I meet his eyes but don’t respond.
“Where is your mother?” he asks.
And there it is. Another question they already know the answer to. They’re testing me. Seeing if I’ll lie. Seeing what story I’ll tell.
“I want a lawyer,” I say.
He stares at me, doesn’t move, just stares.
“Okay,” he says finally.
He reaches over and clicks off the recorder. He pulls a business card from his pocket and sets it on the table.
“We’ll be in touch.”
I watch both officers walk out the door. The second it closes behind them, I exhale and the tears start falling.
I can’t stop them.
I think about my mom. About everything she went through. About my dad—my ex-stepfather—and how he tried to kill Jax. How he shot me instead.
About Zinnia. Where is she? Is she scared? Is she crying? Does she know I’m okay? Is she okay?
I pray that she’s okay. That wherever she is, someone is taking care of her.
My phone isn’t with me. I’ve already searched through my memory trying to remember the last time I saw it. I had it in the car when I came home with Taco Bell. I know I didn’t have it at the dinner table when I served the food.
It’s probably still at home on the counter where I left it.
The nurse walks in shortly after, checking machines and making notes on her clipboard.
“How are you feeling?” she asks without looking at me.
“When can I leave?”
She keeps working, unfazed. “I can ask the doctor.”
“Please do. I need to get out of here.”
“Okay,” she says, tending to something.
I demand, “Right now. Can you ask the doctor right now?”
She finally looks at me. Pauses. “Okay.”
Then she leaves the room.
I exhale as more tears fall down my face. They won’t stop. I wipe them away with my good hand but more just take their place.
Will I even be allowed to go home? And if I am, do I even want to? Is it even home anymore?
I know I’ll need to step foot in that house eventually. I need my things. My clothes. My laptop. Zinnia’s things.
But with my dad in jail, we’ll lose the house. The rent will go unpaid. I can’t live there anymore.
I need a plan.
I have no plan.
