Giselle emerged from the music room, still humming the new bridge of the song she’d worked on with Tierney. Tierney was such a natural when it came to creating her lyrics, and she evoked a flood of emotions when she sang. Feeling excited, thrilled, and eager to hear more, Giselle smiled to herself as she walked toward the kitchen.
She saw no sign of Stephanie, but she could hear murmuring voices from the TV room. Walking over to it, Giselle peered around the doorframe. On the couch, with towels as protection, Charley and Mister flanked Stephanie, who was engrossed in something unfamiliar to Giselle. Perhaps a soap. She rarely watched TV, unless it was in the middle of the night and she couldn’t sleep. Then, she would turn on the TV in her bedroom and indulge in popular science channels until fatigue claimed her. She rarely chose anything to do with music, as that was what her brain needed to rest from if she would have any chance of recharging her inner batteries.
“What are you watching?” Giselle asked and stepped into the room.
Stephanie flinched but then smiled shyly. “Just a rerun of a rerun, I think. I mean, I do love some of the soaps, but this, I think I’ve seen it more than four times. Wish they’d show something newer sometimes.”
“I have tons of DVDs. You’re welcome to pick out anything you want if nothing good’s on.” Feeling ridiculous as she tried to communicate with Stephanie, Giselle crossed the room and sat down in one of the massive armchairs.
“Oh, can I?” Bouncing up, Stephanie surprised Charley, who raised her left eyebrow. Mister stretched and moved to curl up on the backrest of the couch.
“Sure. They’re in that cabinet over there. Double rows, so you’ll have to rummage around. And like the CDs and vinyls, they’re categorized and alphabetized.”
“Makes it easier to find what you’re looking for.” Stephanie nodded approvingly. “I like when it’s tidy. If you only knew how the Brodys lived. So much stuff everywhere. It was my job, and the younger kids’, to clean up the mess, but it was hard. Every time we had it looking decent, Dylan, in particular, would throw things everywhere. Dirty clothes on the floor, pizza cartons everywhere, and tons of beer cans.” Stephanie blinked. “Oh, man. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to shovel all that on you.” She had been squatting on all fours by the film cabinet but now sat back on her heels, her shoulders slumping.
Giselle didn’t want to see this defeated look in Stephanie’s eyes. “Hey. I’m always interested in hearing what you’ve been through. Tierney told me a little bit—and she hasn’t broken any confidences, just so you know—and I really want to know more if you feel like sharing.” How odd that listening to Stephanie not only made her feel less selfish but also infinitely better. Her own demons pulled back some, like they weren’t important when Stephanie described the conditions at the Brodys’. The thought that Tierney had gone through similar things while in the so-called care of those people pierced her heart.
“Thanks.” Stephanie looked more at ease. “I’m relieved. I don’t mean to generalize about foster homes. Thank God, I know a lot of kids from the Facebook group that lucked out and got to live with great people. Some were even adopted. That’s the majority. Then there are those who’ve had it way worse than I did. Their stories are so heartbreaking, I can barely think about them without crying.”
Giselle could understand that. She moved to the leather bench by the window, close to Stephanie. “I’m sure they’re grateful for the group, for being able to share. What do the moderators do if they hear about unlawful treatment of these young people?”
“When I signed up for this group, one of the rules, stated very clearly, was that the moderators—Tierney is one, by the way—wouldn’t hesitate to report such treatment to the authorities. I kind of hoped Tierney would do that for me. I never could, as I’ve learned the hard way that the social workers and cops don’t always take what a kid says at face value. If the foster parents are good at expressing themselves, they outmaneuver the kid and have the upper hand. They’re all adults discussing things between themselves. It’s hard to make yourself heard, and believed.”
“Tierney was adamant to get to you. I—um—well, I have some phobias that I struggle with, but still I couldn’t let Tierney drive alone in the middle of the night. I mean, I had no way of knowing where she’d end up and if she would have backup. I have some pull, in a way, in this state, as I’m pretty well connected. I hoped I wouldn’t make things worse for her—or you—by having a panic attack. Luckily, I didn’t.” Giselle smiled gently.
“That has got to suck,” Stephanie said and shifted to sit with her legs crossed. “I’ve never had a panic attack, but I’ve been panicky, which I assume is pretty close to it.”
“I think so too.” Folding her hands, Giselle wished she had the courage to hug Stephanie to show she cared. Still, this was a big step, moving within someone’s personal space when she hardly knew them.
Her cellphone rang, making her jump. Fumbling, she dug it out of her cardigan pocket and checked the display. An unknown number. Most likely, it was someone trying to sell her something or ask her to donate money, but she still pressed the green receiver symbol on the screen. “Hello?”
“Is this Giselle?” an unknown woman asked. She didn’t sound young.
“Yes. Who am I talking to?”
