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There’s a slight pause, and then the voice I’ve been anxiously waiting to hear filters through the line. “Stacia.”
“Dad!” I cry. “How are you? Is everything okay? What’s going on?”
“Calm down, wildflower,” he soothes, though how he can sound so calm is beyond me. “Is your mom there?”
“Yeah, she’s here.”
“Good. Put me on speaker.” Crossing the small room to sit by Mom, I do as he says. “I saw the judge today.”
A million words race from my brain to the tip of my tongue, but I hold them in, waiting to see if my mom is going to take point. When after a few moments she remains silent, I speak up. “What did he say?”
“Well, I got good news and bad.”
Inhaling deeply, I say, “Good first.”
“Good is they set my bail.”
“Dad! That’s amazing! What is the bad?”
He sighs, and in that one heavy breath, I hear all of the stress and worry he’s been trying to hide. “It’s high, wildflower.” He rattles off a figure large enough to make even a prince pause. But it’s his next words that have my heart dropping straight to my gut. “Cash—it’s cash only.”
“What? Why?”
“Why’s the sky blue?” Dad asks, sounding resigned. But fuck that. My dad is a good man—an innocent man—and there’s no way in hell I’m going to let him rot in a jail cell over crimes he didn’t commit.
“This…I…we’ll figure it out,” I say, infusing every bit of strength and determination I possess into my words.
“You’re a good girl, Stacia.”
I smile through my tears. “Because you and Mom raised me that way.”
We chat for a few more minutes—well, Dad and I do, Mom just sits there, as silent and broken as ever—making a tentative plan until Dad says he has to go. It pains me to hang up, worry for him weighing on me like a wet blanket. But I shake it off—I have too much to get done if I want to see my dad bonded out. And since worrying away our problems isn’t an option, I’ve got to get proactive.
Which means a list. I need to make a list. Writing shit down equals getting shit done. At least, for me it does. From my spot on the edge of the bed, I lean forward and wiggle open the single drawer of the rickety bedside table. All of the usual suspects are there: a Gideon Bible, a list of television channels, a whopping two takeout menus, along with a notepad and pen—bingo!
I snag what I need and shove the drawer shut before moving to the chair in the corner. It rocks a smidge, thanks to one leg being shorter than the rest, but I’m so focused on the task at hand, I hardly notice.
Call Dad’s lawyer about bond, etc.
Call bondsman.
Call grandma.
Call AJ.
Call work.
Make money.
My list may seem arbitrary to most, but the vague bullet points are more than enough to keep me focused. I make quick work of leaving a message for Dad’s attorney, following it up with an email, as well, just to be safe.
After crossing task one off of my list, I dial up my grandparents. To be honest, I’m kind of dreading this call—while I know Mom needs the support, I’m worried they’ll assume the worst.
“Stacia, dear, what a treat.” My grandmother’s voice rings through the line.
“Hey, Gramma.” I can’t fake a cheery tone for her.
“What’s got you down?”
I suck in a lungful of air and break the news. “Dad was arrested.” A sharp gasp is my only reply, and I rush to add, “But he didn’t do it. I know my dad, and he’s innocent.”
Finally, after the world’s longest stretch of silence, she asks, “On what charges?”
“Embezzlement.”
“Where are you and your mother?”
“A motel,” I whisper, emotion clogging my throat. “The house was seized as evidence.”
“Well, that won’t do, will it?” I hear scuffling as though something is covering the microphone on her end, followed by Gramma hollering “Haaaaank!” The two of them exchange words too quiet for me to hear. After a few minutes of whispering, Gramma returns. “We’ll be there by five.”
“Are you sure?” I ask hesitantly, not wanting to look my gift horse in the mouth.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I-I don’t know…” I trail off. “I was worried you—”
Gramma cuts me off with an indignant scoff. “Stacia Iris Kellan. If you think for one minute I’m going to abandon you and your mother, you’ve got another thing coming. I may not always see eye-to-eye with Ken or agree with his choices—innocent or not—but he’s my daughter’s husband and your father. Family is everything.”
God love my grandmother. She and my grandfather aren’t wealthy by any stretch of the imagination. Nope, they’re your average blue collar, middle class work-hard-for-what-you-got kind of family, and far too proud to accept any handouts from my parents. They instilled those same values in my mother, and I know from many a story that Dad had to work hard to woo her, because flashing his old-money status didn’t do a damn thing for her.
