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“They can and they did.” He sighs, long and heavy. “My driver’s license has that address, not Mr. Reinhart’s, and half my stuff is still there since I couldn’t fit it on my bike. I’m in Travis County jail. My bail is five grand, and I have no money for that. There’s a court date coming up and maybe I can prove my innocence, I don’t know.” He’s normally so laid-back, which is why the tension in his voice sends a chill up my spine.
“Did you call Mr. Reinhart? Maybe he can help.”
“Yours is the only number I have memorized.”
I take a deep breath. “You need a lawyer. I’m sure you’ll get out of this, okay? It’ll be okay.”
“No money for a lawyer, Raquel. I get a public defender.” He snorts. “Wish me luck.”
“Elijah —”
In the background, I hear a gruff voice say, “Time is up, Delgado.”
“I care about you a lot, for what it’s worth.”
The call ends.
***
Mom doesn’t bother going through the motions of putting the back of her hand to my forehead when I tell her I’m too sick to go to school today. She just nods while twisting her graying hair into a bun that she secures with a big hair clip.
“Do you need me to bring you anything?” she asks before she goes to work. “Food? Water?”
“I’m okay, thanks.” With my hair a frazzled mess and my blankets pulled up to my chin, I’m sure I look pathetic enough to pass inspection.
Mom nods and then she’s gone. I listen to her car drive away, and then I’m up, resetting the GPS on my phone to route to Mr. Reinhart’s address right away. I’m not just going to sit back and hope for the best. I’m going to make Sasha proud and help Elijah in any way I can.
An inflatable Thanksgiving turkey greets me in the middle of the Reinharts’ lawn. The rose bed in front of their small house has a little holiday scarecrow sticking out of the mulch, and I’m reminded of the Cades and how their lawn is always decorated for the holidays as well.
Mr. Reinhart answers the door wearing reading glasses dipped down on his nose. He’s dressed like he’s going to work at an office job, though I know from our previous meeting that he’s retired.
“Raquel?” He lifts the glasses to the top of his head, and I notice he has dark circles under his eyes. “Elijah’s not here. I’m not sure where he is. We’ve been worried sick.”
“He’s in jail,” I say, twisting my hands in on each other. I’m still confident that this is the best way to help him, but showing up unannounced on a near-stranger’s doorstep is a first for me.
Mr. Reinhart lifts a curious brow, and I talk faster, hoping to restore Elijah’s reputation before Mr. Reinhart decides to think badly of him. “There was a warrant on him and his old roommates for dealing drugs, but he’s not a dealer, I swear to you. That’s why he left — he wanted to get out of that place and find somewhere safer to live. But they arrested everyone, including Elijah, and now he’s stuck with no money for bail.”
Hopelessness weighs me down. If only Sasha had planned for something of this magnitude. Left a secret stash of bail money or something.
“Come in,” Mr. Reinhart says, stepping back from his doorway to let me inside. “Which jail?” he asks, his voice level. He doesn’t seem angry, so maybe he will help Elijah.
“Travis County.”
“And how much is the bail?”
I sigh. “Five grand.”
Mr. Reinhart pinches the bridge of his nose. “I want to help him, and I’ll do what I can, but I can’t afford that.”
“I can’t either,” I say, staring at the purple lilacs embroidered on the placemat in front of me. “I just wanted to tell you, so you’d know what happened.”
“I appreciate it,” he says. “Jarrah is at the grocery store. She’s been worried sick, the poor thing. We thought he decided to live somewhere else, but it didn’t seem like Elijah. He’s not the kind of person who’d leave without saying anything.”
“He called me because he didn’t have your number,” I tell him. “But he wanted you to know he’s okay. I think I’m freaking out more than he is,” I mutter, letting out a sigh. “He’s acting like he expected his life to fall apart one day.”
“Elijah grew up with nothing, and he often thinks that’s all he is. He cares about you, more than he cares about himself, I’d wager.”
I look up at this. Mr. Reinhart nods, giving me a sad smile. “Group home kids don’t know love like the rest of us do. I tried my best to be there for him. He wasn’t like most of the boys his age when I met him. He’s an old soul. Quiet, rational. He’s always wanted more for himself, but he thinks he doesn’t deserve it.”
