Pieces For You (43 page)

“You really are piece of shit,” I said to the stranger seated before me.  “I’ll be sure to tell the judge to send you to Hell for what you did to those poor people in your greed.”

“The FBI seized all of your assets.  You don’t have a penny,” Griffin taunted.

“Come on, babe, I’m done here.”

As we turned to leave, Griffin tucked me into his side, supporting me with his strength. 

When we reached the car, Griffin called Hunter, who warned us that we would only have a few months before news of Mr. Whitney’s Ponzi scheme leaked.  The FBI was frantically working to collect evidence for the embezzlement case while trying to keep their efforts quiet.  The SEC would certainly get involved, after which the media would find out and evidence would be destroyed.

We drove straight to the hospital to visit Meg, who did her best to hide the excruciating pain she was feeling.  It took fifteen minutes of fighting and threats before she finally handed over the keys to her apartment so I could collect the belongings she would need after being released into my care in a few days.  Neither Griffin nor I could understand her hesitancy.  It became very clear why she was reluctant to have us visit her apartment once we arrived.

Meg’s studio was in a dilapidated, one-story building just on the outskirts of the most dangerous area on Long Island.  The brick façade was crumbling, the glass panes on the side of the door were broken, and the gutters were overgrown with vines.  The building was ready to be condemned.

“What the hell? 
This
is where Meg lives?  Higher Yearning isn’t paying a fortune, but working full-time she should be able to afford better than this place,” I said, gesturing to the building.  “What gives?”

“I’m speechless, Lo.  I have no clue what’s going on, but we’ll find out.”

“Maybe you should stay with the truck while I go inside and pack up.”

“There is no way you are going in there without me,” Griffin said.  His tone left no room for argument.

We entered the building and I was stunned to find the condition of the interior was even worse than the exterior.  The smell alone made me want to turn tail and run, and I refused to consider the origin of the myriad stains spotting the walls and floor.  Griffin and I took turns muttering our concern and disgust.

When we entered Meg’s studio apartment, we were relieved to find it clean.  There were safety concerns everywhere we looked:  cracks in the ceiling and walls, leaks in the small bathroom, and other various indicators that the structural integrity of the building was questionable, at best.  However, Meg had done her best to turn the tiny space into a home.  The walls were freshly painted, inexpensive area rugs covered every inch of the floor, and her daybed had a few decorative pillows to add color.  What struck me most were the stunning pictures on the walls—they were breathtaking and intimate, but not posed.

“I think we should bring her clothes and a few items to make her feel at home,” I said.

We packed virtually all of Meg’s personal belongings in less than thirty minutes—she had so little.  All of her belongings boiled down to a suitcase of clothes, an overnight bag of shoes, a shopping bag of cosmetics and hair care items, a stack of pictures, and a few throw pillows.  The only furniture she had was the daybed, an ancient coffee table, and an even older dresser.

“Griff, I can’t stand this…her living this way.  She has nothing, and this building is abysmal.  She can’t stay here.  I have plenty of room.  She can move in with me, get back on her feet and save some money.”

“Lo-baby, you’re right, this place isn’t safe, but even those with nothing deserve their pride.  You can extend the invitation, but be careful how you phrase it.  I know you wouldn’t judge her character based on where she lives or what she has…but she may be ashamed.  Use a soft touch; don’t let her see you were horrified by the conditions she was living in.  If you tell her that her home is unsafe, she may interpret it as meaning you don’t believe she can take care of herself,” Griffin said gently.

“Good point, I didn’t think of that.  I’ll tread lightly.”

We finished packing Griff’s pick-up before returning to my house.  Once we had unloaded everything into the garage, Griffin and I made a beeline for the shower to wash off the grime of the apartment building.

Before bed, I washed all of Meg’s clothes, hung her pictures, and added her throw pillows and comforter to the bed.  I set up the space to suit its intended purpose, not as a guestroom, but as a space Meg could call home…if she chose.  She was my friend—a friend who had just risked her life to save mine.  There was no way in hell I would let her live in squalor, but I’d have to convince her without wounding her pride. 

I headed to Thia’s office for our scheduled appointment the following day.  She took one look at me and ordered me to tell her what was going on.  I recounted every insane detail of the past week without interruption.  When I’d finished, she looked thoroughly horror-struck.  Wow, I managed to boggle Thia’s mind.  There was a bizarre sense of accomplishment in that fact.

“Your life is a Hollywood cliché,” she said excitedly.  “It should be a movie.”

“Thia, you’re nuts,” I said, laughing.

“A Lifetime, made-for-TV movie at the very least.  When it happens, I want someone good to play me—Oscar quality.  Someone beautiful…Helen Mirren.  You don’t let them cast anyone other than Helen Mirren.”

“You got it.  But I think you’re too late.  I heard WE Network is already working on a TV movie about ‘Heath the Hensley Hunter.’”

