In the Arms of Stone Angels

chapter seven


“How dare you interrogate my daughter without me? She’s got rights.”

Kate Nash tore into him before she’d even crossed the threshold of his office. Sheriff Logan slammed the door to give them privacy and was too furious to sit, especially after she tossed her purse onto his visitor’s chair and glared at him with her hands on her hips. Seeing her indignation set him off. She had lit his fuse.

“And this community has rights, too. Where do you get off lecturing me? Your little angel broke the law. She was drunk and parading around naked. That kid has serious problems and you’re in complete denial. You have some gall, lady.”

It looked like the stark reality of what happened to her daughter had finally hit Kate Nash. She had a hard time looking him in the eye, but that didn’t mean she’d keep her mouth shut and listen. No, sir. That woman was determined to shed the blame in another direction—anywhere but on her own doorstep.

“I dropped her off at a party. Chloe Seaver’s house. How did she get the alcohol?” she questioned. At first, she was more hesitant, but when he didn’t answer right away, she became angry and got in his face. “My daughter might have been raped. She could be a victim.”

“If she was a damned victim, why didn’t she speak up? I tried to get her statement and she didn’t open her mouth except to ask if she was being arrested. She demanded to see you and she wanted an attorney.”

“Can you blame her…after what happened the last time?”

“And if it was your daughter who’d been murdered two years ago, you’d be all over me to get results. I did what I thought was right. And I won’t apologize for that.”

When she got quiet again, he heaved a sigh and slumped into the chair behind his desk. He was getting too old for this.

“That kid of yours is a magnet for trouble. And now she even thinks like a criminal. She knows her rights, but she has no respect for anyone else’s.”

“I don’t need a sermon, preacher.”

“Sinners never think they do.” He swiveled in his chair, not taking his eyes off her. “Did you know she visited that boy at Red Cliffs?” When he saw the shocked look on her face, he smirked. “Guess that’s a ‘No.’ Yeah, someone saw her there…inside the detention center. She had to get through security to do that. So now, you got anything else to say?”

“Are you arresting her?”

“That’s it? She went to see the kid who brutally murdered an innocent girl. And all you want to know is how to get her out of jail? You still don’t get it, do you?” He shook his head. “You’re some piece of work, Kate. You have no idea what you’re doing to that girl. You’re an unfit mother who’s in over her head. I think you know it, but you’re just too stubborn to admit when you’re wrong.”

Kate opened her mouth to argue, but she changed her mind. And the sheriff let the silence build a wall between them. Although she was still a fine-looking woman, Kate had aged since he last saw her two years ago. Raising a wild child will do that to a mother. The woman picked her purse up off the chair and sat down. She clutched her handbag to her chest and waited for his answer.

“I’m releasing her into your custody. You’ll have to pay a fine with the booking clerk out front, but she’s all yours. And good riddance.” He threw up his hands. “You’re making things worse by coddling her, Kate. You’re screwing this kid up. She’s got to take responsibility for her actions.”

Kate clenched her jaw and got up from her chair, heading for the door.

“Thanks for the pep talk, Matt. Someday that righteous attitude of yours is gonna bite you in the ass.”



After getting another cup of coffee, Deputy Will Tate heard a door slam down the hall and watched Kate Nash leave the sheriff’s office. She hadn’t seen him come out of the break room. The woman took a few steps before she stopped and leaned against the wall. Her fingers were trembling as she covered her mouth and tears rolled down her cheeks.

“Are you okay, Mrs. Nash?” he asked.

Talking to her only made her cry harder. And she couldn’t look him in the eye.

“It’s like my little girl’s drowning in quicksand,” she choked on a sob. “I can almost touch her, but I don’t have what it takes. I feel so helpless.”

He didn’t know what to say. Not having any kids of his own, he had no idea what she was really going through. So he kept his mouth shut and listened.

“Maybe he’s right. I’m making things worse.” She shook her head and wiped tears from her face. “I’m losing her. And maybe it’s already too late.”

“For what it’s worth, I don’t believe that.”

She looked up at him in surprise with fresh tears welling in her eyes.

“I hope you’re right.”

Without another word, she headed for booking to get her daughter released. And for her and Brenna’s sake, Will hoped he was right, too.

After Dawn

Even Mother Nature took it out on me. I’d heard it raining from inside the jail and knew what to expect, but once I got outside, the humidity was suffocating, even this early. And the endless rain made me more miserable, if that was even possible. The thick dark clouds mirrored what I felt in my bones. Heading out of the police station into the rain, I walked with Mom to where she’d parked the car.

