“Take ten,” Mack said, wiping frost from his eyebrows as he offered me a battered thermos of black coffee. “You look like you went twelve rounds with a snowplow, Bec. Everything okay at home? How was Sadie’s birthday?”
I took the steaming plastic cup, letting the heat seep through my thick leather gloves. The urge to spill the whole humiliating, toxic mess onto Mack was overwhelming. Mack was sixty, a blunt, no-nonsense veteran who had hired me when every other commercial glass outfit in the state laughed at a five-foot-five woman applying for heavy installation. He was more of a father to me than Richard Mercer had ever been.
“Party went off the rails,” I muttered, staring out over the frozen gray rooftops of Rapid City. “Family drama.”
Mack snorted, leaning against the scaffolding railing. “Family. Can’t shoot ’em, can’t trade ’em in. What happened?”
“Vanessa happened,” I said, taking a bitter sip of the coffee. “She deliberately smashed Sadie’s cake. So I threw her two-thousand-dollar Louis Vuitton bag into the fire pit.”
Mack froze. The thermos paused halfway to his mouth. He blinked at me through his safety goggles, his craggy face completely blank for three long seconds.
Then, he threw his head back and let out a laugh so loud it echoed off the steel girders of the unfinished building.
“Holy shit, Mercer!” he wheezed, slapping his thigh. “You tossed the princess’s purse in the fire? Man, I would have paid a week’s pay to see the look on her plastic face!”
“Travis is threatening to sue me,” I said, the gravity of the situation pulling the fleeting amusement right out of the air. “He sent me a formal letter of intent this morning. Written by some strip-mall lawyer he plays golf with. They’re giving me ten business days to pay twenty-one hundred dollars, or they’re filing a civil suit for property damage and ‘intentional infliction of emotional distress.’ And Vanessa filed a report with the sheriff’s department.”
Mack’s laughter died down, replaced by a dark, protective scowl. “A police report? For a purse?”
“Criminal mischief,” I said, rubbing the bridge of my nose. “A deputy called me at seven last night. I had to sit in my kitchen while Sadie was doing her spelling homework and explain to a stranger that I burned a handbag because an adult woman crushed an eight-year-old’s birthday cake. The deputy was sympathetic—said it sounded like a civil dispute and he wasn’t going to arrest me—but Travis is pushing for charges. If it gets classified as grand damage, it’s a felony, Mack.”
« Ils essaient de te briser », grogna Mack en crachant par-dessus le bord de l’échafaudage. « Ils veulent te voir revenir à quatre pattes, implorant leur pardon, pour pouvoir te le faire payer pendant les vingt prochaines années. »
« Je n’ai pas 2 100 dollars », ai-je murmuré. L’air froid me faisait pleurer, mais je me suis retenue de laisser couler mes larmes. « Je viens de payer les frais de scolarité de Sadie pour le semestre de printemps. Mon camion a besoin de nouvelles plaquettes de frein. Si je leur donne cet argent, je ne pourrai pas payer mon crédit immobilier le mois prochain. »
« Ne leur donnez pas un sou », dit Mack d’un ton ferme. « Qu’ils portent plainte. N’importe quel juge un tant soit peu intelligent les renverra au tribunal en riant. »
« Les juges s’intéressent aux biens, Mack, dis-je doucement, la dure réalité me pesant lourdement sur les entrailles. La loi se fiche d’un gâteau aux fraises fait maison. La loi s’intéresse à un reçu de deux mille dollars. »
Mon service s’est terminé à trois heures. À trois heures et demie, j’étais au ralenti dans la file d’attente devant l’école primaire Meadow View, au volant de ma vieille Ford F-150 de 2011.
Le chauffage soufflait de l’air tiède, faisant un bruit de ferraille derrière le tableau de bord. J’ai regardé les lourdes portes vitrées de l’école s’ouvrir en grand, laissant sortir des centaines d’enfants dans la fraîcheur de l’après-midi, emmitouflés dans leurs gros manteaux d’hiver et leurs sacs à dos aux couleurs vives.
Puis j’ai vu Sadie.
Elle marchait seule, la tête baissée, son sac à dos rose en bandoulière. D’habitude, Sadie quittait l’école en sautillant, bavardant avec ses deux meilleures amies, Maya et Chloé. Aujourd’hui, elle était à dix mètres derrière les autres enfants, les mains enfoncées dans ses poches.
