Page 74 of Love Me

“Aunt Michelle,” I say, using the term I’ve called Diego’s mother since I was a teen.

She squeezes me tight. It’s comforting and I’m so close to tears that I have to fight hard not to let them spill over.

All around us police officers are coming and going. The scene looks like it’s from a movie or one of those primetime cop shows. The officers have one guy, who’s obviously belligerently drunk, handcuffed to a chair. He’s yelling something about knowing his rights.

Another officer is escorting a woman with smeared makeup down another hall.

An older woman demands to see her son who was arrested three days ago. She’s not listening to the officer tell her that he’s been sent to central booking. Whatever that is.

“Diego doesn’t belong here,” I murmur.

“No,” his mother agrees, reminding me that she’s still here. “He’s in with our lawyer and Carter now. I had to step out for a few minutes.”

That’s the first time I give his mother a real look over. Her eyes are red-rimmed and glossy. The tip of her nose is red also. An obvious sign that she’s been crying.

“He won’t tell us what happened,” she tells me. Her worried look meets mine. “And he got really angry when I told him that we called you.”

My stomach squeezes to the point of pain.

“But I didn’t know who else to call. He was on your campus, so I just assumed he was with you. Were you with him when the incident happened?”

I rub my lips together and wonder what I should and shouldn’t tell her. I tug at the scarf around my neck, trying to think of words to say. Nothing comes to mind. I can’t tell her the truth.

“No—”

“Michelle,” Uncle Carter’s voice reaches us. “Monique,” he greets me with a sad smile. His demeanor is as forlorn and dour as his wife’s. That makes me feel even worse. Uncle Carter is one of the most upbeat people I know.

I give him a half nod and a small wave.

“He’s not alone, is he?” Diego’s mother asks worriedly.

“Of course not. Tom is in there with him. Because he’s over eighteen there are certain conversations they have to have alone.” Uncle Carter scowls, and then his usually sparkling blue eyes, now looking so lifeless, drop to the floor.

“They’re not letting up on the charges,” he tells Diego’s mom. “Because there were so many witnesses …” He trails off.

She gasps and covers her mouth with her hand. She doesn’t say anything as tears flow down her face.

“Why would he do—” She barely manages to choke out before collapsing in her husband’s arms.

I feel so sick that I have to clasp my stomach.

“Monique, do you know anything?” Uncle Carter asks. “We know Diego has a temper sometimes, but he’s never just flown off the handle for no reason. And he’s not talking to us,” he tells me.

“He can’t go to jail,” I say.

Without thinking, I brush past them and head toward the hallway behind the main front desk. I suspect this is where all of the interrogation rooms or whatever they’re called are located.

“Diego,” I yell, searching for him.

“Mo,” he calls out from the first room with the door open.

“Diego, just tell them the truth,” I burst into the room and say. I don’t pay attention to the older man who stands and demands to know who I am. Or the officers who start to converge on us from either ends of the hallway.

“Miss, you can’t be in here.”

“Monique, go home,” Diego orders.

“Just tell them why you did it. It’s fine,” I try to reassure.

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