It is enough to make me feel sick.
My mother was not happy about moving back to Florida. She wanted to take on the role of the dutiful daughter and be close to her family. She had lived out her fantasy of living in the big city of New York. It had made her grow up some. Her mother reminded her on more than one occasion over the phone.
“You ran away from here as a child screaming how you were going to take your life to new heights. Now, you’re back and I want to see the change first hand,” her mother told her when we moved down here.
I don’t think this is the change she wanted to see.
My mother’s voice remains present in my mind as I open the door to get out of the car. I carry my backpack into the house and drop it to the floor as usual. It makes a thud as the files shift around.
Am I making a thud in my life I will not forget?
“Hey, Grandpa.”
Silence, from Franklin Clark, my grandfather. He talks on occasion. His speech is decreasing as Alzheimer’s progresses. I never when he will decide to speak or what he may talk about.
"You know I do not like to worry… Why are you home so early?" he asks.
“No need to worry about me, I'll be fine as always, Grandpa. It’s not early. It has been…”
“It has been what?” my Grandmother asks quickly. “You do not sound like yourself.”
“I can’t begin to tell you, school, homework, projects, the usual, Grandma. I just wanted to let Grandpa know I am fine.”
“I will not worry, everything is fine, right?” she asks.
"Of course, because I live with you doesn't mean you have to worry about my every move, okay?"
"I'll give you your space, dear. I'll make some dinner while you get started on your homework."
When she heads for the kitchen, I drag myself to my bedroom and close the door. I sink into the bed and stare at the closed door. I hate keeping things from my grandmother and hearing her caring voice stings my heart.
I have a feeling this is going to get worse before it is going to get better.
CHAPTER NINE
“Crap,” I say looking in my backpack. “Mr. Driver…Mr. Joshua, sir.”
The courtesy shuttle driver cocks his head as if he trying to understand what is wrong in the back of the SUV while attempting to pass a slow moving charter bus on the highway.
“I don’t have my phone,” I say with a sheepish grin. “I know, I’m silly for leaving my cell. Can we please turn around?”
“And go where, miss?”
“Back to my grandmother’s house. I left my cell phone in my kitchen.”
“I thought you have an appointment to get to in a hurry,” said the driver with a hint of agitation.
“Yeah, it’s a pain getting back on number one at this time of day,” I read the driver’s thoughts. I turn my worried face towards the window as we make our way through the morning traffic.
The street of expansive mini-mansions where my grandparents live is in direct lockstep with the more majestic, perfect, and expensive homes a few palm trees away.
The driver pulls the SUV up to my grandparent’s house and parks along the sidewalk to allow.
Oh…shit.
A Police car and a black sedan are in the driveway.
“Wait, here,” my driver tells me.
Mr. Joshua gets out and goes over to the men.
A plain clothes detective and a uniformed patrol officer are standing in my grandparents' driveway talking. As my driver walks up to them, both men stiffen to block his path to the house. Mr. Joshua conversates with the men for a few moments and motions for me to get out of the vehicle. I walk past the men in what feels like slow motion to eavesdrop on their conversation. There is a strong sense of hostility coming from the detective.
“What do you mean, broughtin?” asks the detective in a loud voice. “He’ll be lucky if I don’t bring him in and the whole family. All of them probably have something to do with this, but Mr. Clark having his Alzheimer’s disease diagnosis is the only thing that is saving him at this point.”
“Stop right there,” commands the police officer.
I freeze in my tracks.
“We will have access to this house and any other place related to this case. Look, I’m not trying to take your job. I was asked to help,” continues the police officer.
Oh. My. God.
They are going to take me to jail for stealing those student records.
“It’s my civic duty to work on my assigned cases,” states Detective Wagner. “I will continue to fulfill my obligation the best way I can.”
“I didn’t say anything about not allowing you to fulfill your obligations,” responds the police officer taking a few small steps toward the side gate. “I’m not here to waste your time or my time by arguing about whose case it is or who this case belongs to because what this community wants to know is who did it and why. Isn’t that what matters when it all boils down?”
What in the hell is going on here?
Have I been gone that long?
As I open the door of the house, I hear the ring tone and vibration of my cell phone against the kitchen countertop.
I run to the ringing cell phone lying on the counter, swipe it, and lift it to my ear.
“Hey, Grandma?”
“You’re just waking up Aleta?” she asks on the other end. “I’ve called you several times this morning. I told you we have several doctor appointments for your grandfather today.”
“I remember Grandma. The car service picked me up, but I left my cell phone home. I came back home to get it. Is there something wrong with Grandpa?”
“No, not at all,” she says. “So, you’re home, oh no.”
“Grandma, I don’t understand. Where are you?”
“I wanted to call you to tell you about it. You know our new neighbor, Mrs. Villery?”
“Villery?” I ask. “Villery? Oh, the
