Before Veronica got out of the car, there was a slightly awkward moment where I didn’t know how we should say goodbye. This dating thing is weird, and we had an audience in the back seat making it weirder.
She solved the problem for me by leaning across the center console, bunching up the front of my T-shirt, and pulling me to her for a hard, fast kiss. Janelle snickered in the back, but I found myself pleased with her initiative even as I was embarrassed Janelle saw it. The only instances of PDA I’ve ever had in my adult life have been brotherly hugs with my sister, so I’m sure there’s a learning curve.
Janelle hopped in the front seat, and we took off to the police station. We were there for almost two hours while Janelle went over her story with the detectives a few times as they pinned her down on important details to use against Shep. I was so proud of her strength, resilience, and determination. I also brought in the custody paperwork and offered the data on my phone to show them the repetitive texts from my mom and Shep demanding more money or they’d fight for custody.
At the end, the detective said he had not only enough to charge Shep with attempted kidnapping in addition to the assault charges for hitting Veronica, but he could also levy additional charges against both Shep and my mom for extortion. He was considering accessory charges to the attempted kidnapping against my mom and wanted to know how Janelle and I felt about it.
We told him to do what he had to do, and we washed our hands of it. He said he’d notify us of the charges and what happens next.
In the car, Janelle looked at me and said, “I hereby vow we don’t think about her or Shep again.”
I smiled at her.
She held out a pinky and said, “Pinky promise.”
I did this a lot with her when she was younger, and while I knew it would be impossible to not think of our mother again—because she was our mother and there was still a level of love there for the times when she was a good mom—I looped my pinky with hers, anyway. “I promise.”
Now with Janelle ensconced safely at the bookstore with Veronica, Shep in jail, and no real worry about my mom as she’s never been a physical threat, I start to get in game mode as I drive to the arena.
I crank up some Soundgarden and let the music flow through me. I put Veronica out of my mind, along with Janelle, my mom, Shep, and all those worries. I think about tonight’s opponent—the Seattle Storm—and by the time I’m approaching the players’ parking lot, I’m fully immersed in my job and what I need to do out there to help my team achieve victory.
It’s the first time I recall thinking about “my team” in a proprietary way, and I’m sure Baden would say that means I’m making great social progress.
As I flip on my blinker to cut left into the parking lot, I notice a gaggle of reporters at the entrance, which is blocked by a swinging gate and manned by security. It’s odd, as they don’t usually congregate like this before an ordinary regular season game, and they seem to get excited when they see my car. My windows are up, but I can hear them yelling things such as “your sister” and “criminal charges.”
“Shit,” I mutter as the security guard swings open the gate for me. I pull into my usual spot and the gate is closed, keeping the reporters back. But as I exit my car, they start shouting questions to me in particular.
“Riggs… Riggs… do you have any comment about the latest statement from your mother?”
“Riggs, can you tell us more about this custody battle over your sister?”
And, my favorite…
“Riggs, are you guilty of kidnapping your younger sister?”
“Goddamn it.” I grab my duffel and slam the car door, intending to walk directly to the building.
But another reporter’s comment stops me. “Riggs, your mother is making some pretty serious accusations against you. Will there be police involvement?”
That stops me in my tracks, because I assumed my mom might be running her mouth about Janelle living with me.
I march over to the reporters, not sure who asked it. Cameras click and video cameras are poised my way. “What is my mother saying?” I ask, trying to sound level and calm.
A man steps forward and holds out a mic. “She’s saying that you stabbed your stepfather, almost killing him, and that you were arrested. We can’t find any record of it. Care to comment?”
Nor would they find a record. All information regarding my involvement was expunged when they determined I acted in self-defense. Additionally, when Bruce was charged for assault on my mom, me, and Janelle, they redacted our names because Janelle and I were minors. Their information is coming straight from my mother’s mouth, and only hers.