This Could Be Us (Skyland, #2)(16)
“When is he coming home? What exactly are they charging him with? What’s this about six million dollars? What the hell is going on?”
“Okay, one thing at a time. They’ll have an arraignment, if not tomorrow, then the next day, to set bail. If we can get bail. The prosecution will try to say Edward’s a flight risk.”
“A flight risk? Like he’d leave the country? He wouldn’t run.”
There’s a small silence on the other end before Brunson goes on. “As far as the charge, it’s embezzlement. And yes, they are saying it’s in the neighborhood of six million dollars, so it’s a felony.”
My knees give out, and I sink to the ottoman in the center of the room.
“I don’t… I don’t understand. From CalPot? CalPot is accusing him of this?”
“Yeah, apparently some guy they hired, this new director of accounting, used to be a hotshot forensic accountant. He’s the one who found it. Or presumably. Of course, Edward denies it.”
Judah Cross. My teeth grind together. He did this to my family, and I let a little attention and conversation distract me from the threat he could prove to be. Edward tried to warn me.
“So is it too late for Edward to get his call or whatever?”
“What do you mean?” Brunson asks, confusion in his voice. “He did make his call.”
“But he didn’t… I haven’t heard from him.”
The silence on the other end thickens with speculation and maybe understanding. Instead of using his one call to phone home and reassure his wife, tell his family what the hell was going on, Edward called someone else. Someone who is not his lawyer.
I close my eyes, futilely trying to block out the crushing reality of my circumstances. When I open my eyes again, bracing for the next blow, Yasmen and Hendrix are sweeping up the dirt and glass, righting the cushions. Fresh tears prickle my eyes. I don’t know what is going on with Edward, and he apparently didn’t see fit to call and tell me. Everything with him feels like shaky ground right now, but some things I can count on. My daughters and my friends.
“We have a big day tomorrow,” Brunson finally says, his voice kind, compassionate. God, maybe even pitying. “Get some rest and we’ll attack in the morning.”
“Yeah.” I split a wobbly smile between my two best friends, who send me a smile in return. “In the morning.”
CHAPTER FOUR
SOLEDAD
Mom, we’re outta milk!” Lupe calls from the kitchen.
It’s the first thing I’ve heard from her all day. She’s been quiet in her room. Lottie climbed into bed with me in the middle of the night, like when she was younger and had a bad dream. Last night was a nightmare, and even as she tossed in her sleep, she was obviously shaken. Inez still hasn’t emerged. My tentative knock was met with a grunt and a sniffle, even though when I cracked the door open, she feigned sleep, huddling deeper under the covers. I get that. I want to hide, too, but that’s a luxury I don’t have.
I scribble milk on the pink pad in front of me on the dining room table, the practical task of making a grocery list temporarily distracting me from the disaster of our life. I know there are digital notes, apps and things for lists now, but there’s something grounding about pen to paper, seeing my handwriting that looks so much like my mother’s on the page. She used to pin a scrap of paper—electric bill, junk mail, whatever—to the fridge, and my sisters and I would add grocery items we needed as we walked by.
Lola always wanted junk food. Twizzlers, Little Debbie Fudge Rounds, Doritos.
Nayeli was all about the health even then. Grapes, cucumbers, plantains.
Me, I loved to bake. Vanilla extract, semisweet chocolate chips, a tub of Duncan Hines icing.
The urge to bake, to make something tickles my brain. Warms my heart. I know my girls’ favorite ooey-gooey brownies won’t make all this shit with Edward disappear, but they’re something they love. Something familiar that will give us, even if only for the few moments the taste touches our tongues, something to enjoy. I add cocoa, eggs, and vanilla to my list and start my Instacart order.
I woke up to a few news trucks parked outside. I cannot believe this is happening, but CalPot, despite its small pans and sometimes-flaky nonstick coating, is one of the premier cookware brands in the nation. One of its top executives embezzling six million dollars? Definitely newsworthy. With those buzzards circling overhead outside, I’m not leaving this house. Like Edward, we’re prisoners.
Still no word from him. All I know is that the arraignment isn’t today, and that was courtesy of Brunson. Is Edward okay? Being treated well? Chief among my questions: What the hell is going on, and what has he done to put us in this situation? Anger at him, worry for him slosh anxiety in my belly, and I pace over to inspect the contents of the refrigerator.
I don’t usually let supplies get so low, but post-Christmas, things have been really hectic for the girls, and I’ve gotten pulled into committees at Harrington for several things, including a book drive to raise money for the charitable causes the school supports.
As the daughter of two librarians, I’ve always found books a solace. With each child, each new responsibility, each new level of adulting, my reading seems to have suffered a little more. For birthdays and holidays we received whatever we’d asked for, but my parents also included a book, prettily tied with ribbon.