“Oh, dear. My name is Beatrice Nielsen. I’m afraid your friend, young Tierney here, has had a bit of an accident with her bicycle.”
“What?” Giselle stood so fast, the room began to spin. “What happened? How is she?”
“She came down the hill like a bat out of you-know-where and slammed right into the side of our car. She flew across the hood. Fortunately, Mauritz, my husband, managed to slam on the brakes before he ran her over. She’s sitting here on the curb now and looks a bit groggy. She refuses to let me call 911, though, but asked me to contact you.”
“And why couldn’t she phone me herself?” Giselle asked as her heart plummeted.
“She’s got a cut right at her hairline, and some of the blood has gotten into her eyes. I still think she needs a doctor.” Beatrice made a disapproving tsking sound with her tongue.
“Put her on, please, ma’am?” Gripping the cellphone harder, Giselle felt Stephanie at her side. Stephanie placed an arm around Giselle’s waist while Giselle engaged the loudspeaker on the phone.
“Giselle?” It was Tierney, sounding pained but not slurred, thank God. “I’m a first-class idiot. I forgot the fucking helmet. The brakes failed somehow, and I hit a car. It wasn’t their fault at all.”
“Nor was it yours, dear,” Beatrice said in the background. “It was an accident.”
“You have to let them call 911, Tierney. Please.” Giselle put her hand on Stephanie’s where it rested at the side of her waist.
“Nah. I just need to go home and clean up. No hospital.” Tierney spoke in a slow yet clipped way.
“But you may need an X-ray, and maybe stitches.” Giselle was getting upset.
“No. No hospital.” Tierney must’ve held the phone closer. “That’s final.”
Stephanie tugged at Giselle. “She can’t afford it,” she mouthed.
Annoyed at herself for not realizing such a basic fact, Giselle sighed. Of course. It was totally like her to not consider other people’s economic situations. Another symptom of living a solitary life. “Tierney, listen to me. Stephanie and I will come and get you, and we’ll drive down to the urgent-care clinic. If they say you can get away with stitches, we’ll go home right away. And before you object again, this is on me. I’m your employer. What I say goes, right?” She waited until she heard Tierney draw a deep breath and most likely prepare to refuse again. Giselle drove her point home. “Tell me, Tierney, if I was sitting on a curb, wounded, bleeding, wouldn’t you help me?”
A long silence made Giselle check her phone to make sure they were still connected.
“Yes,” Tierney whispered. “I’d move heaven and earth.”
Giselle nearly whimpered at the tenderness and something resembling awe in Tierney’s voice. “Well then,” she murmured after clearing her throat. “We’re on our way. Give the phone back to Beatrice so she can let me know exactly where you are.”
“Okay.” A short scraping sound came over the loudspeaker and then Beatrice’s throaty voice again. She gave them directions, and Stephanie impressed Giselle by taking notes and entering them into her own cellphone.
“Beatrice, are you staying with Tierney until we get there?” Giselle asked while she stood and walked out to the small cabinet in the kitchen that held all the keys.
“You couldn’t drag us away. There’s a bit of a crowd here, but Mauritz is keeping them from getting too close. It’s mostly kids.” Something in Beatrice’s words gave Giselle the feeling that nobody messed with Mauritz, or Beatrice herself for that matter.
“Thanks. Call this cellphone again if something happens.” Please, God, don’t let anything make her injuries get worse. Hurrying into the garage, she jumped into the driver’s seat and found Stephanie already on the passenger side. As Giselle turned the ignition key, she froze. She was about to press the button on the sunscreen to open the garage door, when it dawned on her. How could she have spoken without thinking? She couldn’t possibly leave the house in daytime, let alone drive along the busy streets into East Quay.
“Giselle?” Stephanie asked, sounding confused. “What’s wrong?”
“I can’t. And you don’t have a driver’s license.” Giselle could taste iron in her mouth when she clenched her teeth so hard she hurt herself. “We have to think of another way.” But what way was there? Could she call Mike Stone? Or perhaps Manon? That would take too long.
“Why? Oh. One of your phobias?” Stephanie was pale in the fluorescent light in the garage. “But we have to get to her. Can’t you just drive us there, and I’ll go get her? Then you can take us to the doctor, and I’ll go inside with her. Would that help?” Stephanie gripped Giselle’s hand. “Please, Giselle?”
It wasn’t hard to picture Tierney with blood pouring down her face. She might have a concussion or, worse, a serious head trauma. If there was a time to work past her agoraphobia, it was now. Still, it was one thing to rationalize like that and an entirely different matter to carry out her intention.
Giselle pressed the button on the garage opener. Slowly, she backed the Jeep out onto the driveway. After closing the garage, she looked around. The sun was low behind the forest across the gravel road. She spotted Mister, who had his own little door to go in and out as he pleased, sitting on the steps leading up to the front door. Everything looked peaceful. Perhaps she would be able to make it.