Atone (19 page)

“What's taking so long?” I ask Mr. Nash.

We've been here for hours. No one's telling us anything. We haven't seen Vera since Agent Carter took her by the elbow and pulled her through the door I've been staring at ever since. I'm on my eighth cup of black coffee and jittering like I ate twelve bags of coke-dusted Skittles.

Mr. Nash doesn't say anything, just calmly flips through a magazine that he's looked at twice before.

“Do you think they'll let us see her when they're done?”

“Maybe.”

“Can you check with your friend again? See where they're at?”

“Probably the same place they were the last time I checked with him—in interrogation. This could take—”

“Hours. I know. You said that.” I finish off my coffee and debate getting another.

“Sit down, son.”

“I can't.” I crumple the cup and toss it in the trash. “Too much coffee.”

“Then why don't we take a walk? Carter will call me if anything develops.”

“Yeah. Okay. You're sure?”

He stands and claps me on the shoulder. “I'm sure. Come on.”

He tells the lady at the desk that we'll be back and we head out into the night. There's nothing surrounding the nondescript federal government building housing the offices of the FBI. No other office buildings or strip mall. Across the street is the 805 Freeway. The dull, incessant drone of traffic blends with the sound of crickets and the odd chirping bird. We stroll around the complex in silence. This isn't helping me calm down, but it gives me something to do other than drink coffee and stare at the door that won't open.

On our third lap Mr. Nash starts to tell the story of when he first met Cora. I've heard Cora's account and some of Leo's, but Mr. Nash's is by far the most interesting. I feel like I'm getting the true version of events. He talks about how fierce Cora was in trying to talk him into taking on my case. How determined she was that he help her.

“It wasn't like she gave me a choice,” he says and laughs. “She wasn't going to leave until I gave in. There she was with her box of files and determination, delivering the most impassioned speech I've ever heard. And then Leo stepped up and volunteered himself to help her. Until then, that kid practically got hives any time someone even mentioned investigative work. She not only moved me with her speech, she moved my stubborn mountain of a son. I knew right then that she would change his life and mine.

“My point is, sometimes people come into your life unexpectedly, unwantedly, and jerk the rug out from under you. Your world's changed forever. Helping Maurice Battle win his freedom after thirty-nine years was incredible. Helping you win your freedom back…life-altering. Because of Cora, I don't see the world the way I saw it before she walked into my office, demanding we help her. After spending a few hours with Vera, listening to
her
story, my world has shifted again. People…
men
hurt and used that girl in reprehensible ways, and yet she found a way to not only hold on to her humanity but to thrive and not let what happened to her change who she is as a person deep down. She has scars, she doesn't trust, she stares down men, daring them to try something, anything. She strikes a brave face because she
is
brave.

“Look, I know you're struggling with the choices she made.
She's
struggling with them. We all are. But she made the only choice she could. And she used it to try to help somebody else. I know you care about her. You're practically desperate with it. I remember feeling that way about my wife once upon a time. It's an amazing feeling that only comes around once, maybe twice. Even if you can't get past what she's done and be with her, can you at least find a way to forgive her so she can forgive herself? Because if you don't, she'll keep torturing herself over it. She'll close herself off forever. She's far too young to spend the rest of her life alone.”

His last word echoes through the vacant walkway between the buildings.

Alone.

There's a difference between being alone and being lonely. My years in prison taught me that. I was never
lonely.
There were always people around. I could interact or not interact. But regardless of whether I was in a crowd or by myself, I was always
alone.
I suddenly realize that my anxiety since I found out what Vera did is that old feeling of being alone. Mr. Nash's words about Vera closing herself off and torturing herself are also about me and the fucked-up shit in my head.

Vera gave me forgiveness when I couldn't forgive myself. She took me to Cassandra's grave and helped me find the absolution I wasn't able to find on my own. Vera forgave me in Cassandra's place for the anger I carried around since the murder. That was a tremendous gift. It was my turn to do the same for her and I fucked it up. I couldn't see past my self-righteousness and personal experiences. Vera didn't have to understand my anger in order to release me from it.

My steps are heavy with these realizations. Vera is inside that building right now, putting herself through hell for her sister and all those other girls. She took that thumb drive and hid, knowing the price she might have to pay someday. She came back to San Diego to find her sister—putting her life at risk—and to save Marie from the same fucker who put her through hell.

She let me in her motel room that first night and all the other nights I came looking for something I somehow instinctively knew only she could give me. She got drunk with me, made love with me, forgave me, cared about me, and laughed with me. She gave me the straight shit and never once lied to me, even when it meant she might lose me.

And I couldn't give her the only thing she ever asked in return.

Not only that, I tortured her with it, following her around like a lost fucking puppy, wanting her to fix what was broken inside me when it was me who broke it. I don't know what's going to happen tonight or tomorrow or the day after that. I don't know if Vera will want to see me or if I'll get the chance to see her, but I feel like I need to say something to her, something that will somehow free us both.

We're on our fifth lap when Mr. Nash gets a text. “They're moving her.”

“What does that mean? Can we see her?”

He picks up his steps and I follow suit. “I don't know. Carter didn't say. Let's get back in there and find out.”