“Dammit.  I should have copyrighted the idea,” she said, chagrined.

“They stole it right out from under you,” I said, playing along…at least I hoped she was playing.

“How are you feeling?” she asked, resuming full therapist mode.

“Shocked, angry, relieved, happy, grateful…most of all, grateful.  Meg will be okay, and Heath is dead.  My sperm donor will die behind bars—everyone I love is safe…I’m safe.  It’s still sinking in, the knowledge that I am truly safe.”

“What about your genetic contributor?” Thia asked, honoring my refusal to use any paternal terminology.

“His words cut the way anyone’s disdain would hurt, but didn’t have the same impact it would have if I still considered him my father.  The threads of that bond were severed months ago, something else I’m grateful for.  It helped to know that his actions and hatred weren’t about me, only the risk I presented in exposing his fraud.”

“What about his eventual trial?”

“I have no useful information, so I can’t imagine the prosecution will want me to testify.  I’m dreading the news coverage…all that attention.  I wish I could change my name,” I said flippantly.

“Why can’t you?”

She was right, why couldn’t I?  I never viewed myself as a part of that family; I didn’t want to be a part of that family.  Why should I have to wear a name I hated?

“You’re right.  Hot damn…I’m going to change my name!”

“Now you just have to decide what name you want.  Are you going to go with a generic last name like Smith, or something of significance?”

“Carsen.  Meme, Ev’s mom, was the only parent I’d ever known.  I don’t think Ev would mind,” I said, my excitement growing.

“I’m sure she wouldn’t.  What else?”

“I’ve been having nightmares since the guy tried to take me, but they aren’t like the terrors used to be.”

“Keep a dream journal so we can track the subject and frequency of the dreams.  I suspect they will lessen with time and eventually subside, but we’ll keep an eye on it.”

“Will do.”

“I think we can schedule you for every other week for the next month or so—then reduce your visits to once a month,” she said casually, but her gaze was intent.

“You’re…you’re breaking up with me?” I said, hurt by her abandonment and rejection.

“Don’t be ridiculous.  I’m not letting go of my cash cow,” she said with a wink.  “I’ll be your therapist for as long as you want or need me.  It would be my honor.  But Sam, you have made incredible progress.  You don’t need to see me every week.  You are ready to transition from middle to late-stage treatment.”

“Okay, it doesn’t sound so bad when you put it that way.”

“I am so proud of you.  You will always be one of my greatest success stories, but that is because
you
were willing to fearlessly confront your past head-on.  You will have unexpected flare-ups, moments of struggle, but you will overcome and thrive—I have no doubt.” 

The
60 Minutes
special about the murder and attacks at Hensley University aired to the highest ratings the show had received in years.  As Liz had predicted, the show galvanized the public, who were already demanding legislation to regulate university responses to violent crimes on campus.  The interview was difficult for me, but Griffin and Thia were both on-hand to bolster me before and after, which kept me grounded.  I was overwhelmed by the outpouring of love and support I received after the airing.  Thousands of letters arrived, many from fellow victims who shared their stories and thanked me for speaking for them…for inspiring them.  I was humbled by their praise, but the hope they found in my story fueled my soul.  It gave purpose to everything I had suffered, as if the fires I had walked through had burned the ground and fertilized the soil, allowing flowers of hope to bloom, bigger and brighter than ever.

We picked Meg up from the hospital a week after her surgery.  Griffin carried her to her room and placed her on the bed before slipping out quietly.  I fussed with blankets and pillows as she looked around the room, baffled to find so many of her personal belongings.

“Yeah, I brought some of your pictures and stuff to make you feel more at home,” I said, trying to answer her unasked question.  “How are you feeling?”

“I’m sore, but it’s getting better.”

“Good.  I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Go for it,” she said, watching me carefully to gauge my intention. 

“I know you’re in school full-time and working full-time at Higher Yearning.  You’re busting your butt trying to do everything on your own, which I respect.  But you’re going to be out of work for at least six weeks, which is a major financial hit.  So I was thinking…I have more than enough space here, and I’m at Griff’s place half the time anyway.  Why don’t you move in here?  It will save you from paying rent, and you could even work on paying off some of the student loans you mentioned earlier than you planned.  Besides, I kind of miss having a roommate since Ev ditched me for Hunter.  You’d be doing me a favor, really.  I know nothing I could ever say or do would adequately express how grateful I am, but I need to do this.  Not for you, for me.”

She was about to protest but I cut her off, “Please?  Before you answer, keep in mind that I have control over your pain meds for the next several weeks.”

Meg chuckled then gasped.

“Bitch, don’t make me laugh.  Damn that hurts.  Day one and I’m already questioning your nursing skills.  I hope this isn’t an example of the type of roommate you plan on being,” she said with her usual ease, but I saw the gratitude and embarrassment in her eyes.