The Bad Daughter(77)

“I don’t usually wear a bra,” Cassidy said. “I never even had boobs till I got my period. And it might kind of dig in.”

“Of course. How stupid of me.”

“You’re not stupid,” Cassidy said. “You’re the best.” She turned and buried her head in Robin’s chest as her arms wrapped tightly around her waist.

Tears sprang to Robin’s eyes. “Let’s get you home.”





CHAPTER THIRTY


Three reporters and a photographer were waiting in the parking lot when Robin and Blake, pushing Cassidy in a wheelchair and flanked by two deputies, reached the front door of the hospital.

“Damn that Terri Glover,” Robin said.

“Norris,” Blake corrected. “She traded in the Glover, remember?”

“What do we do?”

“I’ll get the car,” Blake said. “Bring it up to the door.”

“What do they want?” Cassidy asked.

“Some sort of statement, I guess. Some pictures.”

“Of me?”

“You don’t have to talk to anyone,” Blake told her. “Just hang tight. I’ll be right back.”

“Who are you?” one reporter called out as Blake pushed the door open.

“Cassidy!” cried another. “Cassidy, look this way.”

“How are you feeling, Cassidy?” the third one shouted. “Can you tell us what happened?”

“Who shot you?”

“Oh, God,” said Cassidy as the door swung shut.

“It’s okay, sweetheart.” Robin looked from one deputy to the other. “Can’t you do something?”

“They’ve been warned to keep their distance,” one of the deputies replied. “The sheriff’s on his way.”

“I’m scared,” said Cassidy.

“Don’t be,” Robin said. Then, “Hell. I’m scared, too.”

“Really? You get scared?”

Pretty much every day of my life, Robin thought. “We’ll be okay,” she said.

“What about Daddy?” Cassidy asked. “Will he be okay?”

“I don’t know, sweetheart.”

Cassidy had insisted on seeing their father before they left the hospital. Robin had wheeled her into his room, and the child had sat beside his bed for ten long minutes, holding his hand and crying quietly. “Please wake up, Daddy,” she kept repeating. “Please wake up.”

But Greg Davis didn’t wake up, and every hour brought less hope that he ever would. He’d suffered another seizure the previous night. The next one would likely kill him, his doctor had confided. Still, if anyone could prove them wrong, Robin thought, it was her father.

“Cassidy?” a woman said, approaching from behind.

Robin’s first thought was that a reporter had somehow managed to get past the guard, but when she turned around she saw that it was one of the nurses assigned to Cassidy’s care. The young woman was holding a bouquet of white tulips. “We wanted you to have these,” she said, nodding toward two older nurses standing behind her as she transferred the floral bouquet to Cassidy.

“Thank you so much,” said Cassidy. “They’re so beautiful.”

“You’re our little miracle child,” the nurse said.

“Take care of yourself,” said another.

“Come back and see us whenever you want.”

“That was really nice of them,” Cassidy said after they were gone.

“Yes, it was.”

“Can I tell you something awful?”

“Something awful?”

Cassidy motioned for Robin to lean closer. “I don’t like tulips,” she whispered.

“You don’t?” Robin smiled. “I thought everybody liked tulips.”

“Mommy always said that they don’t smell, they droop, and then they die.”

Robin decided that was a pretty fair assessment.

“I like roses better.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Robin said as Blake pulled his car up to the front door.

“Ready?” asked one of the deputies.

Robin nodded as the deputy opened the door. Immediately a flood of voices washed over them.

“Do you know who shot you, Cassidy?”

“Did you recognize the person who killed your mother?”

“Was it someone you know?”

“Cassidy, look this way.”

“Can you give us a smile?”

And still more voices, disembodied, relentless, pummeling them like angry fists as Robin raised her arms in front of her face, trying to block the prying gaze of the camera. “Robin, is it true you haven’t talked to your father in over five years?”

“Is your brother a suspect?”

“Who do you think is responsible?”

The sheriff pulled into the parking lot as Blake was helping Cassidy out of her wheelchair and into the backseat of his car. “Okay, guys, back off. Now,” he commanded. “You’ve got your pictures. Nobody’s answering any questions today. The child’s terrified. Get the hell out of here.”

Miraculously, the reporters obeyed, dispersing as quickly as if the sheriff had tossed a smoke bomb into their midst, although the cameraman stayed behind, clicking away. Robin took her seat beside Cassidy as Blake got behind the wheel, about to drive off when the sheriff knocked on his side window.