Page 43 of Corrupted Queen

What they are working on, however, remains a mystery. It could be the purple heroin trade. It could be a hirable inventory of bouncy castles and inflatable adventure courses.

If Debbie scents the lie, she doesn’t let on.

“You’re in the lion’s den,” Debbie says, in a tone close to exasperation. “You should be able to get more than that by now.”

“I know. I’m working on it.”

Why didn’t I tell her about the meeting with the Irish? Why don’t I tell her now? I open my mouth to say something but the words won’t come out, and I don’t understand why, but the only reason I would withhold information is to protect Gabriel until I have enough proof that he’s actually flooding the streets with a dangerous super-drug.

“Figure it out, hen. This is your big chance.”

“I will.”

She hums. “There’s something else I wanted to talk to you about.”

I don’t like the edge of uncertainty in her tone.

“What is it?” I ask.

“I saw Gabriel’s most recent interview,” she says. “I know him telling the cameras about his family was probably just a publicity stunt on his end, but it worried me nonetheless. I want to make sure that you’re keeping your priorities straight.”

Given the fact that I have just omitted a crucial piece of information in our conversation, I’m not so sure they are. But I can’t exactly say that, can I?

“My priorities are straight as an arrow,” I say. “Don’t worry about me.”

“I do, hen. I do.”

We end the call and I unfold from the recliner, stretching my arms over my head. Harry is sitting on the floor playing with his stuffed flamingo, bouncing her along to the beat of the music. He looks so happy, so carefree, his cheek dimpled at the corner, his eyes squinted with laughter.

He is my priority. More than anyone or anything else. As long as I am doing right by Harry, I am doing the right thing. Only problem? What the right thing is for Harry is up for debate. Does he need his father, despite the complications? Or would he be better living a simple, Gabriel-free life? I want to unearth the truth, because only in doing so will I be able to answer that question.

I pick Harry up and we dance around the room for a few minutes. I try to put the question out of my mind, filing it away for later. Now I just want to enjoy my time with my son.

After a few minutes I set Harry down again. I flick the music off and settle onto my bed with my laptop to call Clara. She should be finished with dinner now and back in her room at the rehab center—the last one of Gabriel’s that is still open. I am grateful to him for making sure she is taken care of, but the knowledge that in order to get her a spot in the center amidst all the closures, he would have had to have tossed someone to the street, sits heavy in my stomach. If he closes this center, too, I know Gabriel will find a place for Clara, that he won’t leave her out in the cold, but what of all the other recovering addicts?

Clara answers my Skype call, and she looks remarkably better than she did the last time I saw her, which was at her apartment just after she’d defenestrated her boyfriend. Her green eyes are a little brighter, her springy golden curls a little bouncier. There is warmth in her cheeks again, though her skin is still a bit sallow and bags still sink below her eyes.

“Hey, Clara,” I greet, waving. “You look great!”

She smiles, though it is a strange, weak smile, and shifts back against the pillows of her bed. “Thank you. It feels like all I do all day is eat and meditate.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad.”

She shrugs. “It could be worse.”

“Hang on.” I lean over, plucking Harry from the floor and bringing him to my lap. “Someone wants to say hello to you.”

Clara brightens, and for a second she looks like her old self again. “Hey, little guy,” she coos, waving into the camera.

“Awny Clara!” Harry reaches for her, not understanding the concept of a video chat. His fingers smudge the screen and Clara and I both laugh as I wrangle him away.

“You can’t touch Auntie Clara,” I say, kissing his head. “But you can talk to her. Or you can blow her some kisses.”

I lift my palm to my lips and Harry mimics the motion. We blow kisses to Clara, who pretends to catch them and hug them to her chest. Harry reaches for the screen again, mumbling some nonsense that both Clara and I pretend to understand. Over time I watch Clara’s smile slip, and she gets a glassy look in her eyes that worries me.

“Clara? You okay?”

She blinks, nodding. “Yeah. Sorry. I could just really use a drink.”

---