She hurried. I didn’t.

I didn’t give a shit if I got wet. Resembling a drowned rat in my oversize jail threads could only help the way I looked. After I got into the car, I slammed the door shut and slouched deep into the passenger seat with my arms crossed. I braced myself for what she’d say now that we were alone, but Mom surprised me.

She did the worst thing she could have done.

Mom didn’t say one word. She started the car and pulled from the parking lot. And we drove to Grams’s house in total silence, except for the unending rain pelting our car and the wiper blades fighting a losing battle. I wasn’t exactly the one with diarrhea of the mouth anyway. So the odds weren’t good that I would be the one to break the ice. But when I caught a glimpse of Mom at a stoplight, I saw she was crying.

And I felt lower than dog poop.

I wanted to say that I was sorry, but not for the obvious. I was sorry that I had turned out to be such a big disappointment. Sorry that I couldn’t make things better. Sorry that everything I touched turned to crap. Seeing Mom cry had torn me up.

Until finally she said something.

“What happened to your hair? Did you do that?”

At that moment, I hated Britney Spears. The media had elevated a slow news day into “breaking news” to cover Britney’s whacked-out hair shaving fit when she broke out of rehab. But what happened to me was way different. Mowing down every strand off my head would have been one thing, but shredding it like Jade had done to me was off the scale. No way I’d do that to myself.

I gritted my teeth and refused to say anything.

“I need to know what happened, Bren. The sheriff, the kids at the party, they made it sound like you…” She didn’t finish. “They all said you got drunk and went off with a couple of guys on motorcycles. So I have to know. Did you do that? Did something happen that you’re too embarrassed to tell me? Did they…hurt you?”

Her tears came heavier now. I had the feeling she thought she knew the answer. And she didn’t trust me to tell her the truth. And that hurt. But before I could defend myself, she surprised me again. Mom swallowed hard and wiped her eyes.

“I let you down, Brenna. I shouldn’t have pushed you to go to that party. And I was so eager for you to go that I didn’t even ask whether Chloe’s parents would be there. If something happened to you because of me…” She didn’t finish.

I waited for her to turn the tables and follow her big admission with some lame justification that completely absolved her of any wrongdoing. But when that didn’t happen—when she admitted making a mistake and didn’t try to weasel out of it—well, that shocked me. I didn’t know what to say. I stared out the window, half watching the rain bleed down the windshield and half watching her from the corner of my eye.

But Mom wasn’t done. She gripped the steering wheel and pulled the car over. When we were parked on the shoulder of the road, she turned to me. And her eyes met mine.

“I’m supposed to be your parent, but I have no idea how to fix what’s happening to you. I wish I did. I wish—”

“That’s just it, Mom. You can’t fix this.”

My refusal must have sounded like denial to Mom. She didn’t stop.

“Did they…rape you? Do you need a doctor? Because I can get you to a hospital, right now.”

“God, no. Just quit, will you? I wasn’t raped, but I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Mom had let bad things happen to me, but that didn’t mean she did it on purpose. And I didn’t see any reason to make her feel worse than she already did. She was asking for me to let her in, but I couldn’t do that. Not like this and not because I needed someone to stand up for me.

So keeping my mouth shut, after she’d opened up to me, would hurt her. But it would hurt her more to know that I didn’t see the point. I wasn’t ready to let her into my life. And I may never be.

But Mom didn’t let my silent treatment stop her.

“I want you to tell me what happened because you trust me…and you want to. You can’t bottle stuff like this inside. And if you can’t talk to me, I’ll help you find someone who you can talk to.” She reached for my hand. It shocked me, but I didn’t pull away. “What I’m saying is that I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. I’m in uncharted waters here. And I can’t do it alone. I need your help.”

I couldn’t give it to her. She wanted to be a parent in control again. And I didn’t see the point in living that lie.

“I’m tired, Mom. Can we just go home?”

I knew when I said it, that I’d done the wrong thing, but I couldn’t stop myself. I was being a shit. The only person I wanted to talk to was locked in a mental hospital. But that didn’t mean anyone else could take his place.

Maybe what I’d told her was for real, that I was exhausted. I’d been beaten and I ached all over. And my head hurt from the liquor. My first hangover that I hoped would be my last. I wanted to sleep for days. And crawling into bed, buried under my own covers in Grams’s house, was the only thing that would make me feel safe.

It was all I could think about.

“That’s it?” she asked. “That’s all you’ve got to say?”

I heard it in her voice. The wall had gone up between us again and we were back at square one. And it made me wonder how we had gotten so fragile.

