Chương 10
“Thank you.”
“That doesn’t mean I want to stay at your house yet.”
The words hurt, but they were honest.
“Okay.”
Ryan looked over.
Dana nodded once, letting him know she would not argue.
Outside the diner, Lily hugged her. The embrace was brief and stiff, but it was the first since the barbecue.
Dana stood beneath the buzzing parking-lot light after Ryan’s truck left. A moth struck the fixture again and again, unable to understand why brightness had become a wall.
On Monday, Naomi received notice that Marcus intended to file a civil lawsuit for medical costs, lost income, emotional distress, and damage to his business.
The claimed torn rotator cuff had become a “complex shoulder injury requiring possible surgery.”
Dana’s insurance carrier said her homeowner policy might cover personal liability, depending on whether the act was considered intentional.
The representative used the phrase reservation of rights six times.
Dana wrote it down because it sounded important.
Her credit-card balance rose with each legal meeting.
At the grocery store, two women recognized her near the cereal aisle. One asked for a photograph.
“No,” Dana said.
The woman looked offended. “I’m on your side.”
Dana left without buying cereal.
At home, she ate crackers over the sink and listened to a voicemail from Mara describing their mother’s latest theory that Dana had joined the Army because she enjoyed intimidating people.
Dana deleted the message, then called her mother.
It was a mistake.
Her mother answered with, “Are you calm?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“That tone.”
“I called to ask you not to discuss me with relatives.”
“I’m worried.”
“You’re entertaining yourself.”
Her mother gasped.
Dana closed her eyes.
The accusation was cruel and partly true. Her mother had always used crisis as social currency. Dana had learned this and still offered her fresh material whenever she became angry enough.
“I’m sorry,” Dana said.
“You sound exactly like your father.”
There were sentences families saved for emergencies because using them casually would dull the blade.
Dana ended the call.
She stood in the kitchen, breathing hard.
Then she noticed Lily’s yellow sticky note on the lunch container. DO NOT EAT, MOM.
The container was still in the refrigerator. The food inside had spoiled.
Dana threw it away and began to cry.
Not loudly. No collapse. Her eyes simply leaked while she scraped dried rice into the trash.
The doorbell rang.
She wiped her face and checked through the side window.
Eli stood on the porch.
Dana did not open the door.
“You cannot be here,” she said through it.
“I know.”
“My attorney told me not to contact witnesses.”
“You didn’t contact me.”
“That argument is popular this week.”
He looked over his shoulder. A gray sedan was parked down the street.
“Are you recording?” Dana asked.
“No.”
“Is Marcus?”
His head turned sharply.
Dana felt the answer in his movement.
“Leave,” she said.
“I have something.”
“Give it to police.”
“I tried.”
“Try again.”
“They told me lying in a statement could get me charged.”
“It can.”
“You don’t understand.”
“I understand exactly enough to keep this door closed.”
Eli rubbed both hands over his face. He looked younger without the gym crowd around him. Twenty-six, perhaps. His scar ended beneath one ear.
“Marcus owns my contract,” he said.
“A gym membership is not a contract that owns you.”
“I coach there. He fronted money for my certification and apartment deposit. I owe him eleven thousand.”
“That does not change what you saw.”
“No. It changes what happens if I say it.”
Dana looked toward the gray sedan.
“Is that him?”
“My girlfriend. She drove.”
“Then leave with her.”
“I was livestreaming before it happened.”
Dana went still.
Eli continued quickly. “Not the whole time. The stream cut when my phone hit low power mode. I thought it ended before he went at you.”
“Did it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why are you here if you don’t know?”
“Because the platform sent me a notice that archived streams get deleted after thirty days. I logged in. There’s a file, but it won’t play. It says processing error.”
Dana thought of Naomi saying not to build hope around maybe.
“Take the phone to police,” she said.
“I deleted the app.”
“That does not delete the account.”
“I know.”
“Then why did you lie?”
Eli looked at the floorboards. “Marcus said nobody heard the full thing. Warren said police ruin lives. Rachel said your military lawyers would destroy us if we didn’t keep our stories straight.”
“I don’t have military lawyers.”
“I know that now.”
Dana almost opened the door.
Instead, she said, “Call Officer Alvarez. Tell her everything you told me.”
“What if the file is nothing?”
“Then you still correct your statement.”
“He’ll fire me.”
“Yes.”
Eli looked up, angry. “Easy for you to say.”
Dana laughed without humor. “I am suspended from my job, separated from my daughter, under a protective order, facing a lawsuit, and washing spray paint off my house. It is not easy for me to say anything.”
His anger faded.
Dana continued, “You are asking me to make your decision feel safe. I can’t.”
He stood there for another moment.
“Did you know he was going to grab you?” Eli asked.
“No.”
“I did.”
Dana’s hand tightened against the door.
“He’d done that before?” she asked.
“Not exactly. But when people embarrassed him, he’d crowd them. Put hands on them. Make them flinch. Then laugh.”
“Who?”
“Members. Guys who quit. Once a woman during a private session.”
“Did she report it?”
“She asked for a refund.”
“And?”
“He called her crazy.”
Dana closed her eyes.
“Officer Alvarez,” she said. “Today.”
Eli nodded.
He walked toward the gray sedan.
Dana watched until he got inside, then called Naomi.
“You spoke to him?” Naomi asked.
“Through a locked door.”
“That still counts as speaking.”
“He came here.”
“Did you invite him?”
“No.”
“Did you promise anything?”
“No.”
“Threaten anything?”
“No.”
May you like
“Tell him what to say?”
“I told him to tell the truth.”
