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.”
“They’re trying to break you,” Mack growled, spitting over the edge of the scaffolding. “They want you crawling back on your hands and knees, begging for their forgiveness so they can hold it over your head for the next twenty years.”
“I don’t have twenty-one hundred dollars,” I whispered. The cold air made my eyes water, but I refused to let the tears fall. “I just paid Sadie’s school tuition for the spring semester. My truck needs new brake pads. If I give them that money, I can’t pay my mortgage next month.”
“Don’t give them a dime,” Mack said firmly. “Let them sue. Any judge with half a brain will laugh them out of the courtroom.”
“Judges care about property, Mack,” I said quietly, the grim reality settling heavy in my gut. “The law doesn’t give a damn about a homemade strawberry cake. The law cares about a two-thousand-dollar receipt.”
My shift ended at three o’clock. By three-thirty, I was idling in the pickup line outside Meadow View Elementary School in my rusted 2011 Ford F-150.
The heater was blasting lukewarm air, rattling noisily behind the dashboard. I watched the heavy glass double doors of the school swing open as hundreds of children spilled out into the brisk afternoon, bundled in puffy winter coats and brightly colored backpacks.
Then I saw Sadie.
She was walking alone, her head down, her pink backpack slung over only one shoulder. Usually, Sadie skipped out of school, chattering with her two best friends, Maya and Chloe. Today, she was ten yards behind the other children, her hands shoved deep into her pockets.
A few yards to her left, Harper—Vanessa’s eleven-year-old daughter—was surrounded by a cluster of fifth-grade girls. Harper was gesturing animatedly, her face twisted into an exaggerated, dramatic expression. As Sadie walked past them, Harper laughed loudly, pointing a gloved finger at her. The other girls giggled and whispered behind their mittens.
Sadie flinched, dropped her head lower, and quickened her pace toward my truck.
My knuckles turned white against the steering wheel. A cold, feral rage flared up in my chest—hotter and far more dangerous than the impulsive anger that had made me throw the purse.
I reached across the seat and pushed the passenger door open just as Sadie reached the curb.
“Hop in, baby,” I said, keeping my voice bright and steady.
Sadie climbed in, hauled her heavy backpack onto the floorboards, and pulled the door shut. She didn’t look at me. She stared straight out the windshield, her small lower lip tucked tightly between her teeth.
I pulled out of the school queue, waiting until we were three blocks away before I turned down the radio.
“How was art class today?” I asked gently. “Did you finish that clay turtle?”
“Fine,” she mumbled.
“Just fine?”
Sadie didn’t answer. She pulled her sleeve down over her hand and began picking at a loose thread on the cuff.
“Sadie,” I said, pulling the truck over to the curb near Canyon Lake Park. I put the truck in park, unbuckled my seatbelt, and turned to face her. “Look at me, sweetheart.”
She turned her head slowly. Her eyes were rimmed in red, and her cheeks were splotched with angry pink patches.
“What did Harper say to you?” I asked.
A single tear spilled over Sadie’s lower lid, carving a clean path through the pale dust on her cheek.
“She told everybody you were a criminal,” Sadie whispered, her voice breaking into a ragged sob. “She told all the girls at lunch that my mommy is going to jail because you’re a violent psycho who burns things. She said… she said her mom has lawyers, and they’re going to take all our money, and we’re going to have to live in a cardboard box, and nobody is allowed to come to my house ever again because you might burn them.”
The air left my lungs in a sharp, painful hiss.
I reached out and pulled Sadie across the center console, gathering her into my lap. She buried her face into my Carhartt jacket, sobbing so hard her little ribs shook against my chest.
