“Papá?” Blitz says, incredulous.
Blitz’s father stands in the middle of the room, his face angry, his arms crossed. No one is paying any attention to him.
When he sees Blitz, he says, “I always knew I’d be down here eventually for one of you boys.” His voice is gruff. He gets out his wallet and looks around. “You need me to bail you out?”
Blitz lets out a strangled laugh. “I didn’t get arrested. How did you know I was here?”
“Your mother follows Tweeter or Nitwit or whatever it is,” he says. “Apparently everybody’s talking about how you are at the San Antonio jail. She made me get down here right away.”
He sees a woman sitting behind a wall with a small glass window. I guess he figures she’s the one to pay to get Blitz out because he heads that way.
Blitz reaches out and grabs his arm. “I’m not in jail,” he says. “I was here to help someone who got arrested.”
They keep talking but I survey the room in a blind panic. Who recognized him? Was it that girl from earlier?
I despise that Blitz Burn hashtag and wish it would die a terrible social media death.
The girl isn’t here anymore. Nobody seems to care, absorbed in their own drama. Moms, girlfriends, buddies, all with the same grim expression. The grandmother has also left.
I pull out my phone to see what is happening, but then I feel the eyes of the officer boring into me. Right. They don’t want anyone using one. Now I see why. Compromised privacy.
“Livia?” Blitz finally gets my attention. “You ready to go?”
“You might want to rethink just walking out,” his dad says. “There’s a mob out there ready to take your picture.”
Blitz stares at the door. “Really?”
“Out on the street,” he says. “They didn’t know who I was, but one step and you’ll be all over those little newspapers your mother picks up at the grocery store.”
We sit down in a mostly empty row. “What do we do?” I ask Blitz. “They’ll recognize you no matter how we try to hide you.”
“There’s bound to be a back way,” Blitz says. “Let me go ask and see.”
He heads over to the woman behind the glass. I’m alone with his dad. I straighten my skirt self-consciously.
“You stick by my boy,” his dad says. “That’s something.”
I don’t know how to reply to that, since technically right now he’s sticking by me. So I just give him a quick nod.
“Quite a life you’re walking into.” He looks around the room. “You sure you’re up for it?”
“I’ve been up for it all along.”
He leans forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “Ben is an all-right boy,” he says. “I guess if he’s hung on to you this long, it’s going to work. Nobody else has ever lasted a week.”
This is probably as good as it gets in terms of praise from Blitz’s father.
“He’s a great man,” I say. I avoid adding, “Despite his father.”
David seems anxious. He taps his thumb on his knee, a gesture I’ve seen Blitz do.
“I know I’m not the most pleasant person to be around. But I do try. Renata wouldn’t have stayed around if I didn’t. So if you need anything, Renata and I are happy to help out.”
My jaw drops open and I have to think to close it. “Thank you,” I say.
He sits back, as if he can relax now that he’s gotten past that.
As Blitz comes for us, and his dad stands up and holds out his hand as if to help me up too, I realize he cares about his son. He’s here. He can’t be all bad.
“They won’t escort us out the back themselves,” Blitz says. “But the lawyer can take us out that way. We’ll just wait on Jeremy.” Now he’s looking around the room too, wondering if anyone is covertly taking his picture.
We sit down again, feeling obvious and vulnerable. Blitz turns his back to the officer and covertly pulls his phone out. Then grimaces. He shoves it back in his pocket.
“Bad?” I ask.
“More than bad,” he says. “I’m trending. Everyone’s trying to guess my crime.”
His dad snorts. “Can I send them some ideas? That blue pantsuit you wore on your last show is bound to be illegal in most states.”
Blitz laughs and pounds his dad on the back. “You watched it!” He settles back and takes my hand. “Yeah, my wardrobe girl probably needs to rein it in.”
He seems happy and relaxed, despite the circumstances. I don’t have a Twitter account, and I wouldn’t dare comment on the situation even if I did. But I wish I could Tweet the truth.
Blitz Craven is only guilty of being a nice guy. #ForgetTheBurn
After an hour’s wait, Blitz’s dad decides to take off. “They don’t know who this old fart is anyway,” he says. He looks at me. “You want to come with me rather than get caught with this crazy fool?”
“They’ll recognize her, I think,” Blitz says. “Unless you’re tired of waiting.”
“No, I’ll stay,” I say. “Thank you, though.”
David pats Blitz on the shoulder. “Be careful out there,” he says. He gives me a nod. “Make this rascal come see his old man every once in a while.”
“I will,” I say.
When he opens the door, the crowd noise is tremendous. Flashes go off until someone yells, “It’s not him!”
A whistle blows, people shout. There’s a foyer between this room and the outside door, so we’re buffered against the crowd out there. Nobody is close enough to see in. We can’t see them either. Thank goodness.
It’s another hour before Jeremy peeks through the hallway door again. “I’ve got him,” he says. “You guys can come this way.”
