Rock the Beat
Page 54
Trip rushes over and wraps his arm around my shoulders and says to Max, “Let’s go end this.”
Fluorescent lights illuminate the light-green brick walls inside the building. The three of us make our way to the front desk—the same one we were at when Max last filed a report.
The same heavy-set cop with the mustache greets us at the front desk. “You three back again?”
“Yes, sir. We’re here to press charges against the guy that we got the restraining order for last week,” Trip informs him.
The officer types a few words into his computer. “Ah, yes. Mr. Cruze. I see they just brought him in. Go ahead and tell me what happened.”
I listen as both Max and Trip recount what took place leading up to the fight. I’m so proud of Max as I listen to him bravely tell the officer everything Jackson said to him. I’m glad he’s finally standing up for himself.
Trip on the other hand seems rather angry and annoyed talking about Jackson. I can tell pushing the issue of the fight isn’t something he really wants, but feels obligated to do.
“Let me get all this filed. Go ahead and have a seat.” He nods toward the row of plastic chairs against the wall.
“Wonder how long this is going to take,” Max says with mild annoyance in his voice. “I want to get this over with.”
Just as I attempt to comfort Max, I hear my name being called from across the room. “Holly. Hey, Holly!”
I whip my head towards the frantic voice and my eyes widen as I watch an officer walk Grace up to a desk parallel to the reception desk. Her dirty-blonde hair is matted into clumps and the dingy-white tank-top she’s wearing falls off her left shoulder. She looks like hell, and God knows she probably hasn’t eaten or showered in days. The urge to not acknowledge my mother’s existence washes through me. It hurts to see her. It’s a reminder that she loves drugs more than me.
Whatever she did to land herself in here is deserved. Besides, she should be used to this by now. I can’t even begin to count the number of collect phone calls Dad receives from this place.
I turn to walk away without saying a word, pulling Trip along with me, but what she says stops me in my tracks. “Holly, please! Don’t let me die in here. They’re going to lock me up for a while this time. I need bail money. Call Bill. He’ll get me out.”
I spin on my heel. “Detoxing won’t kill you, Grace. It’ll do you some good to be in here for a while and get clean. Don’t call the house this time. Dad doesn’t need to get involved in your crap.”
Grace fidgets under my stare, and her cheeks sink in even more when she frowns while she rocks back and forth on her heels. “Please, Holly. I’m dying. I have HIV, and I don’t have much time. Don’t let me rot in this jail like an animal. I’m still your mother. Don’t you care if I die?”
My heart leaps into my throat and Trip’s arm tightens around my waist. Did I just hear her right?
“No.” I shake my head. “You’re lying. This is another trick to make me feel sorry for you. This is the same shit you pull on my dad, and I won’t let you do this to me. You’re already dead to me, Grace. Do you hear me? Dead.”
She wipes her nose over and over while she stares dead into my eyes. “I deserve that. I’m a horrible person and a shitty mother, but you look like you turned out all right. Me staying away was the best thing. Bill knew that, which is why he still helps me. I swear to you that I’m telling you the truth. Bill knows all about it and refuses to let me die alone in a gutter some place like I deserve, but he won’t let me come back home either.” Grace sighs and wipes a couple tears out of her eyes. “He’s forgiven me for making him sick. I hope one day you will too. I’m begging you to call him. He’ll come get me.”
My entire body tenses as her words sink in. This isn’t real. Dad wouldn’t do that to me. He wouldn’t be this sick and not tell me about it. He has the flu or something—that’s what he said. I’m not believing a word that comes out of her mouth unless I hear them straight from Dad.
Tears flow down my face and I drop my head, wishing they would just lock Grace up already. I don’t want to stand here and listen to any more of her lies.
It’s as if my prayers have been answered. I hear a male voice order, “Time to go, Pearson.”
“Holly! Please let him know! I’m begging you!” Those are the last words I hear as my mother is carted off to a cell, somewhere in the building.
I don’t know what’s going to happen to her, and I’ll probably go to hell for saying this, but I don’t really care either. As long as she and her lies stay out of my life, things will be fine.
“You okay?” Trip whispers in my ear while he tugs me against his chest.
I sniff and attempt to wipe the moisture from my eyes. “Yeah. I hate her. I can’t believe she would tell a lie like that. She’s insane. I’m just ready to get out of here.”
“Excuse me, officer? Can we go now or are we waiting on something?” Trip questions the cop.
The cop picks up the phone. “King? Yeah. The people involved with the Cruze case are set to go. Did you still want to talk with them? Okay.” He turns his gaze to us. “Officer King will be right up.”
Trip nods and he looks at me and shrugs. “Guess we can’t leave yet.”
My shoulders slump in disappointment. The longer I sit here, the longer all the unanswered questions I have from this evening are going to eat away at my brain. Trip and my father both have a lot of explaining to do. “I hope he hurries.”