“The other day when you ran errands for me, did you go anywhere else besides the stores?” Mom asked.

I stared at her, feeling the rush of blood to my cheeks as I thought about what I’d told her.

“No. I didn’t go anywhere else. I did exactly what you told me.” I glared out the windshield and watched the rain, wishing I were anywhere else.

“No, you said you were hungry and had a craving for something. Where did you go? Refresh my memory.”

My memory was the one that needed refreshing. Sometimes I lied to keep in practice. And I didn’t always remember what I said.

“Oh, yeah, forgot about that.”

Stalling gave me time to think. I knew Mom was testing me. If I lost my temper, she’d know something was up. All I had to do was come up with the right answer and act like the whole conversation bored me. Everything would blow over. Mom never really listened to me anyway. She probably didn’t remember, either.

“I grabbed a cheeseburger at Sonic with a cherry limeade that had two cherries, my usual.”

I didn’t hesitate. I blurted it out as if I’d told the truth. When she didn’t say anything and merged into traffic, I took a deep breath.

I had either passed her test or confirmed her disappointment in me. And since I didn’t feel lucky, guess I knew how I did.

After Midnight

I opened my eyes to pitch black and listened to the sounds of Grams’s house as I lay in the dark of my room. I must have slept the whole day and I was still exhausted. I pulled the covers off my face and stared at the ceiling. I don’t remember dreaming at all, not about White Bird or anything else. And when I listened to the old creaks and groans of Grams’s house, I didn’t feel my grandmother and that made me sad.

I didn’t want to forget her.

I turned my head toward my window and bunched my pillow under me. The shadows of the old oak tree undulated outside. Its branches cast dark fingers across my drapes. And like an old friend, the tree beckoned me outside. Moving real slow, I got out of bed and changed into jeans, a T-shirt and some old sneaks. I pulled a baseball cap down low on my head to hide what was left of my hair. And I stuffed a flashlight, a small notepad and pen, my cell phone and two things of gum into a fanny pack that I strapped around my waist.

The last thing I tossed into my pack was a box cutter that I’d kept with me since North Carolina. The blade was sharp and Mom had never known what I really used it for. She thought it was something I had to open boxes for our last move. Before I zipped the pack shut, I stared down at the silver cutter and thought about leaving it behind.

But I didn’t. I knew I’d need it.

After slipping through my bedroom window, I scaled down the oak tree. I grabbed my old bike from the garage and headed for the stone angels—and Grams. And even though it was after midnight, I took my time getting to the cemetery. I stuck to the shadows on the street to avoid anyone seeing me. And I kept an eye out for patrol cars. No way I wanted more face time with the cops, not even Will Tate.

When I got to the cemetery, I hid my bike and climbed over the stone wall. I located the newer section and read the names on the headstones. It didn’t take me long to find Grams. I almost cried when I saw that her grave had the prettiest stone angel I’d ever seen. The angel was a child. A little girl. And I swear she was looking at me. Just me. Her eyes followed me as I walked around my grandmother’s grave.

I dropped to one knee and knelt on the ground. And as I stared up at the baby angel, I spoke to my grandmother.

“Oh, Grams. I miss you so much.”

I ran my fingers through every line chiseled onto the base of Grams’s stone angel—over and over—as I told my grandmother everything. I huddled against the stone and talked until I was done. Sometimes I cried. Sometimes I even laughed. And I pictured Grams’s face and smelled the baby powder she dusted with after her bath. I even caught a whiff of the tapioca she made that I hated but never told her. Memories of Grams flooded my mind like she was reaching out to me.

But finally it was time to do what I’d come to do.

I reached into my fanny pack and pulled out my box cutter. I held it in my hand and stared at it for a long time. The weight of it was familiar and it brought back a rush of dark memories. I had used the blade to cut myself. And each new scar marked a pain I still carried with me in my heart, but what happened today made me see that I was coming to a crossroad.

I had to want to change for myself. And no one else—not even White Bird—could make me happy. I had to do that on my own. And I had to stop letting others dictate how I felt about me. I didn’t care what someone like Jade DeLuca thought. She was a total waste of perfectly good skin. And three pounds of brain matter was about two pounds too much for what she did with it. I didn’t respect her, so why would I care what she thought of me?

And that went double for Derek Bast. Sure he could pound me into chicken-fried-steak, but he’d always be a charter member of the a*shole club. I was tired of feeling awful. And I was fed up with giving jerks like Jade and Derek control over my life. I wasn’t sure how I would do it, but I knew what my first step had to be.

I had to stop hurting myself.

