Flora rolled up the short sleeve of her shirt. There were oval bruises on her bicep where someone had dug in their fingers.
“Oh, Flora,” Charlie breathed.
“I just want to get away.” Her voice was small, quiet in the tiny room. “I don’t want anybody mad at me. All I want is to be safe.”
Charlie thought about all the things that she should say—that as an officer of the court, she had an obligation to report the abuse, that they would go to the police station this minute and file a restraining order, that she would move heaven and earth to get Flora out of that shitty, cinder-block apartment—but every single solution had one horrible, underlying problem: where would Flora go?
Not to the Pattersons. They would probably slam the door in her face.
Not into the system. Someone as gentle and na?ve as Flora would likely disappear into the miasma of neglect—or worse.
Especially if the other kids found out about her trust fund.
“Flora—”
The door opened. Nancy poked her head into the bathroom.
Flora straightened quickly, putting a smile on her face, pretending like everything was okay, probably the same way she pretended every day of her life when someone asked her about her godawful grandparents. “What’s up?”
Nancy told Flora, “Oliver’s leaving, if you want to say goodbye.”
Flora started to go. Charlie grabbed her arm, then winced at the perceived pain because how many times had Flora been grabbed by Maude? Thrown around the room? Punched in the stomach?
“It’s okay, Miss Quinn,” Flora said. “I’ll figure a way out of this. You take care of your family.”
“No,” Charlie tried. “I want to help you. I can help you.”
Flora nodded, but she did not seem convinced. “Lemme go say goodbye to Ollie.”
“Then come back,” Charlie said. “Come right back and we’ll talk this out, okay?”
Flora hesitated, but she nodded again before leaving.
Charlie swallowed, trying to clear the lump in her throat. The bruise on Flora’s hip was awful, a kind of sucker punch that Charlie felt on her own body. Who would do that to someone as kind and sweet as Flora? Who could physically abuse a child?
Especially another woman. A mother. A grandmother.
It made Charlie feel sick.
She was going to help this kid. She was going to find a way to do right by her, because that’s what adults were supposed to do. People like Flora Faulkner were why Charlie had moved back to Pikeville instead of using her very expensive law degree to make a zillion dollars at a white-shoe firm in Atlanta or New York. She wanted to help normal, everyday people who found themselves in bad places and didn’t have anyone else qualified enough or smart enough or someone who just plain damn cared enough to get them out of trouble.
Charlie pushed open the bathroom door, a determined set to her mouth, a smile picking at the corners, because she was doing the one thing that her mother had always told her to do: be useful.
Charlie flattened her palm to her belly again. She had in her mind the image of Scarlett O’Hara being flushed down the toilet.
Tomorrow was not just another day.
Tomorrow, everything would be different, because tonight, within the next few hours, Charlie was going to go to the drugstore and buy a test that would change everything for the rest of her life.
She was seized by the urgent need to talk to her husband. Charlie never kept things from Ben, at least not important things. And this was an important thing, the kind of moment that they would both remember for the rest of their lives. She would have to do it right. Everything would have to be perfect.
Charlie sat down at the counter. She went over the plan in more detail: First, she would talk to Flora and figure out what came next. The girl was being abused. Immediate action had to be taken to ensure her safety.
Once Flora was settled, Charlie would swing by the drugstore off I-15 on her way home. She’d buy the test. She’d pee on the stick. She’d see the plus sign, or the smiley face, or whatever it was. She wouldn’t ambush Ben in the driveway. She would wait until he had changed into his sweatpants, then sit him down on the couch—no, in the bedroom. She would follow him upstairs when he went to change out of his work clothes. Or she would already be in the bedroom wearing something slinky and sexy, laid out like an Orion slave girl waiting for Captain Kirk, and then she would show him the test.
Charlie closed her eyes for a few seconds, then she cleared the image from her mind, because none of that could happen until she figured out how to help Flora.
There was no way Charlie could let the girl return to an abusive environment. Charlie didn’t only have a legal obligation to report Maude Faulkner; she had a moral one. Which meant that Flora would not be sleeping at the cinder-block apartments tonight.
So, where could Flora go?
Charlie and Ben taking her in was not an option. Even if Charlie wanted to, there was a clear line she could not cross as the girl’s lawyer. Maybe there was someone at the school who would volunteer to take Flora into their home while the courts worked things out. Maybe Leroy Faulkner really would get his act together. If a teacher or administrator could look after Flora while he was in detox, then when he was sober, when he was out of treatment, Leroy could move away from Maude and take proper care of his granddaughter.
Charlie took a deep, calming breath. That was the solution: don’t think long term. Think short term. If someone from the school did not step up, surely the Pattersons could be persuaded, or cajoled, or even threatened if it came to that, to take in Flora without a monetary inducement if it was only for a few months while Leroy got his shit together.
Charlie felt a grin tighten her cheeks. She was always happier when there was a plan to implement. She looked past the kitchen, wondering what was taking Flora so long. She was probably relaying to Oliver the conversation in the bathroom. Maybe Oliver, such as he was, would be some kind of ally in making sure Flora had a place to stay while Leroy was in treatment. If the Pattersons still wanted money, Charlie could find a way to pay them. The dilapidated house wouldn’t pass the strict safety rules enforced by the foster care system, but maybe Charlie could get a temporary placement, a guarantee of funds, before a social worker had time to inspect the living situation.
Barring that, she could come up with the money on her own. Surely there was a stone lying around that she hadn’t yet gotten blood from.
Charlie took another deep breath. She was inexplicably giddy. Everything was falling into place. She should call Ben now. Not to tell him what was going on inside of her body, but to hear his voice. To let him hear the happiness in her voice. A kind of foreshadowing for what was to come. She looked inside her purse. Her phone was in the car.
Charlie got up from the counter. She had her hand on the door to leave when she saw Dexter Black walking across the parking lot.