Blood Sugar(52)

CHAPTER 35


    ELEPHANT



I glanced at the clock in my car as I slid into the driver’s seat. The leather was warm from being drenched in the Miami sun, and it felt good on the backs of my legs. A familiar creature comfort. It seemed like I was inside that police station for hours. Days. A lifetime even. But in actuality, it was only twenty-four minutes.

Roman waited until I shut my car door before yelling at me. “What the fuck, Ruby! Seriously. What the fuck!? I told you to tell me everything. And you told me that you did tell me everything! Then that guy with his fucking folder and photos.” Roman paused, but his anger didn’t diminish. “I do not like to be blindsided.”

And so there it was. The three big elephants in the room of my mind, Duncan, Richard, and Evelyn, who had been quietly snorting around, had finally stomped and reared and stampeded out. I couldn’t look at Roman. I was too embarrassed. I said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t think those other people were a part of the everything. They are totally unrelated to Jason.” Roman looked at me as I continued to look down. He asked, “But are they totally unrelated to you?” I couldn’t say they were. So I shook my head no. In a softer voice Roman said, “Well, this is a lesson for me. Next time I interview a client suspected of murder, I will explicitly ask if any other people have died right in front of them.”

He had a right to be mad at me. And I hated it. He had heard details about some of the elephants in that twenty-four minutes, but I felt I had to explain, again. “Duncan drowned. I was in the ocean at the same time. We were kids. Richard died when I was having a sleepover with my friend. And Evelyn, she got hit by a truck. I happened to be on the corner. That’s all.” After I said this last part, I did wonder out loud how Detective Jackson knew I was there when Evelyn was hit. It was common knowledge I was in the ocean when Duncan died. And the detective pieced together the Richard part of it all because I was on record as driving his car that night. But Evelyn? No one knew I was within arm’s reach of her when she was mowed down.

I started my car. And finally glanced over at Roman before I backed out of the police station parking lot. He looked worried. I realized I’d never seen him actually look truly worried before. My heart sank. He must think I’m evil. I asked, “Do you hate me?”

He was offended by the question. “No, I don’t hate you! I just wish I’d had some of this information sooner. I need a minute, to figure out how to keep you safe.” A swell of relief hit me. He wasn’t worried that I might be a serial killer. He was worried that he might actually lose a case. My case. He wanted to keep me out of harm’s way. And out of prison. And if anyone could keep me out of jail, it would be him. As I drove us back to my house, I could almost hear the wheels in his brilliant brain turning.

He asked, “Are there any other bodies you need to tell me about?”

I answered, “I didn’t kill Jason.”

He said, “That’s not what I asked. Are there. Any other. Bodies. I need. To know. About?”

I pulled into my driveway. I could answer this one honestly. “No.”

Roman hired a private investigator, someone out of DC who he trusted. He flew him down to Miami and put him on the clock to dig into how Detective Jackson knew I was on the curb when Evelyn W. met her rainy demise. All of this was pro bono, of course. Roman was happy to take care of it, no matter how long it might drag on. Which could be months or even years. He told me not to worry about paying him a cent since without my little lie he wouldn’t have a career in the first place.

I wanted my parents to know he was back in my life. They had always liked him. They felt he was my equal in intelligence and fortitude, and enjoyed when he would come home with me during spring breaks, and never learn his lesson about sunscreen and get a wicked sunburn every single time. But I worried if I told them, if he saw them for dinner, I would have to explain to them how he had resurfaced. And I definitely didn’t want them to know that there were people out in the world who believed I murdered Jason. It was too awful a thought to put into their heads. And I didn’t want them to worry about me, and imagine detectives coming into my house and judging me for my half-filled bookshelves and sparse kitchen counters. I could have lied, said that I reached out to Roman in my grief. Simple as that. But I just couldn’t deal with a new lie. I was already juggling so many thoughts and secrets that I had to keep hidden away for my own self-preservation. I couldn’t handle another one. Roman was just too big a part of my past to make up a story about why he was back in my present. So I kept him to myself.

As Roman packed his suitcase to return to DC, placing his running shoes in their own neat compartment, he paused and turned to me. He asked, “If this hadn’t happened, with Jason and with the cops, do you think you would have reached out to me? Like, ever?”

I knew my answer immediately because I had thought about it for years. I said, “No. But here’s what I imagined would’ve happened. I would have seen you at our twentieth college reunion. We would both be forty-one. And we would both still look amazing.”

“Duh.”

“We would be coy for the first hour, and downplay the intense bond we once had. Then stop the charade and sit together. You would meet Jason there, and like him, and respect him. And toss me a look of approval. I pictured you newly married. Your wife would be younger but not embarrassingly so. Maybe thirty-four. Pretty and smart and the kind of woman who does cardio every morning, even when on vacation. Your wife would chat with Jason about her skin-care line, or some such thing, and he would talk about his news-cameraman background, while we repaired old wounds and caught up on the past two decades.”