Page 69 of Protect Me
I forced myself to stop.
Kate gazed out over the river, chin held aloft. Sunlight brightened her bronzing skin, and a few tendrils of hair slipped out of a ponytail to fly around her temples.
“So,” I murmured, “Timothy was released and you lost your rental.”
She chuckled, but it had no humor. “Yes, which . . . brings us full circle.”
“What happened today?”
Less robotically, with more confusion than understanding, she relayed the events. Seeing him at the lake, then inside. His approach, Bastian’s interference. By the time she finished, her forehead formed deep grooves.
“I just . . . I don’t think he knew I was in there. We seemed to surprise each other. But then he stayed. He said my name.”
Her voice rang with fury now, as if Timothy had taken something away from her when he spoke.
I scoffed, leaning back. “You’re being nicer than he deserves.”
“Maybe,” she murmured, fidgeting with the end of a strand of hair, “but I don’t think so. I think he did something stupid in the back—dealt drugs or exchanged something or whatever—and then came in for a cup of coffee. His expression made it seem like he was as surprised as me, just like the grocery store.”
“He may have assumed you moved on, away from here.”
She sighed. “Perhaps I should have. We’re bound to keep running into each other. Where is he going to go? Is this what we’ll be doing from here on out? I can’t live like this. It’s . . . awful. I’ll be looking for him around every corner.”
“He should leave, not you.”
She turned to me, chin propped on her hand. “What if he doesn’t?”
“Then you always have me.”
A long silence expanded between us, swelling like a living thing. Her nostrils flared. She swallowed, said nothing. Her lips parted slightly, then closed. I leaned forward, arms on my knees.
“Kate, I already knew.”
Her head jerked up.
“What?”
I held up two hands. “Deductions and guesses, that’s all. Vini didn’t betray you, and neither did Amma. In fact, I was . . . pretty pissed that I hadn’t heard earlier. That I couldn’t have helped.”
Her eyebrows crashed together. Another wordless silence passed before she managed to say, “How?” Before I could answer, the consternation softened with understanding. “The anxiety attack at the store.”
I nodded.
“I texted Hernandez about the man that Dahlia described standing behind you, and he told me about Timothy. I drew some parallels, called Vini, and she told me it wasn’t her story to tell. That’s it, but . . . it was pretty much confirmation.”
Kate laughed, a sound I couldn’t decode beyond incredulousness, frustration, or warmth.
“Sounds like Vini,” she murmured. “She breathed me through it, you know? So did Amma, just like when I was a little girl. Especially the days right after. Amma and Appa brought me home, told my aunt. Appa bawled her out—she hasn’t spoken to me since. Can’t now,” she added softly.
A realization dawned on me then. “Is that when Trina went to jail?”
Her jaw tightened as she nodded.
“Yes.”
“Oh.”
“Appa outed her gambling ring to the police afterward. I started going to therapy a few months later, with one of Vini’s friends. Recovery felt like . . . a hurricane. Encompassing. Consuming. The whole event hit me from every side and I didn’t know who I was anymore. A day or a week at a time, I pulled it back together. I’m a totally different person now. It . . . changed me irrevocably. I’ll never be the same. But I’ve accepted now that I’m better. Stronger. I’ve proven what I can conquer.”