I dug a hole near Grams’s headstone—under the watchful eyes of her baby angel—and I buried my box cutter. Under the stars, my truth meter, I swore to my grandmother that I’d never cut myself again. And although I had no way of really knowing it, I believed Grams heard me.

Nearly 3:00 a.m.

With a big wad of gum in my mouth, I took my time riding my bike to Grams’s house. A couple of lines or a lyric needled me all the way there. I had the urge to stop and write them down in the notepad I had brought with me, but I was still flipping words in different order and working it out.

Forever is never-ending music…

Nighttime is my blanket…

The lines were there, inside my head, for the first time in two years and it felt good. I wanted to write down how I felt whenever I stepped foot in a graveyard. The word home came to me, but I wasn’t sure what else I wanted to say, so I let it stew in my brain until I was back at Grams’s again, ready to crawl under the covers.

But before I climbed up the tree and back through my bedroom window, I saw a strange glimmer of light flickering on the drapes of the living room on the first floor. At first I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me, but when I looked once more, I saw the pale flicker again. I crept toward the window and when I got there, I kept my back to the wall and inched closer to peek inside the bay window. It took me a moment to realize what I’d seen.

Mom was sitting in the dark and watching old family movies. She had a collection that she’d converted to DVD a few years ago. Some were old stuff from Grams, from when Mom was a kid. Light from the TV cast shadows into the living room. I only saw the back of Mom’s head as she sat on the couch. But hearing laughter coming from the TV in Grams’s living room grabbed my attention.

On the screen, Grams was grinning as she watched me blow out candles on a birthday cake. In these movies, she’d always be young. And Mom looked beautiful. And happy. I’d forgotten how pretty she was when she smiled. Me? I looked and acted dorky, as usual. Some things never change. I still had a weird cowlick in my bangs and was stick skinny.

I also had a tooth missing, right up front. Thanks to the tooth fairy, it grew back and I never needed braces. I used to grin more back then, even with a missing tooth. But somewhere in time I stopped smiling. And I don’t remember exactly when that happened—or why it did. It just did.

With a grimace, I crept back off the front porch and headed up the tree for my bedroom. In an odd way, I thought I was intruding on Mom, something private that was only hers. But seeing that old DVD got me thinking.

Even when I was a child, I felt different. I didn’t like playing games the way other kids did. And I was quiet. I didn’t talk unless I had something real to say and I didn’t dress like anyone else. And while other girls played with dolls, I never saw the point. I was off having an adventure down by the creek, up to my neck in mud with lizards and frogs in my pockets. But I guess the real kicker was me hanging out at the local cemetery. Hanging with dead people didn’t play well in a small town. Once word got out, I was toast.

Eventually, the other kids stopped inviting me places. I dropped off their radar and they talked about me behind my back. Doing things on my own became a necessity, mostly because I was too stubborn to change. I didn’t care if I fit in. And I didn’t want to dumb it down to get along. I preferred being in my own head. And as the years went by, it got comfortable for me to stay there—to hide there.

Most days hiding didn’t bother me, but some days it did.

After I met White Bird, though, I saw how it could be between two people who were really connected. He made me feel normal. And for the first time, I wasn’t just a kid. We really talked about stuff. Real stuff. And he actually wanted to hear my opinions. And that meant I had to have some. He forced me to think. And he really, really listened. When I was with him, I found out something great.

I was actually happy.

But after everything I had with him got flushed two years ago, I was lower than I’d ever been. Had I never met him, I would never have known real joy. But when White Bird got taken away, I sometimes wished I’d never met him. And that killed me.

Now neither of us had moved on from that one gut-wrenching morning. I felt emotionally drained all the time. My life was flat, boring and a lot of nothing. There were no more peaks for me, only valleys of guilt and regret. I wanted to feel better, but I couldn’t—not after what I did to him.

Coming back to Shawano had brought the pain fresh to the surface. And I was good at finding different ways to punish myself. I carried my self-inflicted wound with me because I gave myself no choice. And it wasn’t because I craved drama. I didn’t. I probably would have been content to live my life in boring anonymity, but White Bird changed that. After I’d met him and saw how things could be, I didn’t want to settle for anything less.

Did that make me a bad person? Did that make me too weird and unlovable? I really wish I knew.

After I crawled through the window into my room, I thought about going back to bed and forgetting about Mom downstairs, but I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t shake the sight of her sitting alone in the living room, watching old videos of Grams and me. I took off my fanny pack, kicked off my sneaks and spit out my gum. And after I got into my PJ bottoms and tank top, I crept downstairs. I still didn’t know what I would do once I got there, but something drew me.