The suits aren't very happy with me. I called out three of their fellow agents—two from this office and one from the Orange County field office—who like to fuck underage girls, including the pig from the hallway. They now have to investigate their own, along with assholes from other law enforcement agencies and everyday-Joe child fuckers.

At first they doubted my story, but as Shay laid it out for them piece by piece she put together a picture they couldn't look away from. By the time they finished grilling me up one side and down the other they were finally convinced I was telling the truth. I didn't waver once, and repeated myself twelve different ways until they finally moved on to the next question and then the next. Shay called for a food and bathroom break halfway through. Shay and a female agent, who practically stuck her head under the stall door to make sure I was only peeing, escorted me to the bathroom.

I managed bites of sandwich between questions. And there was a shit-ton of questions. If I didn't know the answer I just told them I didn't know, which seemed to please Shay. I told them everything I could, holding nothing back. It got ugly and graphic in some places as I explained a couple sex acts neither one of them had ever heard of before. By the time I finished, Agent Carter, his boss—Special Agent in Charge Charles Fung—and Shay looked a little green, but wore it stoically. Who would make up the depraved shit I told them?

Carter and Fung retreat to a corner of the room and carry on a very heated whispered discussion. Shay pulls me into the opposite corner and we have our own secret conversation.

“They're trying to figure out what to do with you and where to keep you so you're safe and the agents involved don't tip off Javier that you're in custody and talking,” Shay says. “This is good. It means we're in a good position to get the charges against you dropped. If there are ever extenuating circumstances, this is it. Agents buying children for sex.” She shakes her head. “Disgusting.”

“What are they going to do with me?”

“I think we're about to find out.”

Fung approaches. “I think you'll agree that we have some very special circumstances here. I'm going to arrange for the U.S. Marshals to take you into protective custody outside the county. You'll remain with them during the investigation and trial. If there is one.”

“What protections does my client have if there is no trial?” Shay asks.

“The evidence she provided is very compelling. The only way I can see there not being a trial is if there's a plea bargain, which is out of our hands and up to the Department of Justice. Our job is to investigate and to make sure you're safe,” Fung says to me. “I promise you'll be safe.”

“How long will it be before I'm out of protective custody?”

“That I don't know. Could be months. Could be years. Depending. There'd likely be a permanent relocation and a new identity eventually.”

I motion for Shay to follow me back to our corner. When we're alone, I ask, “Will I get to say goodbye?”

“To the young man waiting for you out in reception?”

“He's still here?”

“He and Ed both. They've been waiting for a chance to see you.”

“Can you arrange it?”

She gives a firm nod and goes to talk to Carter and Fung. A few moments later she returns. “You'll get a few minutes. They're bringing them back here.”

I stare pensively at the door. Beau and I didn't leave things the way I wanted to leave them. I'm not sure how he's going to react when he sees me. I'm not even sure what to say to him.
Goodbye
seems too pedestrian.
Thank you
is not enough.
Nice knowing you
is incomplete.

I'll never forget you.

As close as that is, it's not close enough.

I'll always care about you.

Better.

There will never be anyone else for me.

Exactly right.

But I can't say it out loud. Saying it out loud is so final. Like I'll never, ever see him again. Which I won't. The realization is a heavy blanket settling over me. This is a forever goodbye. The kind you say and then think about later how you should've said this or done that, but you can't go back.

He comes into the room and I'm hit with a wave of misery. His gaze searches the room for me, finding me huddled in the corner. He scoops me up in a sweet embrace, tucking his face against my neck, as he likes to do. I'm going to miss this. I'm going to miss so many things about him—the smell of him, the feel of him, the way he looks at me, even his snoring. I don't know how I'm going to sleep without him.

“They're putting me in protective custody,” I tell him, my voice wavering.

His arms tighten around me in response. He knows what this means. I fist the back of his shirt, bringing him closer. I always knew my time with him would be short. I just didn't know how short or that it would be so hard to let go.

He kisses my neck. “I'm sorry.” Cradling my face in his hands, he kisses my cheeks, my nose, my eyes, my lips. “I'm so, so sorry.” He drops more kisses between words. “I'm such a fucking idiot. Please forgive me. I didn't mean that stupid shit I said.”

“Yes, you did.”

He stops to look at me. “Okay I did, but I didn't
mean
it mean it. I just had to work through all the crap I've been through to see what you did in a new way.” He puts his forehead to mine. “I'm sorry. I know you're a good person who's been through deeper shit than I'll ever know. I'm so sorry.”

“Okay. Okay.” I push him back. He doesn't owe me anything. I owe him. “Enough.”

“Are you all right?” He glances around the room behind him, only to find it empty. “Did everything go the way Mr. Nash said it might?”

“Pretty much exactly like he said it would. I like my lawyer. She's awesome. Please thank Mr. Nash for getting her for me.”

“How long do we have?”

“I don't know. They didn't say. I wasn't even sure they'd let me see you.”

He holds me to him. “I wasn't sure they'd allow it either.”

“You're really okay with everything?”

“Yeah. I am.”

