Chương 10
“Mostly you.”
“Fair.”
My phone rang.
Marisol.
I answered immediately.
Her voice came fast.
“I reached the supervisor.”
“What did you find?”
“There is an active no-contact condition involving Trent and Hannah.”
I stood.
Hannah stood too.
Marisol continued.
“He is not permitted direct or indirect contact with her.”
“Does he have my address?”
“We do not know.”
“What about the photographs?”
“We need copies immediately.”
“Diane has them.”
“Send them to me and preserve the original thread.”
“What are we supposed to do tonight?”
There was a pause.
Then Marisol said, “We are arranging an alternate approved placement for the night.”
Hannah’s face went white.
I gripped the phone.
“No.”
“Claire, listen.”
“No.”
“It is temporary.”
Hannah flinched at the word.
I saw it.
So did Grandma.
So did Diane.
Marisol kept speaking.
“The concern is not about you.”
“I don’t care.”
“Your home may have been identified.”
“Then we stay here.”
“Your grandmother’s home is not currently approved for overnight placement.”
Grandma straightened.
“She raised four children.”
I covered the phone.
“That is not the issue.”
“It ought to count for something.”
Marisol heard her anyway.
“I know this is frustrating.”
Grandma said, “That sentence has never improved anything.”
Hannah stepped back from me.
“Where are they sending me?”
“I don’t know yet,” Marisol said.
“No.”
Hannah shook her head.
“No, no, I’m not going.”
My stomach dropped.
I moved toward her.
She backed away.
“Hannah.”
“You said I wasn’t being moved.”
“I said there was no plan then.”
“That was twenty minutes ago.”
“I know.”
“You lied.”
“No.”
“It changed.”
“Yes.”
“That’s what everybody always says.”
Her breath shortened.
Noah came out of the doorway.
“Hannah.”
She turned toward the side gate.
I did not grab her.
Every instinct screamed at me to stop her physically.
I stayed where I was.
“If you need space, take space,” I said.
She stared at me.
“But stay where I can see you.”
Her jaw trembled.
“I am not going to another house.”
Marisol was still on the line.
I raised the phone.
“Then approve this one.”
“Claire.”
“Start whatever emergency process you have.”
“It is Sunday.”
“Then ruin somebody’s Sunday.”
Grandma nodded firmly.
“That’s the first sensible thing anyone has said.”
Marisol exhaled.
“Emergency approvals require a safety check.”
“Do it.”
“A worker would have to come.”
“Send one.”
“Claire, it may not be possible tonight.”
“Try.”
There was silence.
I looked at Hannah.
She had stopped moving toward the gate.
Marisol finally said, “I can ask.”
“Ask.”
“And while I do that, all exterior doors stay locked, nobody leaves alone, and if anyone matching Trent’s description appears, you call 911.”
“Send me the description.”
The call ended.
Hannah remained ten feet away.
I did not approach.
After a while she said, “You told her no.”
“Yes.”
“You can do that?”
“I can say it.”
“What if she says no back?”
I looked at Grandma’s house, at the birthday decorations taped crookedly to the porch, at Noah holding a half-empty water bottle, at Diane still clutching the phone that had detonated the day.
“Then I keep looking for another safe option with you.”
Hannah studied my face.
“You’re not sending me somewhere by myself?”
“No.”
This time I knew exactly what I could promise.
“Wherever you sleep tonight, I am staying as close as they legally allow me to stay.”
She swallowed.
“That sounds like an adult answer.”
“It is.”
She waited.
I added, “But it’s also the truth.”
Her shoulders lowered a fraction.
Behind us, Grandma picked up the torn white place card from the porch table.
She looked at the word GUEST on one half, folded it twice, and dropped it into the trash.
Then she went inside to unlock the deadbolt so she could lock it again properly.
Grandma’s attempt at making the lock feel ceremonial did not make any of us safer, but Hannah watched her do it and stayed inside.
Noah carried the surviving half of his birthday cake into the kitchen and shoved it into the refrigerator without covering it.
Grandma objected on principle.
“You’ll make the whole refrigerator taste like frosting.”
“It already does.”
“That is because people in this family refuse to use lids.”
For a few minutes, the argument over cake storage was the only thing anyone discussed.
I stood near the kitchen sink refreshing my email, waiting for Marisol’s promised description of Trent and hating that my body had learned a new way to be alert.
Every car slowing outside made my shoulders tighten.
Every shadow crossing the front windows pulled my eyes away from the phone.
Hannah sat at Grandma’s table with one knee tucked beneath her and peeled the paper label from the water bottle into thin strips.
Diane had taken the chair farthest from her.
That distance was probably the first useful thing she had done without being told.
My email chimed.
Marisol had sent a photograph and a short description.
Trent Mercer, thirty-six.
Six feet one.
Brown hair.
Hazel eyes.
A tattoo of a black crown on the left side of his neck.
The booking photograph was two years old.
His face was thinner than I expected.
He looked tired, irritated, and ordinary.
That frightened me more than if he had looked monstrous.
I had spent years reading court summaries that converted people into categories.
Unsafe adult.
Substance misuse.
Prior domestic disturbance.
Failure to comply.
Now I was staring at a man who could pass me in a hardware store without raising any alarm.
Hannah appeared beside my shoulder.
I angled the phone away.
She noticed immediately.
“Is that him?”
“Yes.”
“Can I see?”
I hesitated.
Her expression hardened.
I handed her the phone.
She stared for less than three seconds.
“He grew a beard.”
My pulse kicked.
“You’ve seen him recently?”
“No.”
She zoomed in on the photograph.
“He always grows one when he gets out.”
The kitchen became quiet again.
May you like
I forced myself not to turn the sentence into ten questions.
“How do you know?”
