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Was Leda Koffman even working to get my mom out of jail, or was she just bleeding her bank account dry while sabotaging the case from the inside?
I have too many questions and still not enough answers, and with every day that goes by, I feel anger ratcheting up inside me like a roller coaster climbing slowly up the tracks. When it hits the peak, I don’t know what’s going to happen.
River and I hole up in his little downstairs apartment for the most part, and Dax and Chase come over often—but we’re missing a piece, and we all feel it.
On Christmas morning, I throw on a thick sweater and a pair of leggings. River’s parents have grudgingly put up with my presence, but I’m not exactly invited to join their holiday festivities—which is fine by me. I can sense the tension between River and his dad every time they’re in a room together, and I don’t want to add to it or be the source of conflict. Besides, I want to see my own mom. That’s who I should be spending the holiday with.
“You sure you don’t mind?” I ask for the third time, jiggling the car keys as they dangle from one finger.
“Positive.” River’s smile is soft. “My dad bought it for me since he couldn’t handle the thought of his son not having one. Didn’t look right. But I’ve only driven it twice. Take it.”
I chew my lip. “You know I’m not taking it forever, right? I’m just borrowing it.”
“I know.”
He tugs me back down onto the couch beside him, dragging me halfway onto his lap and kissing me. I kiss him back, enjoying how easy it feels. Ever since that night at Linc’s house, something has shifted, has cracked open between us. I like it.
Part of me wonders if we’re moving too fast, but it’s hard to tell what too fast is when time doesn’t mean anything anymore.
And it doesn’t.
My mom was arrested just under two months ago, and that’s too damn long and barely the blink of an eye all at once.
River’s phone buzzes in his pocket, and I feel the vibrations since I’m practically sitting on him. He breaks our kiss as he tugs it out, glancing down at the screen and grimacing.
“It’s my mom. The Bettencourt family Christmas is about to start.” His gray-blue eyes narrow as he looks at me again. “You’re sure you’ll be okay?”
“Yeah.” I snatch one more kiss and then stand, twirling his keys around my finger. “There’s not even that much snow on the ground. I’ll just do a few donuts in a parking lot and then head to the prison.”
It just goes to show how little River cares about the car that no alarm shows on his face at my mention of doing donuts. He chuckles softly, then says, “I’ll walk you out.”
He knows I hate being alone around his parents, so he does what he can to be a buffer between them and me. I still don’t know quite why they’re allowing me to stay here when they clearly don’t like me much, but I think maybe it’s because they don’t want to be the family that kicked out the homeless, fatherless daughter of a suspected felon. It’s bad optics either way, but between kicking me out and letting me stay? Kicking me out is worse.
There’s a twenty-foot tall Christmas tree in the living room, and River’s parents are standing in front of it as we walk past. I try to give them a friendly smile when they glance up, but I don’t know why I bother. It never changes how they look at me at all.
It snowed two days ago, so there are fluffy white piles of the stuff everywhere. The walkway is clear though, and so is the driveway. I don’t tell River, but I’m a little nervous about driving in winter weather. I’ve never done it before. At least, not someplace that actually had a winter.
I’m sure I can handle it though. And it feels good to have the autonomy of a car again after the cops took Mom’s away.
River waits outside the front door until I drive off, and the GPS on my phone tells me how to get to Fox Hill Correctional Center. I know the bus route by heart, but not how to get there directly.
More snow starts to fall as I drive—big, fat flakes that swirl around in front of the windshield. I flick on the windshield wipers even though I don’t really need them yet, and I’m about halfway to the prison when the directions on my phone are interrupted by the sound of the ringtone. I glance down at it on the seat next to me, and my heart jumps.
Lincoln.
We’ve been mostly texting the past few days, so I don’t know what a call means. Maybe he’s just calling to wish me a merry Christmas.
Or maybe he’s finally found something.
I pull over to the side of the road and put my hazards on. There’s no way I’m talking on the phone and driving in the snow in someone else’s car. River might not subscribe to the “you break it, you buy it” principle, but I bet his dad does. And I definitely can’t afford this car.
My fingertips shake slightly as I pick up the phone, swiping the screen to answer before it can go to voicemail.
“Linc? What’s up?”
There’s silence on the other end of the line.
“Lincoln?”