Maybe, like Mom, I was looking for answers in the past.

Minutes Later

If I had wanted to peek down from the stairs and watch our homegrown DVD without Mom knowing I was there, that option went away with one step. I had forgotten about a bad creak on the last flight down. I cringed and froze where I was.

“Is that you, honey?” Mom called out from the living room.

“Yeah.”

“You slept all day. I thought you were down for the count. What’s the matter…you couldn’t sleep anymore?”

“Yeah, something like that, I guess.”

When I joined her, she patted a spot next to her on the sofa. And she cleared her throat and wiped her eyes, putting on a happier face for my benefit.

“I found these old movies. It’s been years since I’ve seen them.” Mom’s voice was shaky and her eyes were watery. She’d been crying. “You hungry? I can make popcorn.”

“No, thanks. I’m good.” Eating popcorn wasn’t worth the effort of brushing my teeth again so I sprawled on the couch and curled my feet under me. “I don’t remember this one. It looks really old.”

The video was real shaky like The Blair Witch Project, only no one had snot hanging out their nose…at least that I could see. And the background was of an old mansion with strange gargoyles on the roof that I didn’t recognize.

“What’s that place?” I pointed. “Kind of weird.”

Mom hesitated before she said, “Your father’s old family house. He doesn’t live there anymore.”

Mom pointed to the video, mostly to change the subject away from Dad, like she usually did.

“Oh, my gosh.” Mom put a hand to her mouth and gasped. “That’s when I was pregnant with you.”

I shifted my gaze to Mom’s face. The tears were gone and she was actually smiling. Her reaction surprised me. She looked happy.

The video had cut to the sliding doors of a hospital. Whoever was behind the camera was jumping from person to person and zoomed too close and out of focus. And the clips were spliced together, making it hard to follow. But when I saw Mom’s young face—and saw her swollen belly—I knew I’d seen the movie before. Hell, I’d lived it.

“Oh, honey, I remember every minute of the day you were born. Well, maybe not every minute, but the best parts, for sure.” She chuckled. “And your grandmother was behind the camera. I made her do it. She was driving me crazy.”

She didn’t have to tell me Grams was there. I heard her screaming over the audio at the nurses when Mom got to the E.R. I couldn’t help but grin. Grams barked orders, Mom panted like she was hyperventilating and even before I took my first official breath, I was being a pain. That figured.

“Where was Dad?”

I don’t know why I asked that. I blurted it out and should have known better.

“He was traveling…on business. You know that.”

That was her stock answer. And like she usually did, Mom tensed up. I could tell she didn’t like talking about him. And for her sake, I let it go. She always said the sperm donor wasn’t there the day I was born because he traveled a lot on business. But I think she said that to make me feel better. I’d only seen one photo of him and my mother wasn’t in it. For all I really knew she’d made him up or they’d never gotten married.

Or maybe his picture came with the frame.

None of that mattered to me. Not anymore. I’d learned how to do without him. If my father didn’t want to stick around, I sure didn’t need a guy like that in my life. Mom didn’t, either. At least, that’s what I told myself as I watched the movie.

From day one, it had been Mom and me. And Grams.

“You were a kicker, honey.” She laughed and rubbed a hand over her stomach, like she was remembering. “Guess you always have been.” A shadow came over her face. And I figured it was a dark memory that wiped away her smile.

We both had plenty of those.

Mom told me more about my first day on the planet. And she was right. She’d only remembered the good parts. And she’d left out how having a baby was like taking a dump the size of a bowling ball. The Cliff’s Notes version worked for me. I didn’t want to hear about how much it hurt her to bring me into the world.

The real pain would come later and we both knew it.

She reached a hand out for me and I didn’t think twice. I laid my head on her shoulder and let her hold me. I’m not sure who needed it more. Guess that didn’t matter.

“Tomorrow morning, first thing, we’re gonna fix your hair. I’ll do it myself. Will that be okay, honey?”

I nodded and didn’t say anything. Sometimes I hated when she called me honey, but not tonight. I nuzzled into her shoulder and hugged her back. And I loved how she held me, like she needed it, too. We watched the rest of Grams Scorsese, both of us wrapped in our thoughts. The light from the TV flickered into the dark room and onto both of us. But we just sat there, feeling comfortable with the silence.

It was like we both recognized our truce and neither one of us wanted to screw it up by talking. But I hadn’t forgotten what she’d said about me always being a kicker. I pictured a stubborn little kid with a scrunched baby face, thrashing around and demanding to get out. And it made me wonder.

When had I quit being a fighter?