The Nowhere Girls(102)

Someone besides Rosina might be full of love for her friend right now, might want to wrap her arms around Erin and never let go. But Rosina doesn’t do things like that. Instead, she looks out the window and rubs her nose, which is a little wet, but of course it’s not from tears.

“Okay,” Cheyenne says. “Let’s do this.”

The inside of the sheriff’s station is almost identical to the Prescott police station—the same beige walls, the same handful of mostly empty desks behind a long counter in the front. “Hello, ladies,” says the deputy behind the counter. “How can I help you?”

“Um,” Cheyenne says. “Is there a female cop I can talk to?”

His face softens. “I’m sorry,” he says, and he might actually mean it. “Unfortunately, we don’t have any gals here right now.” He pauses, smiles warmly. “How about you talk to the sheriff?” he says. “He’s in his office right now. I promise, he’s a real nice guy. Has twin daughters almost your age. They’re twelve now, I think. He loves those girls more than life itself.”

It is Erin who Cheyenne looks to now. Some kind of wordless message passes between them. Erin nods. Cheyenne takes a deep breath.

“Okay,” Cheyenne says. “I’d like to talk to the sheriff.”

“We’ll stay here until you’re done,” Grace says.

“You don’t have to do that,” Cheyenne says.

“Yes, we do,” says Rosina.

Erin, Grace, and Rosina sit for what seems like several hours but is only about forty-five minutes. In that time Erin finishes her homework, Rosina avoids several phone calls from her mother, and Grace spends most of the time in the bathroom to, Rosina suspects, spare the rest of them from her emotional meltdown.

“You know what?” Rosina says. “This may sound bad, but I can’t help but think maybe it’s a good thing Cheyenne just moved here. She wasn’t here to see what happened to Lucy after she reported her rape. She has no reason to expect that she won’t be believed.”

“God, I hope she’s right,” Grace says. “I’ve been praying about it the whole time we’ve been in here.”

So that’s what Grace was doing in the bathroom. For once Rosina doesn’t think she’s nuts. Maybe she’s gotten used to her weird God stuff. Or maybe Grace has been secretly trying to convert her this whole time, and breaking down Rosina’s resistance is all a part of her plan.

Or maybe, deep down, Rosina wishes she believed in something. Maybe she wishes she had a god she could pray to right now, like Grace does.

“What if we’re setting her up to be another Lucy?” Rosina says. “Once word gets out, is Cheyenne going to be crushed like she was? Are we going to screw up her life more than those bastards already did?”

“We’re doing the right thing,” Grace says. “Cheyenne is doing the right thing.”

“Since when does that matter?” Rosina says.

“Since we made it matter,” Erin says, looking up from her book.

God, please, Rosina thinks. Please help her.

Is thinking the same as praying?

Please help us.

The door to the sheriff’s office opens. The girls stand as Cheyenne walks out. Her face is unreadable. She looks tired, but not broken. She smiles weakly at her friends as a tall, broad-shouldered man follows her out of the office. He looks like a dad. A good one.

“When your mom gets here,” he says gently, “we’ll need to all sit down together and talk about next steps, but I figured you needed a little break from my office. I know I do.” He smiles at Cheyenne warmly, how Rosina as a little girl used to imagine her father would smile at her if he was still alive. Something twists inside her.

“These are the friends who helped you today?” the sheriff says, looking at the girls. Rosina wonders if she should be worried. Is he going to talk to Chief Delaney? Is he going to tell them they’re the secret leaders of the Nowhere Girls?

“Yeah,” Cheyenne says. “I couldn’t have done it without them.”

“Those are good friends to have,” he says, but Rosina’s not sure she completely believes him, even after everything Cheyenne has said to assure them she wants to do this. Because every step they take forward takes them further away from the time before any of this happened.

Rosina catches Erin looking at her strangely. “What?” Rosina says.

“Don’t worry,” Erin says. “I can see you worrying.”

Rosina laughs. “You’re telling me not to worry. That’s hilarious.”

The front door swings open. An older version of Cheyenne walks in wearing nurse’s scrubs, spots her daughter behind the front desk, and they rush into each other’s arms. Rosina is embarrassed to witness this moment between them. Something so intimate, something so primal, as a mother rocking her wounded child.

Rosina’s phone buzzes with another call from her mother.

Rosina wonders, what if this were her? What if Cheyenne’s mom were replaced by her own? Would she be here holding her like this? Would this be her mother’s first reaction to news that her daughter had been hurt? Would she hug Rosina like this, love her like this, before asking any questions, no matter what happened, no matter what the story? Could Rosina trust her own mother to love her?