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I point to the laptop. “This is what matters, so I’m just gonna open it up and restart the signal process and we’ll hand it to whoever’s responsible and move on. This already feels like it’s dragging on.”
“Wait, let’s at least get back to the house,” reasons Everett. “It’s good we have it with us, but don’t do it here.”
Judging by the headache pressing into the back of my eyes, we could all use some rest, food, and water.
“Okay, let’s go back to the house and go from there,” I concede.
It takes a bit of time for Everett to get discharged and in the meantime, I make use of the bathroom to shower and change into the joggers and sweatshirt Ainsley brought me. Once we’re cleared to leave, she sneaks us through some back hallways and an empty ambulance bay to a waiting car.
She slips into the driver seat while Everett and I sit in the back. As we pull away, I turn and see that the whole front entrance of the hospital is swarmed with independent journalists, paparazzi, and reporters. I’m thankful for being spared that right now, but I’m going to have to make a statement sooner rather than later.
I run my hand over the cover of the laptop, a touchstone of reality. This needs to end, this emotional dance with Everett, this threat to all of us, this weird liminal space. The laptop is real and the evidence my dad has compiled is important. I have to remind myself that I’m doing this for all the victims, all the grieving people who have been hurt by this criminal organization. Yes, I have a selfish motivation, but I’m also doing this for justice’s sake. I’m going to see this through.
CHAPTER 14
When we get back to the house, the three of us make our way into my room. I brace myself to find blood stains on the walls and broken glass all over the floor, maybe a bird nesting on my bed. Instead, the cream carpet is completely spotless and the window entirely replaced. It’s eerily clean.
“How did all this get fixed?” I ask Ainsley, my jaw dropping in disbelief.
“Oh, called in some favors. Boss went to college with a guy who’s a cleaner on Long Island. He said this was an easy one. He dealt with law enforcement too. It’s handled.”
By “cleaner”, I gather she doesn’t mean a Molly Maid housekeeper.
Everett gingerly lowers himself to sit on my bed, his left arm now cradled against his chest in a black sling, the empty sleeve of his zip-up sweatshirt hanging limp at his side. He makes himself comfortable, leaning his back against the headboard, and I sort of love the picture it makes. Until he grabs a pillow and presses it over his face with a groan.
“You okay?” I ask.
“He’s gonna need his meds soon,” Ainsley says, “They should be waiting at the pharmacy, I’ll grab them.”
“Ains,” says Everett, putting the pillow to the side. “Thank you. We’d be sunk without you.”
Ainsley beams and does a little hair flip over her shoulder as she leaves.
“I’m going to restart the message screen,” I say, sitting down on the edge of the bed, the laptop balanced on my lap.
Everett nods for me to go ahead and I open it up. I repeat the process of entering my prints with annoyance, ticked off at the intruder for interrupting and forcing us to start all over. It goes to the bright white screen and I set it on my desk to wait.
“I’ll get you some water,” I murmur, heading to the kitchen.
As I pass down the hallway, my gaze sticks on a photo of Mom and me at the first Irene Milenna Opera Foundation Gala. I must have been about fourteen and I insisted on doing my own makeup. It doesn’t look great.
Mom was so encouraging that night. She never pushed me to the side, never acted like I was an inconvenience or embarrassment. She included me in every conversation, whispered behind-the-scenes anecdotes, and smiled at me all night long. I remember it as the night I became my mom’s best friend.
My dad and I never really had that. I was always striving to win, like I hadn’t quite achieved the same status as him. There was always a sense that there was something else I needed to do, someone else I needed to be, despite his assurances to the contrary.
Everything was supposed to be all pretty and orderly for his return to Milenna, but now this stupid media attention is messing things up. And I still don’t know how things are going to end with this laptop. I keep dangling the promise of freedom to myself as a reward, but there are no assurances of that until I can talk to Dad about how things will be going forward.
When I come back to my room, Everett’s holding out his phone for me. “Mr. Delancey. You forgot to turn your phone on.”
I grimace as I take the phone from him, bracing myself for whatever comes next. “Yeah?”
“Laina, someone’s gone down to City Hall and dug up your marriage license, so that’s just fantastic. We need your statement now.”
I rub my forehead and try to rack my brain.
“What line would you go for?” I ask Mr. Delancey, hoping he’s feeling gracious.
“Wha-What line would I go for? Laina, you’re the one who got married, you know the reason. I don’t get what the big secret is. Why can’t you just say the reason?” Mr. Delancey asks incredulously. Then he lowers his voice. “Did Everett coerce you into something? Do you need a lawyer? ”
