Page 18 of A Lifetime in 30 Days
Vanna hadn’t bothered to tell Granny that referring to the nurse aslittle girlwas disrespectful too, because she knew her grandmother was aware of exactly what she’d done.
Granny started the car. “He got my grandbaby a lawyer and brought his fine self down here to sit and wait for you with us. He can call meGrannyall he wants to.”
Well, all righty then, she guessed that was a good enough point. Still, she couldn’t help but wonder on the ride back to her house why Aden Granger, whom she hadn’t seen in fifteen years, would turn up at Caleb’s funeral and help get her out of jail all in the span of twenty-four hours.
At nine fifteen, with her venti caramel macchiato—extra caramel and extra steam—on a napkin beside her desk blotter, Vanna stared down at the business card and punched the numbers on the keypad of her phone.
“Good morning. May I speak with Jovani Kincaid, please?” she said in her professional voice.
Then she sat up straighter in her chair and smoothed down the floppy bow on the purple blouse she was wearing.
“May I ask who’s calling?” asked the perky receptionist who answered.
“Savannah Carlson, and it’s in reference to my ... ah, my upcoming court appearance.” The last thing she wanted to say wasmy incarceration last night, because she was still trying to digest that whole interlude.
“Please hold,” came the receptionist’s next response.
Vanna closed her eyes to the thoughts that had kept her awake long after she returned home from the police station. She’d insisted that Granny and Frito stay at her house since it was so late, and despite Granny’s obstinance, Vanna didn’t want her driving at night, glasses or not. And after they were settled into the guest room down the hall, Vanna had gone into her bedroom and closed the door. She’d hurried to get that shower, tossing that jumpsuit in the trash can, because she never wanted to see it again.
She’d been to jail in that outfit, and the memory would forever be emblazoned on her mind. She’d been to jail. Had literally sat in a cell. With bars around her. Bars with a lock to keep her in. Now, she hadn’t been in there alone, but that was beside the point. She didn’t know those other women in there with her, even though, by the time she’d left, Kita was reminding her that she thought her weave was gorgeous.
The one place Vanna had never imagined seeing herself was in jail. Sure, she, Jamaica, Caleb, and some of their friends had been in possession of and smoked their fair share of marijuana during their college years and for a good few years after that, until Jamaica started working at the jail and Vanna feared what was once their recreational use was turning into something a little more frequent for Caleb. And while back then, before District voters had approved the legalization of possession of minimal amounts of marijuana for personal use, they’d definitely had a supplier from the old neighborhood hooking them up, she’d still never considered that those puffs of entertainment would land her behind bars.
“Good morning, Mrs. Carlson,” a man’s voice said on the phone.
“Good morning,” she replied. “You can call me Vanna. And thank you for your help last night.”
“You can call me Jovani, and there’s no need for thank-you’s.”
“Okay. Well, if you’ll send me your invoice, I’ll take care of it right away.” She’d thought about that too, last night. How she was going to pay for a lawyer.
Vanna wasn’t destitute by any means. She made a decent high five-figure salary at the firm; she had some small investments that Croy, Ronni’s husband, who worked some entry-level position at an investment firm, had coached her on; and her credit was good. She would also get a check from the life insurance company, even though that funeral bill had been a lot more expensive than she’d imagined. But she didn’t have extra thousands just lying around, waiting to be tossed toward legal fees.
“No need to worry about that; it’s been taken care of,” Jovani said. “But I’d like to set up a time for us to meet. I have to be in court within the hour, and I have another appointment this afternoon before I need to head home, but how does Monday morning look for you? Can you be in my office by seven thirty? I know that’s early, but I have to be in court at nine. Providing my wife doesn’t go into labor this weekend.”
That last part was said with a hint of excitement, and Vanna couldn’t help but smile. “Right. Aden told me you were expecting. Congratulations,” she said.
“Thanks. While I’ve mastered being a defense attorney, the reality that I’ll be a father very soon is scaring the hell out of me.” He chuckled.
“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” she replied. “It’s a blessing.”
“You’re right about that,” he told her. “Definitely a blessing, and my wife and I are so grateful.”
Vanna continued to smile. That had been her fifteen years ago, happily married and excited about the future. That parade had been quickly rained on. “Seven thirty on Monday is fine for me. I usually try to get into my office by that time even though I’m not due here until nine.”
“Okay. Cool. I’ll put that on my schedule, and I’ll have more information by then so we’ll have a better picture of what’s going on.”
“I was just about to ask if you knew what this was all about. Because I don’t have a clue. I’ve been thinking about it and trying to figure out where this money they’re talking about could’ve come from and why they think I have access to it,” she said, a rush of anxiety creeping back into the place it had resided all night.
“Don’t worry about all that right now. I’ve already got my assistants looking into this, so we’ll talk about it on Monday. In the meantime, don’t discuss this with anyone else, Vanna. Not the police, not your friends. Put it out of your mind for the next few days, and we’ll map out our next steps when we meet.” He sounded so confident, so relaxed. Like he helped middle-aged women out of weird-ass conspiracy charges every day.
She frowned when it dawned on her that he actually did get people out of legal dilemmas for a living. “Okay,” she said, and sighed deeply. “I’ll try.”
“You’re going to be fine,” he told her. “We’ll take care of this, and you’ll move on with your life—I promise.”
And, damn, she wanted to believe him. Wanted to trust that this was all going to go away and she could get on with her birthday-month celebration, her plans for the future—all of it. But hadn’t she just thought this same thing a few days ago when she’d been preparing for Caleb’s funeral? Life seemed intent on tossing everything but the kitchen sink her way, and she was getting weary of fighting the battle.
“Thank you, again. And wait, did you say your bill was taken care of? How? By who?” she asked, but her heart skipped a beat as the answer echoed in her mind before Jovani even said the name.
