Part 39 (1/2)
The bank account gave her a sense of equally strong accomplishment.
She was opening a bank account for money 'she' had earned. She had become independent. For someone who had been told from childhood that she wasn't capable of being anything other than an ornament, it was heady stuff indeed.
'Empowerment'. She had been reading a lot about abusive behavior and empowerment. She saw herself only too clearly as a victim. She had thought about leaving Randolph, but she'd feared losing her son. It hadn't been until she was faced with her own death that she had been able to take the steps toward freedom.
She signed the bank papers and carefully counted out fifteen hundred dollars. Another fifteen hundred was hidden in various places in her house and in her car. And now her small sculptures were selling well enough to provide what little she and Harry needed to live day to day. Everything above that went into savings.
The a.s.sistant manager gave her a broad smile. ”We're delighted to have you as a customer. Your bankcard should arrive in a few days. Here are some temporary checks until you receive the personalized ones.”
”Thank you,” she said, rising from the chair.
”If you need any investment advice or anything at all, please call me,” the woman said, giving her a card.
Investment advice. The words implied a future, stability. Success. Permanence. Independence.
A future.
And it was 'hers'.
'A' thrill of accomplishment ran through her, chasing away some of the dark shadows that had been hovering around every minute of every day. She warned herself she would still have to be cautious. But she had taken positive steps on her own, and had succeeded.
Now she had one thing left to do to try to secure her safety and that of her son.
She would have to record the recent events as they had happened. She wished she had kept the paper with the security code for her home written on it, the paper she had found in the pocket of the intruder. But she hadn't, and the least she could do was alert authorities in the event Randolph found her.
But who to entrust with her story?
She didn't know anyone she could trust in New Orleans. Not after what had happened. How long was her father's and Randolph's reach in New Orleans? She didn't know. She couldn't take chances.
But her new friends?
Would she be putting them in danger if she gave them information to forward in the event anything happened to her? An attorney here. That would be her best bet. Client-attorney privilege was absolute. She knew that.
With renewed confidence, she left the bank. She held Harry's hand firmly. Her son clutched a red lollipop, a gift from the bank, in his free hand.
Home. A phone call. Lunch. Then work.
Normalcy.
It felt good.
'NEW ORLEANS'.
Meredith had to wait three hours at the hospital before the busy emergency room staff had time to swab her arm with antiseptic and st.i.tch the wound.
The level of pain increased with each pa.s.sing minute. Now it hurt like h.e.l.l. She'd had a shot to deaden the area before the st.i.tches were made, but it had worn off. Now she had to wait to be released.
Nan needed a simple bandage and had left with the counselor from the shelter. She would be all right.
Now.
Meredith was tired, exhausted from the emotional aftermath of the funeral and then the shooting. Too tired to consider rationally what had happened.
Nan had said Rick had pledged to get her. Could he have been behind everything that had happened? He had been on duty the night she'd been attacked, but he certainly had access to shady characters who wouldn't shy away from violence.
That seemed easier to believe than a conspiracy that reached back thirty-three years.
Had one bitter, deranged man who had wanted to terrify her and take away anyone close to her been behind the terrifying events of the last week?
If so, she was safe now. It was over.
She could return to normal.
'Normal?'
Nothing would be normal again. She knew she would never leave a door unlocked again. She would never walk in her city without fear again.
And she still had a sister to find.
She looked out the hospital doors. It was past midnight. Her limbs were weak, unsteady. Most of all she felt rootless. Rudderless. She thought about her mother lying in another hospital across the city.
'She shouldn't die alone.'
Or was doing as she asked more important?
Meredith didn't know any longer.
She didn't even have transportation. Her car was at her parents' house, where she'd left it when she and Gage raced to Nan's home. She imagined Gage was at headquarters, being grilled.
She could call Sarah.
She played with the idea, then dismissed it. She hated to put other people out, to ask her staff to do ch.o.r.es unrelated to the practice. She would call a cab. Go home. Have a pot of hot chocolate and a long, scented bath.
She allowed her thoughts to return to Gage, to the expression on his face as he had leaned over the body of Rick Fuller. For a man who usually kept thoughts hidden, it had been raw, naked. Devastated. The look had lasted only seconds. Then the mask had fallen back in place.
Perhaps two weeks ago that would have surprised her. Now it didn't. He cared far more about his job, and about people, than he wanted anyone to think.
In dying, Rick Fuller had hurt still another person who had tried to help her.
She only wished she didn't want to see Gage so badly. That she didn't wish he would appear at the door.
But she was only too aware of the procedures after a shooting incident. Add to the fact that the victim was a cop, he was likely to be tied up all night.
As she waited for the paperwork, including some prescriptions, she wondered again whether the violence was really over. She wished with all her heart she could believe that. But she couldn't dismiss the possibilities that something more sinister was at play. There was the sudden disappearance of everything in the attic to explain ... and her father's last words to her. His fear and despair. Fuller had nothing to do with that.
Was she still a danger to everyone she met?
She wasn't going to take the chance.
From now on, she planned to proceed on her own.