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  She frowns, pulls her hand away.

  “What if I did what Sheila said?”

  “It was an accident. You weren’t reckless. The judge will realize that,” I tell her.

  “I’m scared.”

  “I will be right beside you. Your father too.”

  “If they offer me a deal, I think we should take it. Even if I have to go to jail for a little while.”

  “You will not go to jail. I will not let that happen. We will run away to Mexico first.”

  “Serious?” she asks, and I see a tiny flicker of a smile.

  I shrug. “I don’t know. All I know is that this story is not over. And whatever happened in that car, you didn’t mean to hurt anybody. Maybe you made a mistake, but that doesn’t mean you should go to jail.” It is the first time I have admitted that Jess is likely at fault. At least out loud. I have tried to raise her to take responsibility for her actions, and I still believe that she should, but does responsibility for an accident mean going to prison? Ruining her future before it has even begun?

  “Maybe we need a real lawyer.”

  “Kevin is a real lawyer.”

  “But he said he can’t represent me.”

  “He said we might not want him to, he didn’t say he can’t. Besides, leave that to your dad and me. We will figure it out.”

  She doesn’t say anything more. We sit side by side watching a squirrel carry a nut from under the fence up the tree and then back again. Making preparations. Taking care of her baby.

  Without a word, Jess squeezes my hand and then gets up and goes inside. She will have to go back to school soon. No matter what happens. She cannot let this derail her high school career. It won’t be easy. I know the judgment this town is capable of. I have felt it all my life. Everyone looked the other way when Jess was born. Jake and I were an island of three until he left, and then I built a lifeboat with just the two of us. Me and Jess. And while it has not been easy, it has been good. Money is always tight and our circle of friends is pretty small, but that is probably my fault as much as anyone. I don’t trust my footing in this town. I know times have changed and no one thinks twice about single mothers or shotgun weddings. But this is different. This is not just any accident. This involves Jefferson football. It is ingrained in the soul of this place. For the past twenty years, maybe longer, the high school stadium has been a shrine and Coach Robert Mitchell has been the god they trusted to bring their boys the glory.

  I know people are angry. Jake has been hassled by some of his old football chums. He says it is nothing, but I knew him then and I know those boys mean a lot to him. Coach Mitchell means a lot to him. To his credit, he has kept that grief to himself. I loved Coach, too, and Helen, but I can’t let myself see their side. I have to stay on Jess’ side because I know there will be sides and they will divide this town if this goes to trial.

  Still, I can’t let her take the blame for an accident she doesn’t even remember causing. This town can be angry, but I will not let them take my daughter’s future. It is hard to imagine that one judge – a person who we have never met, will decide my daughter’s fate. Kevin says if we don’t take a deal and it goes to trial because Jess is a minor it won’t be a jury but the judge who decides. She will listen to the testimony, look at the reports, and determine my daughter’s future based on one moment in her life, completely disregarding the millions of moments leading up to it.

  When I talk to Kevin that night, he is insistent that we need to consider a plea agreement.

  “We don’t want a trial if we can avoid it. The quicker we wrap this up, the less time there is for it to fester, for public momentum to gain speed.”

  But public momentum has already been barreling along in the form of editorials in the paper, social media campaigns online, nasty emails, and hate mail. And it is only the beginning. As football season wraps up and the team loses, and it looks like they will, there will be one more reason for this town to want Jess’ head. Never mind that this year’s team was never going to win even with Coach Mitchell marching the sidelines.

  — — —

  On Thursday, Kevin calls to say his initial meeting with the DA did not go well.

  “They are determined to make an example of Jess. I think it might be time to call in reinforcements.” He says the DA must see the political opportunity before him and it is making him heavy-handed with his deals. He will not consider anything that doesn’t include prison time.

  Kevin has sent me the contact information for several trial lawyers, but beyond the fact that we can’t afford them, I am convinced the best person to represent Jess is Kevin, despite his protests and Jake’s doubt. I still have no idea how I will pay for him. Jake says one of the guys who hangs out at his shop got out of a drunk driving rap with a public defender, but he doesn’t understand. This is not some drunk driving asshole between jobs, this is our daughter. We cannot take a chance on a public defender.

  I call Jake after I hang up with Kevin and tell him what Kevin has said, except for the part about him not being the best lawyer for the job.

  “We are going to have to come up with some money to pay him,” I say.

  “Why can’t we just use the public defender? We pay taxes.”

  I sigh. “This is our daughter. We cannot use the public defender.”

  “Everyone always said you thought you were too good for this town. Nothing wrong with the public defender for everyone else, but no, not you. You gotta bankrupt us both just to get some fancy lawyer. Jess didn’t do anything wrong. We don’t need Matlock. And I’m not paying for it. You need some fancy lawyer—you pay for it!”

