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“You said I just had to talk to somebody.”
“I said you needed help.”
“I wanna go home.”
I wanted to take her. That was the fucked-up part. She reached for me, and I still had to stop myself from telling her to get her things.
The clinician talked us through the plan. I asked who would be seeing her, how I would get updates, and whether they needed information from her therapist.
I gave them Ms. Braithwaite’s name.
“If you need anything, call me,” I said. “Any time.”
“We will.”
Storie kept her eyes on me while I finished the paperwork.
Twenty-four hours sounded like nothing after what she had admitted. It sounded like too much when she asked whether I would be there when she woke up.
“I’ll be back tomorrow,” I told her.
“Are you still mad?”
“Yeah, I’m mad.”
Her face crumpled.
I sat beside her.
“But I love you. That’s why we’re here.”
She leaned into me, and I put my arm around her. I could feel her shaking while she cried. I didn’t know which tears I could trust anymore, but I held her anyway.
When it was time for me to leave, she kept one hand wrapped around my fingers until the nurse spoke to her. It reminded me of when she was about three years old.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said again.
She nodded without looking up.
I made it to the truck before I stopped.
My hand was on the door, but I couldn’t get myself to open it. I kept seeing her sitting on that bed, watching me leave.
Had I done the right thing?
I had gotten her in front of people who might be able to help. I told them what she had done. For once, I didn’t let her cry her way out of it.
But I still didn’t know whether they could reach her.
Could she get better, or had I just found another reason to keep believing she would?
I looked back at the hospital, then finally opened the truck door.
36
Melody
The sun peeked through the blackout curtains while I lay in the king-size bed in this luxury hotel suite. I tried to luxuriate in the knowledge that Roman was finally dead. He was gone. He’d paid the ultimate price for killing my daughter and parents.