The clock on the microwave read nine-thirty-seven when she stepped inside and shucked off her coat. Her fingers prickled from the returning sensation after having sat numb on that cold curb for so long. She had about an hour before Ash should be home. Just enough time to whip up a sorry-I-absconded-with-your-one-and-only-vehicle-leaving-you-stranded dinner.
Searching through the cabinets, Em realized that her culinary skills were severely lacking. Growing up, her meals had always been made for her, and since moving in with Jay they hadn’t had much variety to work with. She could work miracles with a can of soup and pack of frozen vegetables, though.
Attempting something a bit more substantial, she pulled out the pork chops thawing in the fridge and read the back of the package. It didn’t seem too complicated. Ten minutes later, they were in the oven and all she had left to do was wait.
When she’d come inside, she hadn’t bothered to turn on any other lights along the way. The living room was bathed in darkness, but a faint blinking glow pulsed in the corner. Ashlyn’s laptop. Em knew that search engines could be dangerous things. Jay had warned her to stay away from them when it came to her uncle. But why? So she wouldn’t have to feel bad? Feel guilty? She should feel guilty. She deserved to feel bad.
She had been right there, less than twenty feet away from doing the right thing. But she hadn’t gone a single one. Hell, she hadn’t even opened the car door. She’d just sat there, staring at the building for far too long. Part of her expected someone to question her, ask her if she needed something, why she was there. Then she’d have no choice. She’d have to tell them everything. But they didn’t. She watched people come and go from that building—some in uniform, some not—for over an hour. Not one of them even looked at her twice. Excuses. It was all just excuses. The truth was she had no one to blame for her failures—and their consequences—but herself.
Firing up the computer, Em pulled up a search menu and typed in her uncle’s name and hometown. With an unsteady finger, she pressed Enter and watched the screen fill with search results. The first one included an image. She hovered for a moment and then click on it before she could talk herself out of it.
It was a mug shot. Not exactly his finest hour, but he didn’t look like some kind of terrorist. He looked exactly as she remembered him. The man who had come to her elementary school concerts, watched her play soccer and little league, helped her with her homework. He had lost some weight—not that he couldn’t afford to—and his receding hairline had begun to thin out. The graying around his temples would have made most men look old, but somehow it just managed to make him look almost distinguished. She imagined it probably would have served him well at work.
The orange jumpsuit he wore didn’t have quite the effect a business suit might have, but still, he looked . . . like a man. And that’s what he was. Flesh and bone. And behind bars. So, what did she have to fear from him? Why was the knowledge that he was locked up and she was unlikely to ever see him again not enough? Why did she continue to allow that man, glowering at her from the pixelly image on the computer screen, to maintain such a hold over her?
He had never been fond of confrontation. When Jay had arrived to take her away, he hadn’t even tried to stop her. Not really. And she knew he wouldn’t. It was why he chose young girls to prey on. They weren’t likely to fight back. But she wasn’t that scared little girl anymore. There were no more excuses. She was what she was. Maybe being a coward was hereditary.
Whether he had made her that way, or she was always destined to be one, there was no denying the fact. She would always surrender to that voice telling her she couldn’t do it, that she wasn’t strong enough, brave enough. She was a useless coward and there was no escaping it. There was no use dreaming about a better version of herself. No use allowing Jay to fill her head with pretty little lies. She was stuck with herself, just the way she was.
A sharp buzz filled the quiet of the house, announcing that dinner was ready. Em powered down the laptop and set it back on the end table where she’d found it. Surprisingly, the meat actually smelled good, but the thought of eating rolled Em’s stomach. Setting it on a plate with a side of steamed vegetables, she stuck it in the microwave and jotted down a note for Ash, explaining that it was there, that she was sorry for taking off, and that she had gone to bed.
Dragging herself down the hallway, she pulled on a pair of pale blue sweats and a tee shirt before crawling into bed just as the front door opened. Voices filled the house and Em pulled a pillow over her head. She’d deal with the fallout tomorrow. Maybe.