once have I seen you go outside to take a walk.”
She jerked her arm away from him, furious suddenly at everyone’s accusations. It was as if she had done something wrong. She stared at him, seething with anger, and wanted to confront him about the phone call. He was the reason she went hiking on Scratchgravel Road, and she wanted to tell him that. She wanted to tell him that she was protecting him from the police, that she was ruining her relationship with her family, and that she hated everything about him. Nothing in her life made sense anymore. But she had no idea what his reaction might be. He had always taken the dominant role in everything, and she had been fine with it. It kept her from having to make decisions. But now what? She had no idea how to take control.
“How would you know what I like or don’t like to do? You don’t pay any attention to me. The only time you talk to me is to complain about something I did. This whole thing is pointless.”
He stood motionless, staring at her.
“I’m moving back with my parents,” she said, forcing herself to look at him, shocked at herself.
He hesitated then came to her as if consoling a child. “Cassidy, come on. You don’t mean that.” He cupped her face in his hands and searched her eyes. “Can’t you see how stressed out I am? This job thing is messing with me. I don’t mean to take it out on you. I love you. It would kill me if you left right now.”
Leo wrapped his arms around her and she laid her cheek against his chest because it was expected. She felt nothing. Her limbs felt like lead weights, as if she had lost her sense of touch. She wanted to ask the question: How did you know the location of the dead man? But she was certain the answer would require something from her, and she didn’t think she had anything to give.
* * *
When Teresa Cruz heard her mom pull into the driveway she was curled up on the couch, physically ill with shame, thinking about her mother, Enrico, and her father in Mexico. The engine stopped and the car door slammed hard. Teresa closed her eyes and gritted her teeth, praying for an answer to the mess she was in. Her mom walked into the living room wearing her uniform, one hand propped on the nightstick hanging from her belt, the other hand held out as if she was going to shake a hand, except her fingers were rigid, her hand directed at Teresa.
Teresa sat up and her mother stood in front of her, the rage in her eyes unfocused. She accused Teresa of throwing her life away on a drug-addicted convict, of bringing shame into their home, of heading down the same path her father had, of making a mockery of everything she stood for, of ruining her good reputation in the community. She yelled and paced around the living room, finally coming back to point at her again. When she noticed the blank look on Teresa’s face, her mother stopped as if slapped and began to cry. She turned and left without another word. Teresa sat numbly on the couch and listened to the squeal of tires as her mother backed out of the driveway.
Teresa had no tears left. She couldn’t cry, she couldn’t explain any of it to her mother. She’d called Enrico countless times but he wouldn’t answer his cell phone. She walked to the front window, pulled the curtains open to the gray night, and listened as the rain pelted the roof. She thought about the sound the dead body had made as it hit the ground. The man had rolled it out of the pickup truck like a sack of garbage. She looked down at the phone sitting on the end table and made the only decision that made any sense. She called her best friend, Angela, who had her own car, and asked her for a ride to the bus stop in Presidio. She walked into her bedroom and opened her dresser, pulled several outfits out of the drawer, and stuffed them into her school soccer bag.
When Enrico had called that morning and said he’d been arrested, framed by one of his friends for drug possession, he had been desperate. He said he loved her, that he would make it up to her, all of it.