“I can’t believe you have the balls to show up here after what you did,” Jake says. “Telling the cops lies about me. Telling them—”
“I didn’t lie,” I say.
“Right. That’s why they were here this afternoon, going through my room, asking questions about where I’ve been.”
“All I said was that you called my parents baby killers,” I say. My voice is louder than I mean it to be. “Which is not a lie!”
“No law against calling it like it is,” Jake says. His fists are clenched. “You’re crazy. A crazy dyke.”
I flinch. For a moment, I wonder if he might hit me.
“Jake,” Leah says. “Don’t…don’t use that word. Not like that.”
“Stay away from us,” he says. “Stay away from my sister.”
I look at Leah. Her face is white, her eyes wide and shining with tears. “I’m sorry,” I tell her. “I never meant to hurt you.”
“Just go,” she says. “Please. Just go.”
I’ve lost her. Leah’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and it’s over. It’s my fault, and there’s absolutely nothing I can do. I feel empty. Hollow. Every part of me aches.
I turn to leave.
And my phone rings. I hesitate, but I can’t ignore it. Because the first thing that comes to mind is my parents. I take a few steps away from Jake and Leah and answer the call. “Hello?”
“Franny? It’s Rich Bowerbank.”
My heart thuds painfully in my chest. “What is it? Is something…has something…my parents?”
“Your parents are fine,” he says quickly. “But there’s been an incident.”
“An incident? At the hospital?” I glance at Jake and Leah. They’re both staring at me. Jake still looks angry, his fists clenched at his sides, his jaw tight. Leah’s mouth is open, her fingers pressed against it. “What happened?”
“Everyone is fine,” he says again. “A man came into the clinic. He pulled a knife and—”
My knees turn to jelly, and I sit down abruptly on a bale of hay. “A knife?”
“Oh my god,” Leah says. “What’s happened?”
I ignore her. Turn away slightly, pressing the phone to my ear.
“He was disarmed very quickly by security,” Detective Bowerbank says. “We have him in custody. We’re still investigating, but it looks like he’s responsible for all of the threats. The phone calls, the letters…”
I start sobbing. Relief, I guess. I feel like an idiot, but I can’t help it.
Leah is at my side, her face wet with tears. “Franny? Franny, your parents? Are they…has something—”
“They’re okay,” I say. I can hardly breathe.
“What happened?”
I end the call and stick the phone back in my pocket. “Someone showed up at the clinic,” I say. My voice sounds strange. “With a knife.”
“Holy crap,” Jake says. He sounds kind of stunned.
I whirl on him. “You thought I was making this up or something? Making a fuss about nothing?”
“Not exactly,” he says. “But—”
“Doctors get killed,” I say. “For taking care of patients. For doing a procedure that, regardless of what you think about it, is legal and safe.” I glare at him. “At least, safe for the patient.”
He sticks his hands in his pockets. “Well, at least now you know it wasn’t me.”
He’s right. Which means I ruined my relationship with Leah for nothing. Because I’m an idiot.
I turn and walk away. I’m half-hoping Leah will stop me—come running after me—but she doesn’t.
She just stands there beside Jake and watches me leave.
My parents are both in the kitchen when I get home. Mom’s grating cheese; Dad’s stretching out a lump of dough.
“Hello there, Franster,” Dad says. “You’re home early. Buddy okay?”
“Fine.” I burst into tears.
They both stare at me. “What is it?” Mom asks, sounding alarmed. “Rich said he spoke to you. They arrested the guy, Fran. It’s all over.”
I shake my head. Dad leaves his pizza dough on the baking tray and puts his arms around me. “Come here, Franny-bear. It’s okay.”
I’m crying in great heaving sobs. “Sorry,” I say. “Sorry.”
He just holds me, my face against his chest.
I sniff, pull back and wipe my nose on my sleeve. “I’m probably getting snot all over your sweater.”
“No worries,” he says. “I’ve got pizza dough all over yours.”
I laugh through my tears.
“Franny?” Mom says. “Did something happen? Or…”
“Me and Leah,” I say. “I think maybe we just broke up.”
After I explain everything that happened—the things Jake said, how I snooped around his room, what I told Detective Bowerbank—Mom looks as if she might start crying herself.
“You poor kid,” she says. “Your dad and I—well, you know why we do what we do. Why it’s important. But we didn’t want all this to affect you.”
“Seriously?” I roll my eyes. “How could it not, Mom?”
“I know, I know. But…” She shakes her head. “I wish you’d talked to us.”
“You had enough to worry about.”
Dad has returned to his pizza, stretching the dough, spreading pesto sauce on it and slicing mushrooms as we talk. “So are you going to apologize to him?”
I stare at him. “To Jake? You’ve got to be kidding.”
He shrugs. “Well, you did suspect him of doing some terrible things.”
“Because he said some terrible things,” I say. “He’s the one who should apologize.”
Dad just sighs and shakes his head.