Page 78 of Healing Hearts
I turn away from him to stare into the sink. “He shouldn’t be.” The truth is, I don’t know the status of the investigation. He hasn’t been charged with anything, but I don’t know if that means he’s been cleared yet either. Last Maggie heard, there were still some lingering questions, but she didn’t know exactly what those were.
“So I can tell Marcus he’s a liar?” Amir says.
“You’re probably better not to talk about it at all,” I say.
“I can’t let them tell lies. That’s wrong.”
“You can tell them it’s not true, but I wouldn’t sink to calling other people names in response.”
“But itisa lie.”
“He was misinformed, and he told you the information someone else probably told him.”
Amir slumps back in his chair, and I can see the same sadness reflected in him that I feel in myself. Part of me resents Trent for leaving me to explain all of this to Amir, but I also understand he’s got a lot on his plate right now. It’s a silly way to feel, but I can’t help myself.
“Can I call Trent later?” Amir asks. “When I get back from camp?”
“Sure,” I say, and I vow to text Trent at some point today to tell him it’ll be Amir calling and not me calling to fight. I’ve always been more of an in-person fighter than one to do it over the phone anyway. “Now, if you’re done with your cereal, go get dressed and pack your bag for camp. I’ve got your lunch in the fridge when you’re all set.”
“Okay,” he says, and he scrambles up the stairs.
“Knock, knock,” my mother says as she enters the kitchen door.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, grabbing Amir’s bowl and dumping the leftovers before slotting it into the dishwasher.
“Lovely to see you, too, dear,” my mother says, sliding into one of the kitchen chairs.
“You know I didn’t mean it like that. But it’s really early. I didn’t ask you to take Amir to camp, did I?”
“No, you didn’t. But I think that’ll probably be what will happen.”
“What do you mean?”
“You should sit down.”
I slide into the seat across from her, and she reaches out and scoops up my hands, bracing them with hers.
“What I’m about to talk to you about is highly confidential, and it would get quite a few people in trouble if it were to leave this kitchen.”
“Okay,” I say slowly, my pulse jumping into gear.
“Trent’s lawyer came to see me last night.”
“Oh no.”
“Trent is okay, but he’s being a very silly boy. Perhaps noble is a better word.”
“What do you mean?”
“The holdup to closing their investigation into Trent revolves around security footage in his shop.”
Immediately, I can feel heat rising into my cheeks, and I’m tempted to tug my hands out of my mom’s. But this is a familiar pose, one she uses to deliver tough news that she thinks one of us will struggle with. She already knows.
“He deleted some footage?” I’m guessing. Trent never told me, but I can’t imagine him keeping it, letting anyone else see it.
“That’s right,” my mother says, her tone gentle. “But he’s refusing to give the name of the person he deleted that footage for.”
I tug my hands out from hers, and I cover my face, tears springing to my eyes. “It was me. It was us.”
