“I took a video for as long as I could stand it. To get proof. Then I left,” I elaborated. “I haven’t been back since. My parents are pissed as hell, too. I’ve come up with all kinds of excuses but they’re not going to work for much longer.”
“We’ll get this finished today,” Weaver stated matter-of-factly. “You won’t ever have to talk to them again.”
“Good,” I said. “Because I don’t want to.”
He reached out and squeezed my hand but stopped almost immediately.
“What’s going on with your fingers?” he asked worriedly.
I gently pulled my hand away from his and showed him my fingers. “Oh, nothing. Just freezing my ass off.”
He studied my fingers, then took my hand in his once again and closed his warm hand over mine.
Instant heat suffused me.
“Do the parents know that their children were filmed?” he asked. “From the church?”
I’d been trying really hard not to go there, hoping that my parents hadn’t been creeping on the children of their church.
“I’m not even one hundred percent sure that the children I saw in that video and in pictures on the wall were them,” I admitted in disgust. “I tried really hard not to focus too hard on the photos themselves.”
But still, a lot of the photos were burned into my brain.
“Don’t blame you,” he admitted. “What is your plan here?”
“I’m going to go to their place, and whoops, I got something stuck in the socket downstairs. I’m going to call you in because I’m worried about it catching fire,” she said. “And you find a reason to get into that room. Maybe you’re looking for the electrical panel down there.”
“Okay,” he said. “Let’s head over. Give me a call when you get done with your breaking and entering.”
I smiled, but it didn’t reach my eyes. None of my smiles had in months.
I was sure that my soccer girls at school thought I’d gone into menopause based on my mood swings.
“Okay,” he said. “You get there first. Do what you need to do. Then call me in.”
I shivered as he pulled me up out of my seat.
My feet didn’t want to move.
“Come on,” he said. “You’re strong. You can do this.”
I swallowed past the bile. “I think I’m going to throw up.”
He pointed to a trash can, and I turned woodenly to it.
When I got to the empty bin, I stared at the sludge at the bottom of it and tried to breathe through the feeling.
I shouldn’t have bothered.
I threw up what little there was in my stomach into the sludge.
Five
Please don’t offer me your positive perspective when I’m trying to be a hater.
—Weaver’s secret thoughts
Weaver
