Part 21 (1/2)
”You know I'm sixteen, right?”
”You're not driving, are you?”
”No,” she said and took the beer from him. She'd had alcohol before but never in front of either of her parents. Communion wine didn't count. She took a sip and found it equal parts disgusting and wonderful.
”So how's community service treating you?” her dad asked, and she heard a note of bitterness in his voice.
”It's not bad. I do a lot of office work for charities. I hang out at the homeless shelter and help out. Did a day-camp thing this summer. That was fun.”
”Nice work if you can get it. Sounds better than prison.”
She winced. ”I'm sorry, Dad. I wish ...”
”What? What do you wish?”
”I wish you didn't have to go.”
”Yeah, well, that makes two of us.”
He drank his beer hard and fast. The man had an unnatural tolerance for alcohol, something he called ”the Catholic effect.”
”Still trying to figure out how you got off so easy. I mean, thrilled you did. Don't want my baby girl in juvie or anything, but still. Community service for five felony counts?”
”I had a nice judge. A good lawyer.”
”Where'd the lawyer come from?”
”The church paid for her. I do some work at the church to pay them back.”
”That's good for you, then. Real good for you.”
”So ... you said you wanted to go to dinner?” She desperately wanted to change the subject. She could tell talk of her light sentence didn't sit with her father.
”Yeah, sure. But let me ask you something first.”
”Sure. What?”
”I have a new lawyer, too. Smart guy. Tough guy. Not a shark you want to meet in the ocean. Anyway, he's thinking he can maybe get me a new trial.”
”New trial? Why?”
”Some f.u.c.kup with the evidence. Some dumb cop mislabeled a file or something, I don't know. But if he can swing it and I get a new trial, there's a chance I won't have to go to prison.”
”You don't think there's enough evidence against you?”
”If I had a witness who'd maybe recant some of her statements she made to the police, then there's a chance.”
Eleanor could only stare at her father in silence. He opened another beer. She'd barely made a dent in hers.
”You want me to lie on a witness stand for you? I gave an allocution. I'd go to juvie in a heartbeat if I start telling people I lied to the police. I'm on probation and I think I've seen enough TV to know perjury is a crime. A big one.”
”Baby, you're sixteen. Even if you did end up in juvie, you'll be out by the time you're eighteen. That's a year and a half. I'm looking at ten or more years, Elle.”
”I'm not going to lie for you.”
”Ten years. Fifteen years. You don't care about that? You don't care about your own father?”
”And it's not just a year and a half for me. This could f.u.c.k up my whole life. Am I supposed to send in college applications with a juvenile detention facility as my current address? I don't think NYU lets in criminals.”
”NYU?” He laughed. ”You seriously think you're going to get into a school like that?”
”I'm smart, Dad, if you haven't noticed. I'm in college-prep cla.s.ses. I get good grades. I score crazy high on those stupid IQ tests they make us take.”
”How are you planning on paying for it? Turning tricks?”
”Ever hear of scholars.h.i.+ps?”
”Don't kid yourself. You go to a Podunk high school and no preppy school is ever going to let you in.”
”I don't believe that. My priest says I'm smart, and he's the smartest person I've ever met.”
”If he's so smart why's he a f.u.c.king priest?”
”You're an a.s.shole.”
”I'm not the one who rolled on her father to save her own a.s.s.”
”That's your own f.u.c.king fault,” she shot back. ”n.o.body asked you to be a criminal. Mom's got two real jobs. Why couldn't you get a real job?”
”You want me to work two jobs like your mom and be a frigid miserable b.i.t.c.h like her?”
”Better than being a piece-of-s.h.i.+t lowlife who let his own daughter take the heat for him, right?”
Her father's hand whipped out and slapped her with such speed she flinched far more from the shock than the pain.
She stared at him, wide-eyed and dazed.
”I hope you rot in jail,” she said. Her father raised his hand to slap her again. She ducked and tried to push past him. He grabbed her and shoved her bodily against the refrigerator. She pushed him back with all her strength and managed to get around him, even as he tried to grab her.
She raced to the door and ran down the four flights of steps as fast as she could and even then she heard her father's footsteps chasing right behind her. She hit the street and started running again. She turned a corner and found a subway entrance. When she went for her money she realized the horrible fact that she'd left her coat in her dad's apartment. And it had all her money in it.
”f.u.c.k ...” she breathed. She had nothing. Nothing but that stupid list of questions for S0ren. No money. No keys. No train ticket. Everything that mattered was in her coat.
In desperation she studied the subway map of the city, hoping she'd think of someone-anyone-she knew in the city who could help her. One street name jumped out at her. Riverside Drive wasn't that far away from the looks of it. Three miles maybe? She could get there in forty-five minutes if she booked it. S0ren had given her that card, that f.u.c.king card that was trapped in her coat, for his friend who lived on Riverside Drive. He said to go there in case of emergency. Getting stuck in the city without any money sounded like an emergency to her.
She got her bearings and emerged streetside again, glancing around to make sure her father wasn't anywhere watching or following her. It seemed safe, so she started out, walking as fast as she could in her boots. She shoved her hands into her jeans' pockets for warmth and tried not to cry. In her heart, she'd always known her father was exactly what she'd called him-a piece-of-s.h.i.+t lowlife criminal. But she'd wanted to believe so badly that he cared about her, that he'd missed her, that he loved her. She berated herself block after block for believing all that s.h.i.+t he'd shoveled on her. All he wanted was to suck up to her, get her in a good mood, make her think he gave a d.a.m.n about her, and then get her to lie for him.