I LEAVE THE courtroom; one of my kids will now be heading off to a juvenile detention center. I’m mad at myself because I hate when I lose a kid. It’s a long shot for him to turn around, but I’ll keep hoping and try even harder once he gets out in six months.
I need an espresso if I’m going to make it through the day. When I look at my watch, I decide I’m not going back to the office today. I have all the files I need and I can do them at home. After I get my drink, I head out the door.
I think about skipping the gym, but I can’t do it. I need my run after the day I’ve had, and I’m hoping I don’t see Trent. I haven’t seen him for the past week because the season has started. I’m glad. Even though I don’t know him, I pray that being back in baseball will help him heal.
When I pull into the gym parking lot, I don’t go in right away. I sit in the car with the windows down, listening to the radio. I always saw myself in a different place than how I grew up, and I'm proud that I've been able to do better. I was dealt a crappy hand, but I’m going to continue to pull through just like I always have.
After I head into the gym and change, I find someone on my regular treadmill. Ugh, all I want to do is run. I find an empty one and jump on. I pop in my earbuds and I’m off. I listen to the music and zone out from my horrible day.
I never want to let my kids down, but I feel like I did. I try to keep on top of their lives the best I can. Is it possible? No, it’s not. However, I do my best and I always wonder what more I could've done to help them. I know what it’s like to have no one care about you. I took care of Dominic the best I could, but I didn’t do a good job either. Maybe I focused too much on me. Maybe I’m selfish because I didn’t want to follow in our mother’s path.
The tears and sweat are burning my eyes, and I can’t finish my run. I slam on the treadmill’s dashboard to shut it off and rush toward the locker room. The gym is nearing closing time and there aren’t many people here. I’m about to reach the locker room when I feel someone tug on my wrist.
“What?” I yell, spinning around and yanking my earbuds out. Good Lord, its Trent.
“I saw you crying, and I wanted to check on you.” I can hear the concern in his voice.
I harshly swipe away the wetness from my face. “I’m fine.”
“Yeah, I say that a lot, too,” he says sadly. “Is there anything I can help you with?”
“I don’t think you would understand what I’m going through,” I snap at him.
He raises his eyebrows at me.
I slap my hand to my forehead. “I don’t mean you wouldn’t understand; it’s just…” I trail off. What am I trying to say?
“I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.” Trent gives me a sad smile and turns away.
“I’m a social worker,” I blurt out. He turns back to me. “I’m a social worker,” I say in a more reasonable tone. “One of my kids got into a lot of trouble, and I feel like I let him down. These kids don’t have anyone else. That is what I was crying about.”
Trent stares at me for a second. “You can’t make people do the right thing. If the kid did something wrong, maybe he’ll be lucky enough to learn his lesson.”
I sigh deeply. “I’m hoping for the same thing.”
We stand in the hall in uncomfortable silence before he finally speaks, “Have a good night, Scarlett.”
“You too, Trent, and good game the other night. I’m sure you’re glad to be back on the field.”
“I am.” I watch his Adam's apple bob up and down. “It’s good to get some normalcy back.”
“And your little girl? How is she?” My heart breaks, thinking of the family portraits they showed in the courtroom.
“She’s doing well. She’s five, and it’s hard to explain that her mom isn’t coming home.” Trent’s voice cracks a bit.
“Um...I’m overstepping here, but it seems to be my middle name here lately. However, I know a great children’s therapist. It might be helpful for her to talk to someone.” I know I did well in therapy when I started going. You don’t realize how much it helps to talk out your problems.
“Thank you for the advice. I might take you up on that offer. Can you French braid too?” he tries to joke.
I tilt my head. “Yes,” I answer in confusion.
“My wife always took care of Kaelyn’s hair, and I’m failing at it.” He shakes his head.
I give him an encouraging smile. “Try YouTube; you’ll be amazed by how many single fathers are out there helping each other.”
Trent’s eyes go wide. “YouTube? I never thought of going there.”
“There are a lot of books too. They might help.”
Trent smiles, a real smile. “Thank you, Scarlett. That’s very helpful.”
“Good.” It is time to leave, Scarlett, run away. “Have a good night.” I spin on my heels and go into the locker room.
It’s Friday night and I’m curled up on the couch with my remote and a glass of wine. I’m flipping through the TV, but there’s nothing on. I’m not even sure why I pay for cable. Nothing is ever on. I stop on a channel when I see Dominic’s face pop up.
The anchor talks about how Dominic’s case had been rushed through the system faster than any case they’ve seen. I roll my eyes. It’s because the District Attorney didn’t want to lose the media attention and the backing of the Memphis citizens’ in their outrage. The Bakers had been a perfect family and Deborah was the picturesque housewife. Once the jury saw the video, it was over and there was no doubt he would be found guilty. It took the jury only one hour to convict him.
