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Even more embarrassed, I admitted, “It’s nearly out of gas.”
“There’s a station down the block,” he said without missing a beat. “Come on. Let’s go.”
I walked around to the passenger side and wrenched open the back passenger door to toss my backpack inside. At the same moment, Danny opened the driver’s door and bent down to adjust the seat. His gaze instantly jumped to the sleeping bag and pillow in the backseat, and he scowled. “Are you sleeping in your car?”
“Some nights,” I said, purposely avoiding his stare. I closed the door and slipped into the front seat, but Danny’s intense look made it clear he wasn’t going to let the sleep thing go. “I can’t stay at Granny Sharon’s.”
“Janie’s mother?” Danny asked and got behind the wheel. As soon as he turned on the car, he opened the windows in a vain attempt to cool the interior. With the humidity and heat, it was futile.
“Yes.”
“Why can’t you stay there?”
“Because I was in the house the night it burned down, and CPS investigated me as well as Janie for the sedatives,” I explained, my face red from the heat and humiliation. “I didn’t, Danny! And neither did Janie!”
“Of course, you didn’t, and of course she didn’t either! The only person desperate and demented enough to try something like that is—.”
“My dad,” I said, sharing his suspicion. “But no one can find him. He hasn’t been seen since the day of the fire. His handwriting was on the bags from Sonic. He left stupid little notes for us about how much he loved us.”
“So, why is CPS hassling you?”
“It’s my word over theirs. I don’t have any proof.”
“Tell me everything,” Danny commanded as we left Pink Paradise behind. He listened intently as I described that awful night, from the moment I left my shift at Whataburger to the next morning at the hospital when it became clear the police thought Janie had tried to enact a murder-suicide. “Why would they think that, Macy?”
“I guess because she’s taking some medication for postpartum depression and anxiety. I mean, seriously, though, Danny! Who could blame her? She’s stuck in a marriage to an abusive drunk and gambling addict.”
“Did they arrest her that morning?” Danny pulled into the Stripes for gas.
“No, but CPS got involved. Or DFPS. Whatever they’re called,” I said with a wave of my hand. “They let us all go home together, but made it clear they would be visiting a lot.” Macy wiped away the sweat clinging to her forehead from the hot drive. “And they did, especially after Janie was suspended from the hospital because someone accused her of stealing medication.”
Danny paused with his hand on the door. “Did she?”
“No! And the drug that was used to sedate them was that stuff in lean,” I clarified. “Not something you would find in the ICU.”
“Promethazine?” Danny clarified with a frown. “That’s easy to find on the street. She wouldn’t have to steal it.”
“And she wouldn’t be stupid enough to steal drugs from the hospital where she works to sedate herself and her kids, either! Not sedating me would have been stupid,” I pointed out. “She knew I was coming home late, and the fire didn’t start until after I had been home for a few hours. She was completely passed out in the bedroom. There’s no way she started it, and neither did anyone else in the house.”
“Macy, I believe you.” Danny reached over and gave my hand a reassuring squeeze. “Here.” He stepped out of my car and reached into his back pocket for his wallet. “Run inside and grab something for us to drink.”
When he handed me a crisp hundred-dollar bill, I was taken aback. “Danny, there’s no way this place is going to break a hundred unless you want me to pay for the gas, too.”
He seemed to realize what kind of neighborhood we were in and made an apologetic face. Then, with another scrutinizing look at the pump’s card reader, he said, “Actually, yeah, pay with cash. There’s no way I’m sticking my credit card in that.”
I didn’t blame him one bit. Skimming cards at gas pumps was one of the biggest scams around town. “How much gas? Like ten?”
He scoffed. “Macy, that’s like two gallons!”
“Yeah, and gas is expensive!”
“And I told you I was going to take care of you,” Danny reminded me with a heated look.
Squirming under his gaze, I said, “The tank holds, like, sixteen gallons so that’s, like, almost fifty bucks.”
“Okay.”
And that was that.
