Love and Sorrow (Small Town Secrets Book 5), стр. 63
Violently, I pulled my shoulder away, forcing his hand to drop. “Fuck you.” Then I marched the last few steps to the van. Without turning my head, I raised my voice. “And fuck your pep talk, too.”
In seconds, he was by my side again. “Come on, Rascal. You’re not thinking straight right now.”
“On the contrary. I am thinking. Too much.” I tossed my backpack in the van and lit a cigarette, just as I noticed a couple of tiny snowflakes falling. “Here’s a fun fact. Only half of these guys actually get convicted of a crime, and out of those, less than twenty percent of them actually end up in prison. Now you tell me—where’s the justice? I’m no gambler, but those odds seem pretty shitty to me. Your chances at Russian roulette are better.” I pointed at Justin with my cigarette. “Don’t you think Sarah’s been fucked with enough?”
“Where’d you get that info?”
“I looked it up. Those statistics are for right here in Colorado in the good old U S of A. Great fucking country. Let’s let all the bad guys go free.” I took a long drag on my cigarette. “I’m tired of doing what I’m supposed to. If bad guys get away with shit, then I’ll take matters into my own hands.”
“Randi, you can’t—”
“No, you can’t tell me what to do, Justin. Even my parents lost that privilege a long time ago.” Gritting my teeth, I tossed my half-smoked cigarette on the ground and opened the van door. Unable to keep the sarcasm from my voice, I said, “Thanks for listening.”
I couldn’t even look at him as I backed out of the parking space. Once I was moving forward, I focused on the snowflakes, now starting to fall more steadily on my windshield. My heart now felt as cold as the air outside, but my blood was boiling hot.
If the state couldn’t—wouldn’t—mete out justice, then I would.
I only had to figure out what that justice would look like.
* * *
The next morning, I sipped a cup of coffee while staring out the kitchen window. We now officially had our first snow of the season, but it hadn’t really done much. In fact, it had hardly even dusted the bare branches of the trees—yet, somehow, it seemed apropos.
Shit. I’d been staring too long. Turning around, I quickly flipped the bacon popping in the skillet before scrambling some eggs. By the time the kids came to the kitchen, I was filling up two plates of greasy breakfast food. Did I think that made me a good mom?
The first words out of Devon’s mouth snapped me out of it. “Mom, Halloween’s tomorrow night. When are we getting costumes?”
Fuck. “How about tomorrow after I get out of class?”
“Mmm-kay.” That was easier than I’d expected. Of course, he was enjoying the bacon.
“What about you, Sarah? Do you want a costume this year?”
“I don’t know. What for?”
I wasn’t about to argue with her. If she didn’t want a costume, I wasn’t going to force the issue—especially since I had to work tomorrow night. “Well, if you change your mind, let me know.”
Devon’s eyes grew wide and the panic was evident in his voice. “Wait! I’m going to dad’s house tonight!”
Shit. “Right. Then how about we go right after school?”
“Okay.”
As my son plowed back into his scrambled eggs, I headed to the bathroom to shower, wondering how and why I was allowing my life to just fall apart. I was going through the motions but forgetting everything important. Last night, midterms. Today, Halloween costumes. It was like I was a stranger looking in at my life, watching as I self-destructed—but I couldn’t get my own attention long enough to fucking fix anything.
Later that morning, I was in a frenzy cleaning the house when my mother called, asking how things were going.
When I realized I hadn’t told my parents shit, I responded too honestly. “Bad, mom. Really bad.”
“What’s going on?”
I sunk into the couch. “I’ve been so caught up in everything here, I completely forgot to tell you guys.”
“Tell us what?”
“What’s happening with Sarah.” Suddenly, it felt like we were suspended in time—as if I could sense that my mother was holding her breath. But I couldn’t force the words out until the silence grew so loud, I couldn’t think. “Mom, she was sexually abused.”
“God in heaven.”
“It gets worse.” Sitting up straighter, I took a deep breath. “It was her teacher in school last year.”
“Is he going to go to jail?”
“I don’t know, mom. We talked with Child Protection on Wednesday, and apparently they filed a police report. There will be a trial somewhere down the road from what I’ve been told, but I have no idea what to expect.” I wasn’t about to tell her about what my research had turned up.
“Oh, honey. I feel so powerless...”
“That’s pretty much how I’ve been feeling. My little girl.” I stood up and headed toward the back door. “Now we know that’s what was behind the depression, the outbursts, the negativity.” Stepping outside, I slung on a jacket before cradling my cell phone between my shoulder and ear as I removed a cigarette from a pack. “But the therapy seems to be helping. She’s starting to