crossed his mind. At least, that was what I assumed since he never dated.
But taking care of Hannah meant that I was forced to grow up quickly and I never got to experience being a kid. The only downside of that was because I didn't experience it, it meant I wanted it so badly for my sister that I hovered and enabled her for far too long. Producing what was now a person who felt like I had to solve all of her problems even though she was twenty-six years old.
Speak of the devil. The name of my sister's rehabilitation facility flashed on my phone screen and practically begged to be answered. Taking shallow breaths because anything deep would hurt my ribs, I picked up before the call could ring out.
"Hello?" I answered not knowing if it would be my sister or one of the facility workers calling to let me know things weren't going well like they had done in the past.
I nearly sighed in relief when it was my sister's voice that responded back.
"Oh thank God, you answered." My sister sounded worried, and it immediately put me on edge. That was my constant state anytime I had to deal with her.
"What's wrong?"
"Please tell me you have the information Joel is looking for?" The desperation in her voice had my hackles rising.
Joel was my sister's drug dealer and the reason for my current mess.
"I'm working on it." I did my best to keep the aggravation out of my tone even though I wanted to go through the phone and strangle her.
"Well, work faster. Joel is getting impatient."