Fluorescent lights illuminate the light-green brick walls inside the building. The three of us make our way to the front desk—the same one we were at when Max last filed a report.
The same heavy-set cop with the mustache greets us at the front desk. “You three back again?”
“Yes, sir. We’re here to press charges against the guy that we got the restraining order for last week,” Trip informs him.
The officer types a few words into his computer. “Ah, yes. Mr. Cruze. I see they just brought him in. Go ahead and tell me what happened.”
I listen as both Max and Trip recount what took place leading up to the fight. I’m so proud of Max as I listen to him bravely tell the officer everything Jackson said to him. I’m glad he’s finally standing up for himself.
Trip on the other hand seems rather angry and annoyed talking about Jackson. I can tell pushing the issue of the fight isn’t something he really wants, but feels obligated to do.
“Let me get all this filed. Go ahead and have a seat.” He nods toward the row of plastic chairs against the wall.
“Wonder how long this is going to take,” Max says with mild annoyance in his voice. “I want to get this over with.”
Just as I attempt to comfort Max, I hear my name being called from across the room. “Holly. Hey, Holly!”
I whip my head towards the frantic voice and my eyes widen as I watch an officer walk Grace up to a desk parallel to the reception desk. Her dirty-blonde hair is matted into clumps and the dingy-white tank-top she’s wearing falls off her left shoulder. She looks like hell, and God knows she probably hasn’t eaten or showered in days. The urge to not acknowledge my mother’s existence washes through me. It hurts to see her. It’s a reminder that she loves drugs more than me.
Whatever she did to land herself in here is deserved. Besides, she should be used to this by now. I can’t even begin to count the number of collect phone calls Dad receives from this place.
I turn to walk away without saying a word, pulling Trip along with me, but what she says stops me in my tracks. “Holly, please! Don’t let me die in here. They’re going to lock me up for a while this time. I need bail money. Call Bill. He’ll get me out.”
I spin on my heel. “Detoxing won’t kill you, Grace. It’ll do you some good to be in here for a while and get clean. Don’t call the house this time. Dad doesn’t need to get involved in your crap.”
Grace fidgets under my stare, and her cheeks sink in even more when she frowns while she rocks back and forth on her heels. “Please, Holly. I’m dying. I have HIV, and I don’t have much time. Don’t let me rot in this jail like an animal. I’m still your mother. Don’t you care if I die?”
My heart leaps into my throat and Trip’s arm tightens around my waist. Did I just hear her right?
“No.” I shake my head. “You’re lying. This is another trick to make me feel sorry for you. This is the same shit you pull on my dad, and I won’t let you do this to me. You’re already dead to me, Grace. Do you hear me? Dead.”
She wipes her nose over and over while she stares dead into my eyes. “I deserve that. I’m a horrible person and a shitty mother, but you look like you turned out all right. Me staying away was the best thing. Bill knew that, which is why he still helps me. I swear to you that I’m telling you the truth. Bill knows all about it and refuses to let me die alone in a gutter some place like I deserve, but he won’t let me come back home either.” Grace sighs and wipes a couple tears out of her eyes. “He’s forgiven me for making him sick. I hope one day you will too. I’m begging you to call him. He’ll come get me.”
My entire body tenses as her words sink in. This isn’t real. Dad wouldn’t do that to me. He wouldn’t be this sick and not tell me about it. He has the flu or something—that’s what he said. I’m not believing a word that comes out of her mouth unless I hear them straight from Dad.
Tears flow down my face and I drop my head, wishing they would just lock Grace up already. I don’t want to stand here and listen to any more of her lies.
It’s as if my prayers have been answered. I hear a male voice order, “Time to go, Pearson.”
“Holly! Please let him know! I’m begging you!” Those are the last words I hear as my mother is carted off to a cell, somewhere in the building.
I don’t know what’s going to happen to her, and I’ll probably go to hell for saying this, but I don’t really care either. As long as she and her lies stay out of my life, things will be fine.
“You okay?” Trip whispers in my ear while he tugs me against his chest.
I sniff and attempt to wipe the moisture from my eyes. “Yeah. I hate her. I can’t believe she would tell a lie like that. She’s insane. I’m just ready to get out of here.”
“Excuse me, officer? Can we go now or are we waiting on something?” Trip questions the cop.
The cop picks up the phone. “King? Yeah. The people involved with the Cruze case are set to go. Did you still want to talk with them? Okay.” He turns his gaze to us. “Officer King will be right up.”
Trip nods and he looks at me and shrugs. “Guess we can’t leave yet.”
My shoulders slump in disappointment. The longer I sit here, the longer all the unanswered questions I have from this evening are going to eat away at my brain. Trip and my father both have a lot of explaining to do. “I hope he hurries.”
