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“Well, maybe we keep that detail to ourselves,” Dalton suggested as he scribbled on his notepad. “But I agree with you. My wife is a pharmacist. I asked her about this last night, and she also agreed that an ICU nurse would have made other choices.”
“Is there anyone who would want to get you fired? Someone you had problems with at work?” Annabelle asked.
“I got along with everyone. The few times there was friction on the floor was usually with travel nurses, but it was nothing serious.”
“It may not have been serious to you,” Annabelle remarked, “but it might have been to them.”
“I suppose so,” Janie agreed uncertainly.
“Um, Macy, would you mind going with Annabelle to her office to answer some questions she has while I have a conversation with your mom?”
“Sure,” I said, certain there were things they were going to discuss that I didn’t need or want to hear. Chess followed after me and took a seat in the waiting room while I sat across from Annabelle at her desk. Desperate to know the truth, I asked, “Is my stepmom getting my brother and sisters back?”
“Yes,” Annabelle said without hesitation. “There were multiple procedural violations in this case. We’re going to hammer them in family court and get the kids back with Janie as soon as possible.”
“You sound very sure of yourself,” I said, unwilling to believe and have my hopes dashed.
“We’re very good at this, Macy. Let us do our job, and we’ll make things better for your family.”
“Okay.” I said, relaxing a little more.
“Now, let’s talk about your dad. Do you know where he is?”
I shook my head. “I haven’t seen him since the night Janie threw him out.”
“He was violent?”
“Yes. Often,” I said, really not wanting to get into those details.
“Did he hit your mom? His first wife,” she clarified.
And there were those ugly details I didn’t want to discuss.
But I didn’t have a choice.
“He did.” I squirmed uncomfortably in my seat. “I don’t have a lot of memories of the abuse, but I remember my mom having a black eye once and marks on her neck.” I cleared my throat and glanced away from Annabelle’s steady gaze. “I woke up once to my dad yelling like a lunatic and punching holes in a wall. I heard a lamp break. Or maybe it was a plate? I don’t know.” I shook my head. “The next morning, Mom had a bandaged hand when she walked me to the bus stop.”
“And your mother died when you were young?” Annabelle asked gently.
“Yeah.” I swallowed hard, and my throat suddenly clogged. “I was seven.”
“And how did she die?”
“She drowned.” My throat grew tight, and my fingers curled into fists, my nails biting in my palms.
“You found her.” It wasn’t a question. Annabelle knew somehow. Maybe from the police report?
“I did.” The memories of that morning came rushing back like a tidal wave. Panic and fear washed over me, and I gulped, suddenly afraid I was about to start crying. “She was in the tub, and the shower was running. She had...she had fallen and cracked her head. She was knocked unconscious and drowned.”
“In the shower?”
I nodded. “It doesn’t take that much water to drown actually.”
“Apparently not,” Annabelle said, her voice filled with uncertainty. “Do you know what sort of trouble your father is in?”
“I do.” I held her gaze. “Do you want to know everything?”
“All of it,” she said. “Every ugly, dirty detail.”
