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Ashley throws her arms wide, a bright smile on her face. “There’s my Pied Piper!”
I’m frozen in shock, unable to move.
Behind me, Akim scoffs. “Oh, jeez. Those are some unfortunate nicknames.”
27
PIPER
“Wh-what are you doing here?” I ask when I’m finally able to pick my jaw up off the floor.
I don’t trust my legs to hold me up, so I stay seated as Ashley crosses the kitchen to stand in front of me. She plants her hands on my shoulders and looks me up and down.
“Well, you look alright for a jailbird. Are you okay, P?”
“How do you know about that?”
“How do you think?” she asks. “Your boss called me. I guess you chose me as your emergency contact instead of Noelle? Does Noelle know? Is she mad? I bet she’s mad.”
Too much is happening too fast for me to keep track of it all. “Timofey called you?”
She sighs in frustration. “Yes. Good to see you know your boss’s name. Now, who is actually your emergency contact? ‘Cause your grandma is here, too. I’m trying to decide where you ranked me on the Phone-A-Friend list.”
I angle around her to see the doorway. “What do you mean my grandma is here?Herehere?”
“She’s paying the cab driver. I left my wallet at home.”
I highly doubt that’s true; Ashley probably just doesn’t have the cash to spare. Even if she did, she’d still let a little old lady pay her cab fare. She’s kinda shameless that way.
But I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that she’s standing in front of me.
“What did Timofey tell you?”
“That you were arrested!” Ashley snaps. “What else? He told us you were wrongly arrested and had a panic attack. He was worried about you, so he called us in to check on you. You know, since we know you better than he does.”
Did he tell them he was the reason I was wrongfully arrested?
The answer is obvious: definitely not. If he did, Ashley wouldn’t be standing here talking to me; she’d be calling in favors with all of her shady friends to have him beat up.
My grandma, on the other hand, would take the beating into her own hands. There’s a reason she carries such a heavy purse.
I hear muffled movement from the entryway followed by a prolonged sigh. Everything Gram does is followed by a sigh like that. Whenever I point it out, she does the same things: grabs her wide hips and says, “I’ve been hauling this body around for five decades longer than you’ve been alive. I’ve earned a good sigh.”
She sighs again as she walks into the kitchen, her massive purse hooked around an elbow. The fake crocodile leather is cracked and peeling off the straps, but she refuses to let me or anyone else get her a new bag.
“An old bag for an old bag,” she always says with a long laugh.
But my heart soars at the sight of that old bag—both of them.
“Gram!” I cross the kitchen in an instant and wrap her in a fierce hug.
She stumbles back on her heels. “You’re gonna knock an old lady over. If you break my hip, they’ll lock you up again. Jail isn’t kind to people who assault the elderly.”
I laugh, tears brimming in my eyes. It’s so good to see a familiar face after the couple days I’ve had. “I can’t believe you’re here.”
“I can’t believe you didn’t call me.” She pushes me away and swats my arm. “What in the hell were you thinking, going to jail and not phoning me? I should have been your first call!”
Officer Rooney didn’t let me call anyone. I was bustled through the back door of the precinct and straight into a holding cell. But I keep that information to myself.
