Page 60 of Denial
She groans and wiggles her toes against the floor. For some reason, it irritates me.
“Not like that,” I snap.
Ms. Thompson just smirks at me from her spot on the couch.
“Give me a minute to stretch my toes, and I’ll get out of your hair.”
“You just spent the past eight hours with my daughter, and your blood sugar is low. You can relax for a minute. I’m not going to kick you out of my house. I’d even offer you a drink, but I’m not sure how that works out with your…” I wave my hand in a circle, gesturing to her monitor and snacks.
“I’ll go easy and stick to the apple juice. Thanks, Officer.”
I retrieve a beer from the fridge for myself and sit on the opposite end of the couch.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” I ask, popping off the top and sending a mouthful back.
“Don’t go giving yourself any more gray hairs. This is all par for the course of a diabetic.”
I watch her fiddle with her phone. She drops it into her lap and tears open the fruit snacks with her teeth.
“When did you find out you had diabetes?”
“When I was seven.”
Just about Nellie’s age. I can’t imagine finding out my daughter has a lifelong condition right now or any time in the future.
“You were so young. Did your parents help you manage?”
Ms. Thompson adjusts herself off her elbows. She scoots into the corner of the couch, and her feet disappear somewhere beneath the tulle.
“My dad left when I was five. I don’t know what happened to him. Just up and disappeared on a random Thursday like mybrother and I meant nothing. I never saw him again.” The end of her sentences sounds tight, like her throat refuses to give up the words. She pauses and tosses a fruit snack in her mouth. “But my mom helped at first. She relinquished the chore around the time I hit high school. She’d still keep my supplies and snacks stocked, but it was mostly my brother who looked out for me.”
“You must be close.”
“We were close. Not anymore.”
“How come?”
A curious reflection crosses her face. Her top teeth sink into her lower lip. Releasing it, she says, “Because he faked his death, kidnapped my best friend’s kids, and almost killed them all when he crashed the car.”
Her words evoke a powerful memory so acute I swear I can smell the smoke.
It started with a police chase and ended with a little girl with tears on her cheeks and black smudged across her face that I dragged out of the back of the burning vehicle. Silas, climbing into the same vehicle for her one-year-old brother stuck somewhere in the back, not knowing if he’d make it out but knowing he had to try.
Puzzle pieces I didn’t know I was missing click together.
“You’re Whitney’s sister-in-law?”
“Former sister-in-law.”
Another memory floats forward. “Have we met?”
Her brows snap together. “I don’t think so.”
But I’m already nodding as the picture becomes clear. Taking another drink, I point in her direction with my beer bottle. “We did. We met the next day. I went to Jack Powell’s that morning to check in, and you were in the kitchen.”
A flush rises to her cheeks, barely discernible in the low glow of the lamp. She lifts a bare, slim shoulder in a shrug. “I told you that you could put your cuffs on me.”
I scoff. “Yeah, you also said you stay out of trouble.”
