Page 26 of This Could Be Us
“Yeah. It’s a mess, and of course, your boy is left holding the mop.”
“I saw it on the news. I know that guy’s wife vaguely, at least by sight. She’s at Harrington all the time, but her daughters are younger than Adam.”
I stop by the shower, naked and needing to get off the phone, butunable to shake the image of Soledad two days ago, trying to hide the trembling of her hands from me, blinking so her tears wouldn’t fall, lines of worry etched around the vulnerable curves of her mouth.
“I better go,” Tremaine says, pulling me back into the conversation. “Thanks again.”
By the time the three of us are all showered and changed, have eaten, and are out the door, I’m cutting it really close. Harrington’s out of the way. Aaron will probably be late for school, and I may be late for my first meeting.
“Will Ms. Coleman still be picking me up?” Adam asks from the passenger seat while we wait in Harrington’s drop-off line. A thread of anxiety runs through his voice, which is just starting to deepen now that he’s turned fifteen. He thrives on predictability, in some ways even more than Aaron. Sometimes the slightest change in his routine can trigger a meltdown. It doesn’t happen as often as it did when he was younger, but I still want to reassure him so his whole day isn’t wrecked.
“Ms. Coleman will pick you up,” I say, holding up my index finger. “She’ll take you to your social group after school.” I hold up another finger to count off the second step. “And then she’ll take you home and cook dinner.” I hold up a third finger.
He nods and releases a slow breath through his nose. “Okay.”
Ms. Coleman is a godsend. She started as a respite worker to offer Tremaine and me some occasional relief, but she’s so much more than that now. Practically a part of our family.
“You got your stuff?” I ask.
His “stuff,” as he likes to call it, is a collection of fidget toys and stress balls he carries in his backpack. Both boys keep their tools of choice close at hand to help them manage.
“Got ’em,” he says, patting the backpack in his lap and grinning.
“Okay.” I reach over and cup his head. “Love you. Have a good day.”
He hops out and strides determinedly toward the building, not looking left or right. My mom says I walked just like that when I was his age. I wasn’t supersocial as a kid. Hell, I’m still not the friendliestguy. I haven’t expanded much beyond the same small circle of friends I made in high school and college. It’s hard for me to trust new people.
We’re waiting for the line to move forward, and two girls climb out of a silver Range Rover a few cars ahead. Both have long dark hair and lightly tanned skin. One is a little taller than the other. When they’re almost at the school entrance, one of them turns back toward the car, her face puckered into a frown like she’s trying to understand or hear. The driver’s-side door flies open, and a woman jumps out carrying a backpack and runs it to the older girl.
It’s a jolt seeing Soledad in a place I didn’t expect to. Tremaine did say she sometimes sees her here at Harrington, but I didn’t anticipate seeing her today. She’s wearing slim-fitting jeans that hug her curvy figure. Small breasts, narrow waist flaring into thicker hips and butt. Oversized sunglasses hide her eyes. She smiles tightly at the teacher monitoring the carpool line but rushes back to her car. Harrington is north of Skyland, but the embezzlement case has made Atlanta news. I’m sure everyone knows, and it’s probably a challenge for her even showing her face here today.
She’s stronger than she looks. I bet many underestimate her.
I won’t make that mistake.
CHAPTER SIX
SOLEDAD
How are the girls doing?”
Edward sounds as casual as if he’s calling from the office, not from a federal prison. I sit on the edge of our bed and squeeze the phone hard since his neck isn’t within choking distance.
“How do you think they’re doing, Edward?” I press my lips together to stymie a stream of vitriol. “They watched the FBI tear their home apart and drag their father off to jail.”
“I know.” He breathes heavily on the other end. “I miss them. I miss you. You should be able to visit in the next few days.”
“I don’t want to visit. I want you to come home.”
He pauses, and when he speaks his words are meted out with slow care. “I’m not sure when that can happen, Sol.”
“Brunson did say they’ll set bail really high. I don’t know what we can do since they’ve frozen our accounts.”
“What the hell?”
“I tried to buy groceries and couldn’t even do that.”
“You need food? Cash? Call my mom. She’ll wire you money.”