Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 105734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
“And I’m saying that the police are working for the bad guys,” I counter.
“Do you have any proof?” Mom asks, standing up to put herself between us.
“No,” I admit. “Not directly. But I’ve been investigating this family for months now. I was invited to their home for dinner last night, and I stole a ledger from them.”
“You stole something?” Dad cries, his voice a mixture of shame and disbelief.
“Yes, Dad!” I confirm. “I stole something from them. It was a ledger with names and amounts of money that changed hands.”
My parents are both silent. I’m not sure what’s happening, or if I’ve managed to make any headway. There is a pregnant pause, and then Dad resumes the conversation, almost hopefully.
“And can you take that to the police?” he suggests.
“It’s in code,” I respond. “And they took it back.”
“So, they know that you stole from them?” Mom worries, her voice almost trembling.
“Yes,” I admit. “They know.”
“Oh, Sofia,” Dad says on an exhale, sitting down heavily.
“I can’t let them get away with killing Danny,” I say, trying to explain.
“What have you done?” Dad moans.
“What I had to do,” I insist.
The living room lapses into silence. There’s nothing more I can say without torturing them further. They may or may not believe that Danny was innocent, but they’ve grasped the scope of my problem.
“We have to go to the police,” Dad decides.
“No, Dad,” I say firmly. “We can’t trust the police.”
“Then what are we going to do?” He asks softly.
I close my eyes. This is even more painful than I imagined. I’d hoped to leave this conversation for tomorrow or the next day, but my parents’ curiosity has changed that. Now it’s all out in the open, and I have to make a choice.
“I’m going to run away,” I explain.
“No,” Mom says, heartbroken.
“I don’t have any other choice,” I respond. “I’m afraid that they’ll find me here, that they’ll find you.”
“Can’t you just explain to this family that you’re sorry?” Mom suggests. “You could turn yourself in and settle the matter in court or call the police.”
I glance at her, suddenly overwhelmed with love. She’s so naïve to think that my problems with Frankie can be addressed in a legal setting. That would mean being completely out in the open with everyone about Frankie’s family. They would never agree to that. If I were to attempt any kind of mediation, they would just stuff me in the trunk of a car and drive me out to an abandoned lot.
I shake my head sadly. “I can’t do that,” I say.
Dad stands up. I half expect him to yell at me, or to fall back on the lie he’s told himself for so long. Danny’s death was a catalyst for all of this, and if I’ve accomplished nothing else, at least I planted a seed of doubt in my father’s mind. If he can believe in the innocence of his son, then maybe all is not lost.
“Dad,” I begin.
But he just turns and walks away. I can feel my heart crumbling inside my chest. This is worse than I imagined. I wanted a safe place to return to, but now I’ve ruined that as well. Mom doesn’t move, but she doesn’t look at me either.
My instinct is to just take off, but I’m too tired to do that. In the morning I can leave. But right now, I need to sleep. Without saying another word, I retreat to my childhood bedroom.
Lying down on the twin mattress, I gaze up at the ceiling. When I lived in this room, Danny was still alive. I was still a wide-eyed teenager who looked up to him. I imagined we would do remarkable things together, that we would use some kind of sibling power to make the world a better place. But all that is gone now.
I close my eyes, wishing I could turn back time and make everything all right again. Blood thunders through my ears, a residual effect of so much stress. I let it lull me to sleep, knowing this might be the last time I can rest without feeling scared. Who knows where I’ll be tomorrow around this time. I don’t have a lot of cash on me, and I’m not sure if I can use credit cards. I’m ill-equipped to run from the law, much less from a group of criminals who want to track me down.
In the morning, Dad still doesn’t want to talk. I find them in the kitchen, still wearing their pajamas. Without greeting them, I help myself to a bowl from the cabinet and go hunting for the cereal I’m sure is in the pantry.
“Don’t you have any cereal?” I ask when I can’t find it.
“We stopped buying cereal a long time ago,” Mom answers.
“Not even granola?” I wonder.
“Not even,” Mom replies.