The Memory of You (Sanctuary Sound #1)(92)
Billy’s brows lowered as he tried to figure out what Ryan wanted from him. “You want me to try to ID suspects?”
“No. She’s been having these . . . episodes . . . ever since the attack. She’s blaming it on the concussion, but I think there’s more to it. I think it has to do with stuff that happened. Stuff that might be mentioned in those reports that she isn’t telling anyone. Or possibly that she’s repressing.” Ryan maintained eye contact with Billy, whose sympathetic change in expression suggested he understood Ryan’s suspicion.
“Doesn’t she have the reports?” Billy sat back in his chair, gaze steady.
“She says she tossed them when she moved. I don’t know if that’s true. Whenever I try to bring up the incident, she shuts down and gets agitated. It’s important to her that everyone believes that she’s moved on and is ‘fine.’ I don’t know if I’m right, which is why I’d love proof before taking other steps.” Ryan wrung his hands together. “Between your brother and your special ‘skills,’ I thought maybe you could get your hands on the police report or hospital file. I wouldn’t ask if I weren’t desperate.”
Billy drummed his fingers on the table. “Stefanie Lockwood is the victim’s name?”
Ryan nodded, clutching his stomach beneath the table.
“You can say no. In fact, you should say no.” Ryan pressed his palms to his eyes. “Forget I even asked. What the hell was I thinking? This is wrong on too many levels.”
“You’re a serious rule follower.” Billy balled up the sandwich wrapper and tossed it into the empty bag. “This girl must mean a lot to you for you to consider bending them.”
“Steffi’s my first love. We’re on the verge of something good now, but I’m worried about her behavior. And it could get worse the longer it goes untreated.” Not to mention how complicated any physical relationship would be if she didn’t start dealing with reality. “Being powerless is driving me crazy. If I had the facts, I could convince her to get help.”
“She sounds like the kind who’ll be pissed that you went behind her back. Maybe you should just tell her what you think.”
“What if I’m wrong and just stir up unnecessary stress? I need to know I’m right before I say anything.”
“It’s a dilemma. I’m sorry, Ryan.” Billy stood with his garbage in hand. “You’re in a tough spot.”
“She’s in a tough spot. If I’m tormented thinking of it, I can’t imagine what it’s doing to her. But I’ll figure something out without involving you. Sorry I even put you in that awkward position.” Ryan’s phone rang. “It’s my mom. Please, God, let’s not have another call from the principal’s office.” He motioned for Billy to go on without him. “Talk to you later.”
Ryan greeted his parents before climbing the stairs to change out of his work clothes, his mother’s earlier call weighing on his mind. For the first time during the course of the renovation project, Emmy had ignored Steffi. In essence, she’d ignored his lecture yesterday, too.
He’d been so smug when his daughter had rejected John. He’d actually felt a measure of vindication when that had ruined Val’s vacation plans. That admission made his face tingle with heat. His divorce wasn’t a zero-sum game. When Val lost, Emmy lost, too. There had to be some way they could move on separately, yet be united by mutual respect and love for their daughter.
He approached Emmy’s room and entered without knocking. “How was school today?”
“Boring.” Emmy sat on her bed, drawing on the sketch pad his mom had bought her. She barely spared him a glance. Her tongue poked out of her mouth while she concentrated on her work.
“What are you drawing?” He tipped the pad down to look at her sketch.
“A dress.” Emmy smiled. She thrust the page closer to him, revealing a triangular-shaped dress with a loud pink-and-blue zigzag pattern. The woman she’d drawn wore blue boots and a pink scarf. “I’m going to be a designer. Mommy says I have good taste.”
“You have great taste.” He kissed her head, smiling. Childhood dreams, unburdened by the weight of responsibility, made anything seem possible. If only that time lasted longer. “I think you get that from me,” he teased.
Emmy scanned him from head to toe, frowning at his outfit. “I don’t think so.”
“Ha ha!” He decided this conversation would be as good as any other opening into another discussion about Steffi. “The way you’ve been helping Steffi so much, I thought maybe you might like to be a builder.”
Emmy’s shoulders stiffened as she added some kind of blue fringe to the hem of the outfit she was designing. Her gaze remained on her work. She didn’t so much as huff or sigh, let alone respond.
“It looks like the new family room is almost done, huh?” he prodded. “Just needs some paint. Did you and Memaw pick out a color yet?”
“No. I don’t care what color it is.” She picked through the box of crayons and selected a dark-blue one. “I’m bored with helping.”
Ryan sat on the edge of the mattress. “Emmy, look at me.”
She sighed and stared up into his eyes from beneath her lashes, clutching a crayon until her knuckles turned white. He gently uncurled her fingers and set the crayon on the mattress.