  “There are so many things wrong with that statement that I don’t know where to begin, but don’t worry. I will pay for it. You won’t have to give up your six-pack a day habit, or heaven forbid–actually work for a living!”

  It did not get any prettier from there. It was one of our nastiest fights to date, but he is wrong. We cannot trust Jess’ future to someone we don’t know. Not that I know Kevin. I don’t, but I trust him.

  — — —

  That night I can’t sleep. I lie awake and wonder if all of this was inevitable, if my father was right. If all I have done for Jess as her mother was pointless. I worked so hard to raise her well so that she would be a good kid, the kind of kid my father thought I would be. Even if she did this, isn’t she still a good kid? Does one monstrous mistake make you a bad person?

  All that work and worry—what was it for? When she was little, I could hold her hand, pull her to safety. I could make her wear sunscreen and eat her vegetables and write thank-you notes, but I am powerless now. For the last few years, I haven’t been able to reach her. I keep saying she would never text and drive, but how do I know? She never tells me what she’s thinking or feeling, and I sometimes wonder if the things she does tell me are only half-truths, tossed out like crumbs so I will back off.

  But she is my daughter. That is all that matters. I will do whatever it takes to save her from what is happening—even if that means cozying up to her lawyer or playing nice with her father. She is all I’ve got. And yet, right now, I cannot take another moment of her silence. Besides that, I need to get back to work. We need the money. Now more than ever.

  As soon as it is daylight, I call Jake. My call wakes him, and he sounds like he has company, but I don’t care. He wants to help, now he can step up and help.

  When I hang up, I hear the television. Jess has spent her entire week watching endless crap television. She lies there like a zombie on the couch, cocooned in Kate’s afghan. She won’t even look at her homework and I don’t have the heart to force her. It is as if our entire lives are frozen in place until February.

  “
I don’t want to go to his place,” Jess says when I tell her that her father is on his way.

  “You need to get out of this house. Get some fresh air. Maybe you can get started on all that school work.”

  She frowns but throws off the afghan and trudges towards her room.

  “Pack plenty in case you’re there more than a few nights.”

  “I’m not staying in that trailer park for more than a few nights. Besides, Dad won’t want me there because then Amanda won’t sleepover.”

  Amanda is Jake’s latest bimbo. He likes them young and stupid.

  “He said you can stay as long as you need to.”

  “Good, I’ll be home tomorrow then.”

  “We’ll see,” I tell her.

  — — —

  It feels like it has been months, not days since I was last at work. The quiet, clean halls reassure me that the world is not completely out of control. Avery steps out of a supply room and falls in behind me like a shadow. When we get to my office, she follows me in and closes the door.

  “How’s Jess?” she asks.

  I shake my head. “She isn’t good.”

  “I’m so sorry, Liz. This sucks.”

  I toss my purse on my desk and flip on my computer. “You’re right. It absolutely does suck.”

  Avery sits down in the chair opposite my desk. “You should know something.”

  “What?”

  “Aaron wants you out.”

  Aaron is the regional manager for our home and two others. He has never liked me. Or maybe I imagine that. I was hired by his predecessor. All the other managers Aaron has hired since he came on board are men. He always passes me over for the General Manager job at Morningside. When I asked him a few years ago why he had once again turned me down when the job opened up, he said I needed a college degree. I offered to go to school and get a degree if Morningside would pay for it. We haven’t spoken of it again. Which is why I am still a day manager, despite the departure of two different general managers.

  “How do you know?”

  “I heard him on the phone.”

  “Here? Aaron was here?”

  “He filled in for you yesterday because no one else was available.”

  “Who was he talking to?”

  Avery shakes her head. “I’m not sure who he was talking to, but he said the sooner it happened the better before the residents begin to talk.”

  “About Jess?”

  “Yeah. You know how old people can be. They blame every kid’s bad decision on the way they were brought up.”

  I pick up a pencil and nibble on the eraser. “There’s something to that.”

  “She’s a kid,” said Avery. “Kids do stupid stuff. This is not on you.”

  “Maybe some of it is. Jake is never around and I leave her alone too much.”

  “You have to work to support her. Jess knows that. Besides, I know her. You raised a good girl. Don’t let all this shit tell you anything different.”

  “Do you think I should leave?”

  “Hell no. Who would I have to bitch too?” Avery gets up and opens the door. She has to get back to work. She looks back at me and winks.

  I smile. “Thanks for the heads up on this.”

  “You know I’ve got your back. Always,” she says. Then she raps the doorframe and takes off.

  After she leaves, I dial Kate. I need to hear her calm big-sisterliness.

  “How’s Jess?” she asks after I have told her about Aaron’s threats and she pronounces him a power-hungry prick who must have a ‘very small life.’

  “I can’t tell. One moment she is an angry, sarcastic teen and the next she’s a little girl in tears.”

  “She’s probably a little of both right now. She wants your help, but she wants to be able to handle this herself. Being a smartass is her defense. You sure you don’t want me to come?”

