“I’ll drive you,” Lavinia offers.
Jeffrey turns to her, his expression like thunder. “You’re not going anywhere.”
“Jeffrey, I can’t send her out there like this. I don’t know what they’ll do to her.”
“I don’t care, Lavinia. All I care about is protecting you and Jenna. You are my priority. I understand that you want to help your friend, but your kindness is putting our family at risk.”
“No,” Lavinia retorts at Jeffrey. “I’ll drive her and take a taxi back home.”
He takes hold of her shoulders. “Lavinia, you can’t go out there.”
“Viola is my friend,” Lavinia says between clenched teeth. “In case you didn’t know, friends help each other out.”
Lavinia ignores Jeffrey as he continues to plead for her not to go, and we make our way to the garage. She still insists on driving.
In the car, I sit with my hands wedged between my knees. “I’m so sorry,” I say to her. “I didn’t want this.”
“It’s not your fault. I asked you to stay.”
Driving through the group of protesters is a challenge. They’re so angry they beat their fists against the car.
I try not to look at them, but I jump when something comes crashing on top of the car. It could be the bat.
“Ignore them,” Lavinia says.
She manages to free us from the crowd and drives off in a squeal of tires.
Chapter 8
“I’ll always be here for you,” Lavinia tells me before she leaves me at the Sunshine Motel. “You’re not alone.”
“Go home to your family,” I say and hug her goodbye. “You’ve done more than enough for me.” I do not blame her for respecting her husband’s wishes. She doesn’t owe me anything, and she’s done more than anybody has done since the nightmare started.
I turn toward the Tinsel motel. When I peer through the door and see a woman sitting behind the counter, leafing through a magazine, I change my mind about going inside. The angry people had managed to follow me to Lavinia’s house. Who’s to say they won’t follow me to the motel?
Feeling unsafe all of a sudden, I spin around and search the darkness, but there’s nothing much to see aside from an occasional car driving by.
What I really want to do is return home to take a long shower in my own bathroom, to try and wash off the shame clinging to me after being kicked out of my friend’s house.
I hurry back to the car. Lavinia claimed I was too devastated to drive myself. The truth is, I only accepted her offer to drive me because I wanted to be in her presence a little longer, to enjoy the feeling of someone caring for me. Now it’s clear I’m in this alone.
I’ve always relied on Alex to make major decisions for us. He was my life jacket. Now I’ve been thrown into the deep end without that protection, and I have to decide whether to sink or swim.
As long as Alex is behind bars, there’s no one I can turn to. It’s time for me to grow up.
Driving through the night, I pray that the protesters have given up waiting for me to come home.
My eyes start to droop from exhaustion and crying, and I blink them several times, forcing them to stay open.
It’s close to two in the morning when I finally turn into our street.
I sigh with relief when I don’t see anyone loitering outside our house, which means most people are already in their beds. I should be safe for now.
The idea of having to sneak into my own house makes me feel sick to my stomach, but what choice do I have? I get out of the car and hurry to the door, afraid someone might jump from the bushes and pounce on me.
Behind the closed door, I pull in deep, calming breaths until I stop hyperventilating. Only then do I push away from the door and head up the stairs, panting as though I’ve run a marathon.
I don’t stop moving until I’m standing under the shower, water cascading over my body, trying but failing to wash away the ugliness. The shame remains. Shame that I have carried with me from getting pregnant as a teenager and now to being the wife of a man accused of murder.
