Chương 5
Cassidy hesitated.
“Don’t,” Nora said.
“Don’t what?”
“Take another pause and decide what I can handle.”
Cassidy sighed. “Moreno Protective Services has done investigative work for our clinic. Mostly locating missing parents, documenting unsafe housing, finding assets people hide during support cases. They’re expensive, but sometimes Sofia Moreno takes pro bono referrals.”
“And Cade?”
“I’ve met him twice. He doesn’t speak much.”
“He made up for it tonight.”
“There were complaints about him years ago.”
Nora gripped the cloth.
“What complaints?”
“He worked for the city before he started the company. An internal investigation said he used unauthorized surveillance during a corruption case.”
“Was he fired?”
“He resigned before the finding.”
“That sounds like fired with better stationery.”
“Probably.”
“Was the surveillance used against women?”
“No. Contractors taking bribes for emergency housing repairs.”
“Did he prove it?”
“Yes.”
“Then why was he investigated?”
“Because proving someone did something doesn’t mean you’re allowed to break every rule to prove it.”
Nora looked at the flash drive.
“That sounds familiar.”
“I thought it might.”
She left Rosie’s at twelve-forty with the petition under her coat and Cade’s watch in her apron pocket. She considered leaving the watch on the counter, but Rosie opened at five-thirty, and Nora did not want to explain why a stranger’s expensive watch had spent the night beside the register.
The rain had weakened to a steady cold sheet. Water filled the gutters and made the streetlights ripple on the pavement. Nora’s service shoes took in water before she reached the corner.
She checked behind her twice.
No black sedan followed.
Her apartment sat above a closed beauty-supply store in a three-story brick building with a front door that swelled in damp weather. Nora had to shoulder it open. The hallway smelled of wet plaster and someone’s fried onions.
Upstairs, the television was on low.
Maya lay asleep on the sofa beneath Lillian’s old green blanket, a school notebook open against her chest. The pullout bed had not been unfolded. On the coffee table sat a bowl with dried cereal, two orange inhalers, and a mug that read WORLD’S OKAYEST SISTER.
Maya had bought it at a thrift store for Nora’s twenty-ninth birthday.
Nora stood in the doorway, suddenly unable to move.
Fourteen was an awkward age even during ordinary years. Maya’s arms and legs seemed to have lengthened ahead of the rest of her. Her dark curls covered half her face. She wore one of Owen’s old basketball shirts, the one he had left after moving out.
Nora took the shirt between two fingers.
For one ugly second, she wanted to tear it off her.
Instead, she eased the notebook from Maya’s chest.
A page of algebra problems stared up at her. Three were unfinished. In the margin, Maya had drawn a tiny diner with smoke pouring from its roof. A stick-figure Nora stood outside holding a coffee pot like a weapon.
Nora sat on the edge of the sofa.
“Maya.”
The girl opened her eyes at once.
That hurt too.
Children who felt safe did not wake like that.
“What time is it?” Maya asked.
“Late.”
“You’re home early.”
“By twelve minutes.”
Maya pushed herself up. “Did Rosie fire you?”
“No.”
“Did Owen come back?”
Nora looked down at the notebook.
Maya’s face changed. She tried to hide it by pulling the blanket around her shoulders.
“He didn’t,” Nora said.
“I didn’t think he would.”
“Neither did I.”
“I mean, I didn’t want him to.”
Nora nodded.
Maya added, “Not because of me.”
The words were casual. Too casual.
Nora put the notebook on the coffee table. “Tomorrow morning, we have to go to court.”
Maya’s fingers stopped at the edge of the blanket.
“Why?”
“Aunt Miriam filed papers asking a judge to let you stay with her.”
“For how long?”
“She’s asking for temporary guardianship.”
“That doesn’t answer me.”
“I don’t know how long.”
Maya stared at the dark television screen. Its moving light washed over her face.
“Did you know?”
“I knew there was a hearing. I didn’t know what she planned to say.”
“What is she going to say?”
Nora could not bring herself to repeat Owen’s affidavit yet. She told Maya about the lease, the missed school days, the late shifts, and the lack of formal guardianship.
Maya listened without interrupting.
When Nora finished, Maya asked, “Do I get to talk?”
“Probably, but I’m not sure it’ll be tomorrow.”
“I’m fourteen.”
“I know.”
“You say that like it’s a disease.”
“I say it like judges may have procedures.”
“Adults love procedures when they don’t want to hear something.”
The sentence sounded like Lillian.
Nora looked away.
Maya noticed. She always noticed, though she pretended not to because noticing made people ask whether she was okay.
“Who told you all this tonight?” she asked.
“A man named Cade Moreno.”
“The booth guy?”
Nora turned back. “You know him?”
“He comes into Rosie’s.”
“You’ve seen him?”
“I’ve picked you up after school.”
“You never said anything.”
“He’s just a guy in a booth.”
Nora almost laughed at the unfairness of it. “Apparently not.”
Maya narrowed her eyes. “What did he do?”
“He brought evidence that might help us.”
“What did he want?”
Nora hesitated.
Maya groaned. “Oh my God, you did the pause.”
“What pause?”
“The one where you try to turn something terrible into a lesson.”
“I do not have a lesson.”
“Then just say it.”
“He asked me to marry him.”
Maya stared.
Nora waited for shock, outrage, or fear.
Maya said, “Booth Guy?”
“Yes.”
“The one with the suit?”
“Yes.”
“Does he even know you?”
“He claims he does.”
“Do you know him?”
“No.”
Maya blinked twice, then began laughing.
Nora felt offended until she heard the strain in it.
“It isn’t funny.”
“It’s a little funny.”
“He filled out paperwork.”
Maya stopped laughing. “What kind of paperwork?”
“A marriage-license application.”
“With your information?”
“Yes.”
“That is not funny.”
“No.”
“Did you call the police?”
“No.”
May you like
“Why not?”
Nora looked toward the window. Rain traced crooked lines through the dirt on the glass.
