Page 62 of The Wedding Party

I snuggle into the blanket and my mother asks, “Better?”

“Yes,” I oblige. “Thanks, Mom.”

She squeezes my arm. “You never have to thank me for taking care of you.”

Because it’s not for me, I think. It’s for her.

My eyes meet my father’s. He appears concerned, but I still see blame in the depths of his stare. It’s always there. It will always be there.

They never got over me living and him dying.

The truth is, neither have I.

“We have a lot to talk about,” Danielle states, breaking up any and all parent/child interaction being displayed by setting a contract and a pen on the table by my chair. “One hundred and fifty thousand dollars. That should ensure I’m paid in full if your accounts are frozen.”

“That’s so much money,” my mother says, casting me a concerned look. “Honey, if you can’t do this, we’ll see if we can get a loan.”

It’s a lot of money, but Oliver and I have that and a whole lot more in our account. Still, as silly as it might seem in these circumstances, it feels excessive and somehow wrong to spend so much without his input.

“Joe,” my mother urges, tugging my father’s arm. “Tell her we’ll take out a loan.”

“It’s okay, Mom,” I say, allowing the blanket to fall from my shoulders, the chill gone as I force myself into that ER state of mind, where business comes before emotions. Or at least I give it a champ’s effort, as my father often says. “I’ve got this,” I promise her, my attention returning to Danielle. “It’s a lot of money.”

“Unless you’re going to spring a memory and produce a killer that isn’t you, it’s not even close to how much your defense is going to cost, but it’ll get you a long way. And Agent Castle as well as the Phoenixes need to know they can’t cut you off and therefore cut off your defense. They need to know they can’t pressure you to talk.”

“They can pressure me all day,” I say. “I can’t remember what happened.”

“You were covered in his blood, honey,” she reminds me, as if I need to be reminded. “They can charge you right now, and if I don’t work my magic, they will.”

“And injured myself, and in hiding,” I add. “I was hiding. I was scared. I just can’t remember of who. But I will. I know I will.”

“It better be before they come for you.”

“The Phoenixes aren’t going to come after our bank accounts,” I insist. “They told me they believe me. They know I wouldn’t hurt Oliver.”

“Sign the contract and write the check,” she urges. “Then we’ll talk about what’s really going on with the Phoenixes.”

“I know nothing about you,” I argue.

“We reviewed her references,” my father interjects. “She’s handled, and won, a great many high-profile cases.”

Danielle quickly adds, “The Phoenixes want a conviction. They’ll be going to pressure law enforcement to charge someone. That someone will be you.”

I want to object. I outright want to reject the idea, but she’s right, of course. They’re going to charge me. They’re going to say that I killed Oliver, despite the cut on my stomach, despite my love for him.

With a resistant hand, I write a check and hand it to her.

Satisfaction glows in her eyes, and she places the check in her purse. “Now. Let’s talk about the Phoenixes.”

“They suggested I get out of town and away from the press while the police find out who really did this,” I say. “They said they’d pay for some private resort to keep me safe. They insisted that protecting me is protecting the family and Oliver’s legacy.”

“Resort.” She smirks. “Some might call it that. What they offered to pay for is a high-end rehab facility. And transportation to get you there. I said yes.”

“Rehab?” I demand, at the same time as my mother. I wave that off. “I’m not going to rehab. I have no addiction to treat. It’ll make me look guilty. No.”

Danielle sits down in the chair next to mine. “Hollywood does this all the time. You’re rehabbing your trauma. You’re working with a professional to retrieve your memory, and this looks good to the courts. Agent Castle will never slap you in handcuffs when you’re showing a willingness to aid in her investigation.”

“It’s a hospital.”