In the Arms of Stone Angels - By Jordan Dane Page 0,11
That’s the 411 on me. And my cell number has the area code for North Carolina. I live in Charlotte.”
He eyeballed me sideways, like he still wasn’t sure.
“Where are you staying here?” he asked.
“My grandmother’s house. I’m helping my mom fix it up to sell.” I gave him Grams’s address and told him about my mom being a Realtor, like he cared. “Like I said, we just got to town and I couldn’t sleep. I had to see Grams.”
I chewed on the corner of my lip, hoping to God that he didn’t ask me to show him where Grams was buried. If he knew I was blowing smoke, he’d bust me for sure. Deputy Tate narrowed his eyes and focused them on me. I knew he was sizing me up.
I suddenly wished that I hadn’t lied to him. He had the kind of eyes that made me want to tell the truth—like lying under the stars—but when it came to self-preservation and avoiding a night in jail, all bets were off.
He handed back my phone and said, “I’m driving you home. Come on.”
“But here’s the thing, Deputy Tate.” I winced. “Mom doesn’t know I’m here. And if I come home in a patrol car on my first night, she’d freak and ground me for life. I wasn’t doing anything wrong. I was only visiting the grave of my dead grandmother.”
Playing the dead grandmother card was getting old, even for me.
“Is there any way you could cut me some slack,” I asked. “You know, as a welcome-home gesture?”
“I’m not the welcoming committee, Ms. Nash.”
“I know, but you’re a young guy. You know what it’s like, right?”
I didn’t do cute. And I had another problem. I wrung my hands and shuffled my feet. On top of everything I had against me—now I had to pee.
“I’d appreciate a lift, but can you just watch me until I get inside Grams’s house?” I worked hard to control the whine in my voice. “My mom will kill me if I wake her. She had a long day of driving.”
I held up the key to Grams’s house and dangled it in the light. “See? Here’s my key. To my dead grandmother’s house.” I pictured Grams shaking her head. Sometimes—like now—I wished I didn’t have to hear me talk.
“I promise.” I crossed my heart. “You won’t catch me doing this again. I swear to God.”
I hoped he hadn’t noticed my subtle wording that he wouldn’t “catch me doing this again.” I would definitely have to be more careful next time.
Deputy Tate heaved a sigh and pointed a finger at me. “If I ever have to chase you down again for something…”
I didn’t let him finish.
“You won’t. I promise.” I forced a grin. Smiling made my face hurt. “And thanks for the lift. I owe you one.”
“Yeah, you do.”
I followed him to his squad car and kept my mouth shut, something I wished I had done earlier. But I’d been serious about owing Deputy Tate. A guy in uniform, who knew how to bend the rules for a kid like me, was a good guy in my book and a real exception to the rule in this town.
For some reason, I seriously didn’t want to let Will Tate down—not unless it became really, really…really necessary.
Next Day—Noon
I was dragging. And I was too stubborn to admit that pulling an all-nighter had anything to do with it. The brutal Oklahoma sun beat down on me as I pulled weeds and long strands of Bermuda grass from Grams’s flower beds. And no matter where I worked, the heat made me miserable. I wiped the sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand and took a gulp of lukewarm water from a bottle.
I went against my natural instincts as a teenager and didn’t complain. I figured the heat and sweat were my penance for Deputy Tate taking pity on me last night. All things considered, I should have felt lucky, except White Bird was on my mind.
Today was the day I would see him again.
A part of me desperately wanted to be with him and talk like we used to. Even being with him in our comfortable silences would have been great. I wondered how much he had changed or if he would notice that I had grown up, too. I wasn’t that thirteen-year-old awkward girl at the creek anymore. I was a sixteen-year-old awkward girl. But a huge part of me dreaded seeing him in that place—a mental hospital—knowing