Broken Wings (Broken Wings 1)

“I didn’t know what to do.”

“With your past record, I would have thought you would,” he said dryly. “Don’t you realize how serious this situation is? You were on probation.”

I tried to swallow, but couldn’t. All I could do was nod.

“She’s not bluffing. They could have you tried as an adult. You’ll go to a hard penitentiary. And for years!” he emphasized.

“Was my mother called yet?”

“Your mother can’t save you now,” he muttered. “This man, Keefer Dawson, talked you into participating in this robbery, didn’t he?”

“He didn’t talk me into it.”

“He talked you into it,” Mr. Meriweather insisted. “You didn’t have any idea he would have a gun?” he said, seemingly as a question, but more as an answer he wanted to shove down my throat.

“Yes, I did. I saw it before, but he told me there were no bullets in it.”

“That would make no difference. How would anyone being held up know there were no bullets in it, and how do you know for certain that there were no bullets in it?”

“He told me,” I said.

“Then you did not know for certain,” he concluded. “You see how complicated this can be and how much trouble you can be in?”

I nodded.

“All right. Just sit here and don’t—don’t—ever talk to anyone about this without my being present.”

He got up and left the room. To me it felt like nearly an hour had gone by before the door was opened again. This time it was Mother darling. She just

stood there for a few moments and looked in at me. I thought she was going to back up and close the door. Finally she entered. I saw her eyes were bloodshot from crying. She sucked in her breath and sat.

“There were many times,” she began, “when I thought my father was right. I didn’t know why it should be, but evil, like some pollution, seeped into me and then into you. That was a big reason why I wanted to leave home. I wanted to get away from his eyes, from his way of lookin‘ at us, remindin’ me all the time of the mistakes I had made.”

“Me, especially,” I said.

She stared.

“Yeah, I suppose I always thought of you that way, Robin. I’m not denyin‘ it. It’s no secret I never intended to be pregnant, but I really believed that somehow, some way, because of my music or through it, I’d make things right. I guess I never got that across to you, no matter how many times I tried gettin’ you to see it.”

“It’s your career, not mine,” I snapped back at her. “You’re the star, Mother darling.”

She shook her head.

“I don’t blame you for hatin‘ me, I guess.” She smiled. “Remember that song I wrote years ago: ’I want to love you but I can’t help hatin‘ myself for wantin’ that‘. ”

“I’m not the reason for a song, Mother darling. I’m a person,” I told her.

She nodded.

“Yep, I guess, but what sort of a person have you become? I’ll take as much blame as goes around, of course, but that’s not goin‘ to help us much now.”

She turned and looked at me.

“Mr. Meriweather says Keefer Dawson is tellin‘ the district attorney that he talked you into this, that you didn’t know he was goin’ to have a real gun.”

“It’s not true!”

“It’s somethin‘ that will help you, Robin. Mr. Meriweather sent me in here to convince you not to contradict Keefer. Keefer should do this. He had no business bringin’ you into it.”