Chapter 33
On Thursday, I don’t hear a peep from Ezra Pitts—or anyone else. There’s a mock hearing in civics class, and Sebastian, the prosecutor, is totally rocking it. He’s even wearing a suit and tie.
“Miss Reynolds, can you recount for the court exactly what took place on the evening in question?” With his hands folded across his waist, he looks like he’s in an episode of The Lincoln Lawyer.
“I was running late for a…meet-up at the abandoned cabin when Andrew stepped out from behind a tree; I guess he followed me.” I clasp my hands together to keep them from shaking. “So, I just took him with me.”
“…Can you describe the scene when the defendant entered the cabin? Where was each person in relation to the intruder?”
Sebastian’s done his homework. It’s almost like I’m reliving every moment. The fear is real.
“Well, Andrew was over near the window—there was a sound—he thought he saw Chewbacca or something. Amelia and I were farther…maybe in the center of the room…arguing.” Images swirl, and I pull my sweatshirt tighter around me.
“And what was your reaction to seeing the man standing in the doorway?” Sebastian continues to pepper me with questions.
My reaction? Scariest moment of my life. Keeping my eyes glued to the floor, I answer everything, almost like I’m talking about a movie—one that’s so scary—I probably wouldn’t be allowed to watch.
When I finish, I raise my hands to my cheeks. My face is drenched. I’ve been crying the entire time.
That evening, Stuart comes for dinner, and we go out for barbecue at the Notorious P.I.G. We’ve never been there, and at first, I’m disappointed. It doesn’t look like much from the outside. Just a brick building with a few picnic tables. But as soon as we open the car doors—OMG! The smell is incredible—pepper, smoke, and something sweet, like a campfire got mixed with supper.
“Now that’s how brisket’s supposed to smell,” Dad says, lifting Andrew onto his shoulders. “Somebody in there knows what they’re doing.”
Mom slings her purse over her arm, “My students never stop talking about how great this place is. I wouldn’t be surprised if some of them were here.”
I slide my hand into Stuart’s. “I didn’t think I was even hungry, but I’m definitely eating some of this!”
He laughs. “This is exactly the distraction we needed tonight. Your parents are brilliant.”
Stepping inside, the place is packed—I mean wall to wall college students. And FYI: They don’t need a stadium to make a lot of noise. Dad puts our name in as Mom scans the room.
“Dr. Reynolds?” A skinny guy with braids and sleepy eyes squints at us from a nearby table. “Hold up. I thought you only had two kids.”
A girl beside him suddenly grabs his arm. “Oh my gosh. Wait—are they the kids from the cave?”
“Bro,” another girl mutters. “You cannot just say that.” She reaches out a hand covered in tattoos, “Sorry. They’re idiots.”
Stuart squeezes my shoulder.
Mom moves toward them, holding up her hand. A few students lower their cups, pausing mid-sentence.
“It’s good to see all of you. You’ve talked about this place so much we decided to try it.” She shifts uncomfortably. “This is my husband, Marcum. My daughter, Darcie, her friend, Stuart, and,” she ruffles Andrew’s hair, “Andrew.”
Andrew waves and blows kisses as everybody calls out hello.
“And,” Mom adds, “can we maybe not talk about the whole kidnapping thing tonight?”
“Oh my gosh, yes. Absolutely.”
“Sorry, Professor.”
“Yeah, my bad.”
One kid stands and raises his cup, “Okay, reset. New topic.”
Some of the guys grab another table and add it to theirs. Somebody else points toward us. “Get them some drinks!”
“Root beer,” I say quickly.
“Same,” Stuart says.
When our meal comes, a fresh wave of brown sugar and spice rises with the steam, and it’s all I can do to wait until everyone is served.
Andrew bounces in his chair, a pork rib clutched in his fist. The first bite spreads sauce from the tip of his nose to his left ear.
“Is that good, Buddy?” I ask, ripping off a rib for myself. The sauce runs down the side of my hand, and I lick it off. Yum!
“Yeah, Ozzie. I love it!”
After we devour every bit of the meat on our baby back ribs and suck the brown sugar-honey sauce from our fingers, the table quickly fills up with piles of used napkins and wet wipes—most of them from my brother’s sticky mess.
Andrew slaps his hands on his tray, sending a spray of sauce everywhere. It takes three of us to get him cleaned up—Dad holds him still as Mom and I bathe him, with the constant flow of towelettes being passed our way.
Somebody calls, “Forget napkins. Somebody grab the garden hose.” And that’s when the dad jokes start.
My dad, of course, is a pro. Hard to beat. He holds off until there’s a break in the flow. “I didn’t choose the ranger life,” he says. “The ranger life just kept issuing me khakis.” Standing, he points to his ranger pants. It’s all he ever wears.
A couple of Mom’s students groan loud enough to turn heads at the next table.
Stuart and I jump in with our own kind of back and forth routine. Somehow, this makes everyone laugh even harder.
“What kind of bear has no teeth?”
“I don’t know. What kind?”
Someone from the other side of the restaurant yells out, “A molar bear!”
Everyone laughs, and I mean everyone—even the waitress.
“Nope,” I say, “a gummy bear!”
