Page 12 of The Wrong Side of the Law

Chapter Four

Emily

The interview ended hours ago, but I haven’t gone home yet.

Home should be a refuge, but I’m just not ready to face Margaret yet. Instead, I’ve killed time window shopping and reading a library book at a coffee shop.

Late January sunlight fades into early-evening dimness, and the words on the pages of John Grisham’s latest are getting difficult to see. When it’s fully dark, the lighting in the sidewalk seating area will be low, moody. Better for romantic whispers over steaming espresso than stark boredom and reading.

It almost doesn’t even matter, though. The words on the page were a blur even when I could see them. I’ve been busily replaying the afternoon in my head.

I suppose I might as well head on home. Procrastination rarely makes anything better, and putting off seeing my stepmother is not one of the rare exceptions.

The phone starts to ring as I get into the car. A glance at the screen shows Margaret’s number. Procrastination just went out the window.

I sigh and put on my seatbelt, and for half a moment I toy with the idea of just sending her to voice mail. But I can’t do that. Family comes first, and—like it or not—Margaret is still family.

“Hi, Margaret. What’s up?” I ask.

“You tell me, sweetie!” Margaret’s syrupy charm pours out of the speakers. “I’ve been on pins and needles all day long, waiting to hear from you.”

“Oh. I’m still in town,” I say.

“Well, I knew you weren’t here yet. How did it go?” she asks.

“How did what go?” I know perfectly well what she’s asking about, and playing dumb sounds lame, even to me. But for some reason I don’t want to talk to her about the interview, or about my new job.

“You know what I’m talking about,” my stepmother says, shedding some of the sickly-sweet. I can hear the slightest hint of a frown in her tone, now. “I’ve been on pins and needles all day long waiting to hear from you.”

“Oh.” How much do I want to say? “Yeah. I had the interview with the State Attorney’s office today.” I shrug, even though she can’t see it.

“I swear, Emily! This is like pulling teeth!” Margaret isn’t feigning interest: she needs me to get this job. Or even just any job. And badly. “How did it go?”

“I’m… not sure.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I realize I’d actually meant them. I’d been trying to avoid answering her question, but somehow I’ve managed to tell my stepmother the exact truth. All those hours of drinking coffee and staring blankly at pages in a book, and it took me until now to even realize that I’d been… not bothered, exactly. Something else.

“You don’t think you got the job?”

“Look, I can’t talk right now, okay? I’m-”

What I am is saved by the bell. Or the buzzer, I guess. A text message lights up the lock screen of my phone.

6:09pm—Reyes, Rita—Pizza. Now, bitch!

Oh, I love you, Rita. My bestest friend, and my bestest escape plan. A sudden rush of guilt hits me: I’ve been home now for a month, and I still haven’t seen Rita yet. I couldn’t bear telling her how drastically wrong everything’s gone.

“Emily, you tell me what’s-”

“Sorry, Margaret. I can’t talk now,” I say. “I have to drive.” It’s going to be a bit awkward at first, but still: it’s better than talking to my stepmother. Thank you, Rita!

“Are you coming home now?”

“No, not yet. I’m meeting Rita for dinner.”

“Oh.” Margaret manages to convey an entire world of disappointment in that single syllable.

She’s good, but I’m not biting. I don’t even need to ask what’s wrong. I already know: she wants to go out tonight, and I’m not bringing my car home for her to use. You’re not going to manipulate me this time. Sorry, Margaret, you can drive your pretty little Mercedes if you want to go somewhere. As soon as you figure out a way to pay the service bill at the dealership.

Who’m I kidding, though? Most of my first three or four paychecks will probably wind up going to pay that bill. But until then? Tough luck. You don’t get to run my car into the dirt, too.

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