  “There’s nothing you can do,” I tell her, but I wish there were.

  “I know it’s still not a good time to bring this up, but I kind of have to.”

  I have been so wrapped up in our world; I have hardly thought about my father.

  “The home called.”

  She sighs and waits for me to ask about our father, but I don’t want to know. I feel bad that Kate is dealing with him all alone, but right now I haven’t got an ounce of energy to spend on him. I don’t think my father and I have had a real conversation since I got pregnant with Jess. He told me he was ashamed of me and closed his heart. He had already banished Kate after she told him she was gay. He was a deacon at the time, and he immediately resigned from the deacon board at the church.

  I told him I wanted to marry Jake and have the baby and be a family. I said it was all I ever wanted, but how did I know what I wanted? I was eighteen.

  When I married Jake, Dad refused to give me away and sat stiffly in his chair at my wedding, only there because my mother made him go.

  He is old and harmless now and doesn’t remember what he had for breakfast, but he remembers that his daughters disappointed him. I send him care packages, stuff I know he will need like soft tissues (the ones subsidized nursing homes like Morningside buy are as stiff as cardboard), puzzle books, slippers, and the mints he has always liked.

  Ever since Mom died, Kate visits our father regularly at least three times a year. She calls it doing her penance, but for what I don’t know. He gave up on her the day she told him she was gay, but she has never accepted his condemnation. She still sends birthday gifts and holiday cards and keeps tabs on his health. She was the one who found the home he lives in now, even though I could easily have brought him to Morningside. I did not want him that close. Two state lines between us works best for me.

  “He’s really struggling,” she tells me now. “One of us needs to be named a medical guardian.”

  “It should be you.”

  “Just think about it. You’re closer,” she says. “And you know how these places work.”

  “I don’t know if I can deal with him.”

  “Age makes people nicer.”

  “I spend my days with old people, and I am pretty sure that isn’t true.”

  14

  JESS

  I haven’t been to Dad’s trailer in months. I stopped staying over once I got my driver’s license. Even before that, we hadn’t been seeing much of each other.

  Dad’s trailer is jacked up on one end by cinderblocks. ‘Redneck stilts,’ Dad calls them. “Just like them houses at the gulf.” There are so many of what Mom calls his toys littering the lot it looks like a yard sale, except no one would dare come near the place with Homeboy tied up out front. He pees in the house, so Dad makes him sleep outside most of the time.

  Dad drops me at the trailer and goes to his shop. He doesn’t have cable, so the viewing options suck. I clean out his fridge, but there is nothing to eat, so I make coffee instead.

  The caffeine makes me feel like I’m going to jump out of my skin and I pace the trailer like a nutcase, which maybe I am. Homeboy barks outside. Coach Mitchell was walking his dog when he died, but no one said if his dog died too. Willard is sitting only a few inches away, having tailed me on every loop of the trailer. He whines. I pull open a drawer looking for the dog biscuits I know Dad has. I should give one to poor Homeboy too. The first drawer I open has an empty package of dog biscuits. Dad buys the expensive bacon-flavored biscuits from the fancy pet store in Jefferson. They come in a package like Pepperidge farm cookies. I open the pantry to look for the backup pack I know will be there and find a carton of Amanda’s cigarettes.

&nbs
p; I pull a pack from the carton and grab matches from the bowl on the counter. Then I take the cigarettes and the biscuits, and Willard follows me outside. I climb on the picnic table and absently throw biscuits at the dogs; they try to catch them but always miss.

  I light a cigarette and inhale. It makes me cough, but I inhale again. No one would imagine track star Jessica Johnson would smoke a cigarette. Or kill someone. Maybe the cigarettes will kill me. I smoke until my stomach hurts and my throat is raw. Each inhale is little knives cutting at my insides. Homeboy and Willard don’t look much better. I’ve fed them the entire package of biscuits.

  I go inside and pick up the phone. My dad is the only person I know who still has a landline. I dial Sheila. I can’t accept that after all these years, she will just walk away from our friendship. But more than that, I want to know what the hell happened in that car and why she’s lying about it. Otherwise, what is the point of going to trial?

  When she answers, I don’t bother with hello.

  “I need to know what happened in that car.”

  Heavy sigh. “You were there.”

  “Obviously, but I don’t remember. Maybe because I hit my head. Just tell me.”

  “I told the judge what happened, remember? You hit Coach Mitchell.”

  “That part I know, but what were you lying about?”

  “I wasn’t lying.”

  “Bullshit. I know when you’re lying, and you were lying.”

  She sighs again, but I am determined. I need an answer. I will wait as long as I need to.

  “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

  “I want you to tell me what happened. I would not have been texting. Not me.”

  “You were all hot about Casey. Don’t you remember that? He texted. We knew he was gonna. Jason said he would.”

  This news seems familiar, but wouldn’t I remember something like that?