The girl sitting across from Stuart nearly chokes on her sweet tea, pounding the table and laughing. “Okay, that one was actually good.”
The jokes get worse as the night goes on. Which somehow makes them funnier. By the end, Stuart and I are laughing so hard our sides hurt.
ust as we’re leaving the restaurant, two people stop my parents. “We’re so thankful your children are home safe,” says the woman. Her husband leans in toward Dad, “I hope they hang the sucker that did this!” They walk away before anyone can respond.
“Wait! He didn’t—”
Dad holds me back. “Leave it be, Darcie. What he thinks doesn’t change a thing.”
“But—what if everyone thinks that?”
Stuart slings an arm over my shoulder. “Tomorrow’s your shot to straighten it out.”
He’s right. What I say tomorrow afternoon could literally decide whether Grover spends the rest of his life in prison. Everything’s riding on that testimony. No pressure, though.
Stuart and I whisper about tomorrow in the back seat on our way to his house. All the fun and games from the restaurant fade into worry.
“What if I choke tomorrow, Stuart? Like I did when the cop asked me questions at the hospital.”
“Darcie, if I’ve learned anything about you these past four months, it’s that you’re stubborn.” He holds up his hands. “I mean, in a good way. Once you decide something matters, you don’t stop until people listen.” He holds my gaze. “You’ve got this.”
The car pulls into his driveway, and the porch light comes on.
“Sleep tight,” Stuart calls, getting out of the car.
“You too,” I say, but we both know neither of us is going to switch off our brains long enough to get any sleep.
By the time Mom gets Andrew tucked in, I’m already in my PJs, but for some reason, cleaning out my dresser sounds like a great idea. My parents walk in to find my bed covered in socks and underwear.
“Hi,” I say, my voice pitched a little too high. “Just organizing my drawers.”
My parents exchange a look.
“You okay, honey?” Dad says. “Want to run through your testimony? Work the nerves out a little?” He tugs the sock from my hand, and we sit on the edge of the bed. Mom on one side of me, Dad on the other.
“No. I’m good,” but my hands won’t keep still. I pick up two more socks, and even though they don’t match, I fold them into a ball.
Mom smooths back my hair, “That was fun tonight, wasn't it?" she says. “Those kids are something else. You and Stuart were right in there with them.”
I nod, trying to smile, “Yeah…They’re cool, and they really like you. Kind of like we are with Ms. Kendrick.” I reach for another pair of socks and roll them up. “She’s really helped me a lot with…everything.”
“Are you sure you want to go to school tomorrow?” Mom says.
“If I stay home, I’ll just worry. At least school gives me something to do.” My fingers stop mid-roll. “Do you think Amelia will be there? I mean, if they called me to testify…wouldn’t they call her too?”
Dad scoots closer. His hand squeezing my knee. “I imagine she’ll testify too. But don’t let that shake you. You’ve got truth on your side.”
Truth. I let that sit there. Whose truth are we talking about? Grover’s? Amelia’s? Amy’s?
My parents stay a few more minutes until I finally convince them I’m okay enough to sleep.
“I’m just gonna finish up with this drawer, then I’ll go to bed. I promise.”
“Alright, Ozzie the Great,” Dad kisses my head. “Tomorrow’s a great day for pancakes and bacon. See you downstairs at six.”
Mom’s hug hangs on a little longer than normal. Usually, I’d be squirming out of her grip, but tonight, it feels good and I don’t pull away until she does.
“I love you, and I’m proud of you, Darcie Marie. You are one amazing kid.”
“I love you too, Mom. Good night.”
Thirty seconds after they close the door, I’m opening my computer to call Stuart when a red circle blinks on the screen. A new message from smalltowngirl12. I don’t recognize the email address, but I open it anyway.
I wish I was more like you. You’re not afraid of anything.
Someone wants to be like me? That’s a first. My eyes go back to the username. Smalltowngirl12. It has to be her. After everything that happened, who else would be so afraid? I’m not sure what to say, so I type:
Are you kidding? I’m afraid of everything, but mostly scared of not doing the right thing. See you tomorrow.
I scoop the rest of my clothes off the bed and shove them into the drawer. Organized underwear drawers are overrated, anyway. Then, clicking on my planetarium lights and my sound machine, I lay on my back, listening to the sounds of crickets and frogs as the stars roll across my ceiling.
That night, Amelia and her grandmother show up in my dream. We’re in the courtroom. It’s this tiny space packed with people in fancy clothes—fur coats and hats—some wearing long ballgowns. The judge has a giant clock in front of him that blocks his face, and as I’m trying to tell him about Grover, the ticking just gets louder and louder until I have to shout to be heard. All the people, especially Amelia’s grandmother, glare at me, then smile as the judge sentences Grover to a life of hard labor.
I try to get to him, “No! You can’t do this!” I cry. The clock goes tick, tick, tick. Time’s running out.Ropes pin my arms to my sides, and I twist and yank against them until the smell of bacon drifts in and jerks me awake. Damp sheets wrap around me so tightly they might as well be restraints.
I suck in a breath and slide out of bed. Weirdly, the email from last night is the only thing keeping me from totally panicking. That testimony is our secret weapon. I just hope it works.