We’re all waiting for the sentencing. The anchor reports the date is set for June. Three months away. Dominic’s attorney already told me he wouldn’t see anything less than life in jail.
I know it.
The world knows it.
Now, I have to deal with it.
I usually don’t curl my hair, but tonight, I fluff out my blonde hair with the soft curls in it. I’m not staying home tonight. Macy sent me a text earlier in the day and we are heading out to a wine bar for its grand opening. I pull out my little black dress, which is my only dress, from the far back of my closet and slip on a pair of red heels.
I meet Macy outside the wine bar and she ushers me in. “I’m thirsty and hungry. There better be something to eat.”
I shake my head as we walk into the somewhat crowded bar. Many of the men in the bar turn their heads to look at Macy. Even though Macy and I have similar features, she’s a foot taller than I am, and I am quite envious of her long legs.
“Why are you so hungry?”
“I’ve been trying to finish a deadline, and I forgot to feed myself.” Macy finds two open barstools.
“Do I want to know the story?” I ask.
She gives me a sad smile.
“It’s about Dominic,” I answer for her and wave the bartender down. I order a bottle of red wine because I’m going to need it tonight.
“They set his sentencing date,” she says. “Are you going?”
I shrug. “I went to the trial a couple of times, and we see what good that did.”
“Have you tried to contact him again?”
I shake my head. “I talked to him that one time. He told me he didn’t care, and he asked me to leave.”
As the bartender sits the bottle down and opens it, I think about the last time I spoke to Dominic. He had just been handed the guilty verdict. He didn’t care about what he’d done and didn’t seem to care about what would happen. If I hadn’t known better, I’d have thought he was high still. I’d tried to get him to talk to me, but like our mother had done, he’d pushed me away.
Over the years, I tried to help, but he only came by for money. It’s my fault all this happened because I could never say no to him. I’d constantly shelled out money, and I knew it had been for drugs and God knows what else.
Good Lord, it is my fault.
“Let’s talk about something fun and exciting.” Macy takes a sip of her wine.
“And what topic would that be?”
“Hell if I know. I work all the damn time.”
I laugh at her. “What do you think I do?”
“We’re pathetic.”
“I’ll toast to that.” I clink my glass with her.
We do end up talking about my job and the rough week I’ve had. As always, Macy tries to tell me it isn’t my fault. However, I’m not sure I believe her. She goes on about the current events she’s covering outside of my brother’s sentencing. Macy is overly enthusiastic as she talks about this country, that warfare, and the government.
I must tune her out eventually until someone says my name. I turn and almost choke on my wine as I find Trent Baker standing next to me. I glance at Macy and her eyes are wide too.
“Trent. Hi. Um...what are you doing here? In the bar, I mean. Not that you can’t be in a bar, but you know what I’m saying.” I hope he does because I have no clue. I’m rambling again because I’m nervous.
“A couple of teammates dragged me out of the house. I thought it was you and I just wanted to say hi and tell you thanks again. Because of you, I was able to French braid my daughter’s hair.”
“Oh, the videos worked, then? Outstanding. No thanks needed; I’m glad my little bit of advice could help.” I quickly notice Macy is staring at me. “This is my friend, Macy. She works with the Memphis Daily News. Macy, this is Trent.” I don’t think she will, but I pray she doesn’t rat me out.
“Nice to meet you, Macy. I guess I should leave you two alone now. It was nice seeing you again, Scarlett.”
“Yes. It’s nice to see you too. I’m glad it’s working out.”
Trent nods and walks away. I chug the rest of my wine as Macy stares me down.
“Care to explain?” she asks.
I look around to make sure he isn’t standing close by, and I lean closer to her. “We go to the same gym. I didn’t realize it until the trial. With everything happening, I felt horrible. I went up to him the other day and apologized to him. I thought he knew who I was, but he doesn’t know.”
“Are you telling me Trent Baker doesn’t know you are the half-sister of his wife’s murderer?”
I drop my head into my hand and nod.
“So, what’s with the French braiding?”
I sigh and look at her. “I was upset yesterday, and he was kind enough to check on me. We started talking, and I told him to check out YouTube to help style his daughter’s hair.”
“The daughter who’s motherless because of your half-brother,” she deadpans.
“Look,” I growl. “I know, and it’s not what you think. I felt bad and I wanted to do something or at least say something to him.”
“Scarlett, I love you deeply, but you can’t let this go any further.” She narrows her eyes.
“Where would it go?” I’m confused.
“I mean it. Don’t get attached to him or anything else.”
“What?” I gasp. “Have you lost your ever-loving mind? I would never. His wife was just...she just died.” I couldn’t bring myself to say murdered.
“Please remember it, too.” She fills our glasses with the last bit of wine.
Never would I cross the line with Trent. I don’t even want to be around him. I only wanted to say how sorry I had been and nothing more.
***