“Thank you. That means a lot to me. I couldn't go away with you still hating me. I mean, I would've. It just would've been a lot harder dealing with that and everything else too. So thank you.”

We lapse into one of our silences, holding on to each other. I close my eyes and breathe in the scent of him as he massages my scalp and we rock back and forth. I've had to say a lot of goodbyes in my life. None has ever been as hard as this one. There's so much to say, and yet anything we say won't be enough. I can feel him grappling with it too. He kisses the top of my head. I nuzzle against his chest.

“You once asked me what I wanted,” I say, looking up into his beautiful face.

“Yeah.”

“I want you.”

“I want you too.”

He kisses me and I can feel how very much he wants me. It's more than the physical, which is an ache that won't go away. It's something deeper and harder to define. It's inside us and in the air around us. I have a feeling it's something that won't fade with time and distance. I will always think about him and I will always want him.

He lifts his head, tracing his thumb along my lower lip. “What am I going to do without you?”

“I was going to ask
you
that.”

“There's no chance…?” He growls and shakes his head. “I know there isn't. I just…I wish I could visit you.”

“I know. Me too. I'll be okay.”

“Really? 'Cause I'm not sure I will be.”

“I was lying. I won't be, but I'll manage. Go.” I push him away from me. “Meet someone new.” I step back until we're separated. “Have a family. Get a dog. Buy a house. Have a good life.”

He looks lost with his arms out open for me. My vision blurs. I fight to keep the tears back and from diving into his embrace. It's over. We're over.

His arms fall to his sides. “I don't want to do any of that.”

“You should. You deserve to be happy.”

“So do you. Are you going to find someone else? Have a family?”

Biting my lip, I shake my head. There's no point in any of that for me. No one else is going to want me.

“You should go,” I tell him, my voice hoarse.

He looks at the door, then back at me, and does that slow-blink thing. I don't know what he's thinking or what he's going to do. I want him to leave, but I need him to stay. The tension strings tight, bringing me to the balls of my feet.

“Only family can go with you,” he says slowly. “I looked it up.” Of course he did. He
would.
“We're not family. But we could be.”

My heart practically stops in my chest. Everything slows. There's an incessant buzzing in my ears. I have to force myself to take a breath so I can stop this line of thinking before it gets out of control.

“No,” I say, everything in me rejecting the hope. “We can't. We can't ever be a family.”

He takes a step toward me, his face breaking into a grin. “We
could.
”

“
No.
Stop saying that.”

“Vera. Think about it.”

“You idiot, I have thought about it!”

He takes another step, making me take one back. If it's possible, his smile gets even bigger. “You've always been so much smarter than me.” He advances again.

I put a hand up to stop him. “No, Beau. We can't do this. You don't know everything about me.”

“I know everything I need and want to know.” He takes my hand in his and drops to one knee. “Vera—”

I yank my hand from his and back away, needing some distance and perspective. “Don't.
Please,
don't.”

“Marry me.”

“No.”

He gets to his feet. “Why not?”

“What about Cora?”

“She'll understand.”

“You won't ever get to see her again.”

“I know.” The way he says it makes me realize he's thought about this. Actually
thought
it all the way through.

“What about your parents?”

“Cora will explain it to them.”

“You want to leave that for her to do?”

“What is this really about?”

I wave him back. “Don't ask questions you don't really want the answers to.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“I can't give you what you want.”

“You're not already married, are you?”

“No.”

He props his hands on his hips. “Then what's the problem? Don't you want to marry me?”

“Yes,” I say on a sob. “I want to fucking marry you more than anything.”

“Ah, Vera, come here.” He holds his arms out to me. “Whatever it is, we'll fix it.”

“It
can't
be fixed. That's the problem.”

I forget to move back when he moves forward. This time he catches me, wrapping his arms around me. “Tell me what it is. I bet it's not as bad as you think.”

The words leave me in a rush. “I can't ever get pregnant.”

I'm too miserable and afraid to gauge his reaction past how utterly still he goes. His arms stop moving up and down my back. He might even have stopped breathing. I can practically hear him thinking, weighing things between us all over again. I want to believe it won't matter to him, and I know him well enough to know that he'll think that initially. And then the reality of it will set in. It's funny how you never thought about wanting something until there's absolutely no possibility of ever having it. Then you want it more than
anything.
He's going to say it doesn't matter and I'll try to believe him because I want to. Resentment will build over the years. Little things here and there, piling up until there's a wall between us we can't see over. I need to stop him from trying to conjure up any hope.

“It's irreversible,” I say, pulling away. “We were all sterilized. After he sold our virginity, he took us to a doctor who gave us a morning-after pill just in case, and then he implanted these things in our fallopian tubes. I went to a doctor a few years ago who confirmed it. I can't get pregnant. Remember me telling you not to worry about it that night we got drunk? That's why. And that's why I can't marry you. We can't ever be a family. I can't give you what you want.”

“How the fuck do you know what I want?”

“Don't be ridiculous.”

“I'm not being ridiculous. You are.”

“Don't tell me you never thought about having children.”

His
lack of response
is answer enough.

“That's what I thought.” I put my palm on his cheek. “Thank you for your sweet proposal. But the answer's no.”