As we stand up, I whisper to Blitz, “What does he mean by he’s got him?”
Blitz shrugs.
But when we get in the hall, it’s clear. Denham is there, shrugging on his jacket and shoving things in his pocket from an envelope.
“Hey,” he says.
Another uniformed officer follows us as we walk down the hall.
Denham doesn’t waste any time. “So when do I get to see her?” he asks me.
I glance over at the lawyer.
“We’ve got some things to arrange first,” Jeremy says. “You need a temporary address. Check in with your probation officer. We need to contact the birth mother.”
Denham cuts him off. “Livia, shut this clown up. When can I see her?”
Blitz steps up as if to speak, but I hold up my hand.
“We have to talk to her mother first,” I say. “She has no idea about any of this. She doesn’t know who I am.”
Denham stops walking. “What do you mean? Have you been seeing her or not?”
I glance at Blitz, then the lawyer.
“You don’t have to go into this right now,” Jeremy says. “Denham currently has no rights, and you should see a family lawyer before this moves forward.”
The officer interrupts us. “Move along. This isn’t time to chat.”
We continue down the long snaking hall.
“I have the right to know if you’ve seen her,” Denham says. “As her father.”
“Yes,” I say. “I have seen her.”
He smiles at that. “My baby girl! Tell me what she’s like. Does she look like you?”
“She does,” I say. “Black hair. She’s smart. And pretty.”
“I bet she is,” Denham says. “Does she dance like you? Tell me, does she go to that school? Is she a ballerina?”
I glance over at Blitz. His calm face gives me strength.
I take a deep breath, and just say it. “Denham, she’s in a wheelchair. She was in a car accident when she was three and she can’t walk anymore.”
Denham stops. The officer tries to move him forward, but Denham is rooted to the spot. “Our baby can’t walk?”
“No,” I say. “It’s been over a year. I haven’t talked to them about it, but I think if she were ever going to be able to walk, she would have done it by now.”
“Move ALONG,” the officer says.
Denham’s head is down, but his feet start moving.
We go in silence through a checkpoint, the sun finally coming in through glass doors at the back of the complex. This exit leads to a parking lot full of police cars.
“You can go out here,” the officer says. “Catch a taxi or have someone pick you up on the street. You can’t come back in this way.”
We’re unceremoniously dumped out onto the sidewalk.
He’s right, though. The lot is bordered on three sides by the complex. The street beyond the lines of cop cars runs with normal traffic. No bystanders. No cameras.
“Come on,” Jeremy says. “I’ll have my driver pick us up. We can get you away from here until it blows over.”
But as we move forward, Denham lags behind. I stop and turn to him. “Denham, you coming?”
“She’s a cripple?” he asks, his voice still incredulous. “She’s never going to walk?”
My throat constricts. “I had a hard time when I learned about it too,” I say. “But she’s a bright, sweet girl.”
I try to take his arm to lead him with us, but he shakes me off.
“Denham, we have to go,” I say.
He resists. “What am I going to do with a cripple for a kid?”
Now my chest starts to burn. “She’s a perfect little girl.”
Denham continues to stare at the ground, as if he can’t wrap his head around this. “I can’t do anything with that,” he says. “That’s too much responsibility.” He still won’t look me in the eye. “What’ll everybody say when they see me with a kid in a wheelchair?”
We all stop to watch him. I’m so angry I want to hit him, hurt him like he is hurting my heart.
“You don’t deserve her,” I say.
He does glance up at me at that, just for a second. “Yeah,” he finally says. “You’re right about that.”
He digs in his pocket for the keys to his truck. He pulls a silver cross off the ring, banged up but heavy and well made. He tosses it to me.
I trap it against my chest and it falls cold into my palm.
“Give her that,” he says. “It was my gramma’s. Only thing I have of hers. Tell baby girl that her daddy was no good, and her daddy’s momma was no good, but her great-gramma, she was good. Her name was Lucille. It’s engraved on the back.” He points at the cross. “Lucille Young.”
I hold the heavy cross in my hand. “You aren’t going to at least meet her?”
He shakes his head. “I’m gonna move on now. Thanks for getting me out.” He peers up at the building, and the sun, squinting his eyes. “You’ll do right by her. It’s your way.”
And with that, he takes off in long strides across the parking lot, through the cop cars, and turns down the street. We stand there, watching, until he’s out of sight.
“That saves you quite a bit of trouble,” Jeremy says.
I can’t speak. I feel like my breath has been forced from my lungs.
Blitz gathers me up against him. “I’m here, Livia,” he says.
“My driver is pulling up,” Jeremy says. “Let’s head on to the street.”
Blitz holds me tight as we follow the path Denham took through the cars. When we get to the sidewalk, a black Mercedes stops at the curb. I look up the street, trying to get one last glance at Denham, Gabriella’s father, the love I once knew.
But he’s disappeared, the tall buildings cutting off the view.
Just like that, this whole dark period of my life is over.