Melissa
After her father dropped her off and she went up to her apartment, Melissa felt woozy. And nauseated.
She’d only been inside the door a minute when she suddenly felt very ill. She ran into the bathroom, dropped to her knees in front of the toilet. Made it just in time.
She cleaned up and peered at herself in the mirror. Her hair was dirty and stringy, and there were bags under eyes. She’d hardly slept in the last couple of days. More than her father, but not much.
Melissa rested her hand on the top of her very pregnant belly, rubbed it, felt something move around beneath it. Then she felt her body begin to shake, her eyes begin to moisten. All the crying she’d done in the last few days, she couldn’t believe she had any more tears in her, but they just kept on coming.
She wanted to crawl into bed and never wake up. Just get under the covers, pull them over her head, and stay that way forever. She didn’t want to ever have to face the world again.
It was all so terrible.
She couldn’t stop thinking about her mother, about her father, about Lester, about the baby, about how her life had spiraled totally out of control in the last year. How it didn’t look to her like it was going to get any better.
She thought about the press conference. About how strongly her father had felt she should not be a part of it.
“Don’t do this,” he’d told her. “Don’t put yourself through it. It’s not necessary. I can handle it.”
“No, I should do it.”
“Melissa, I’m telling you-”
“No, Dad, I have to do it. You can’t stop me.”
She recalled how he’d gripped her arm, how it almost hurt. How he’d looked into her eyes. “I’m telling you, it would be a mistake.”
“If I don’t do it,” she’d said, “people will think I don’t care.”
And so, reluctantly, he had relented. But he was very firm with her. “Let me do the talking. I don’t want you saying anything, you understand? You can cry all you want, but you’re not going to say one word.”
So she hadn’t. She wasn’t sure she could have, anyway. Just as he’d guessed, she cried. And the tears were genuine. She hadn’t been able to stop. She was so incredibly sad. And not just sad.
She was scared.
She knew her father loved her very much. She believed that in her heart. But it didn’t give her comfort. Not now.
He’d told her what to say. He’d rehearsed it with her.
“Your mother went shopping and that’s all we know,” he’d said. “She went off like she always did. Anything could have happened. Maybe she ran off to be with another man, or-”
“Mom would never do that,” Melissa had said, sniffing, trying to hold back the tears long enough for her father to drill into her what her story was going to be when the police talked to her. Because the police were going to want to talk to her, she could be sure of that.
“-or maybe that guy who’s been going around doing carjackings, maybe he did this. It could have been any number of things. The world is full of sick people. The police will have all sorts of theories, and if they never solve it, they never solve it.”
“Okay.”
“The main thing is, you just don’t know. You have no idea. Are we clear on that?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
She crawled into the bed, lay on her side, rested her head on the pillow. She grabbed a couple of tissues from the box on her bedside table and dabbed her eyes.
“I can’t do this,” she said to herself.
What was it her mother used to tell her?
“You have to live your life like someone’s watching you all the time. Behave in a way that you will never be ashamed.”
She turned to other side, then back. It was so hard to get comfortable because of the baby. Finally, she threw off the covers and put her feet on the floor, sat there on the edge of the bed with her head in her hands.
“I can’t do this,” she said again. “I have to do what’s right. No matter who it hurts.”
She wondered, should she call a lawyer? But she didn’t know any lawyers. She didn’t want to pick one at random out of the phone book. And was there really any point? If her plan was to tell the truth, did she really need one?
Melissa decided to take a shower first, make herself presentable. Before she stepped under the water, she phoned for a taxi. Asked for it to be out front in an hour.
She was standing on the curb when the yellow car came around the corner. When she got in, the driver asked where she’d like to go.
“The police station,” she said.
“Okeydoke,” he said, then laughed. “I was thinking maybe you were going to say the hospital.”
“I got another couple of months to go,” she told him. “I’m not having a baby in your cab.”
“Good to know,” he said, and put the car in drive.
She didn’t say anything the rest of the way. Mostly, she just thought. About how angry her father was going to be with her.