Page 96 of Tangled Up

“If you don’t tell me, I’m going to have to think it was something illegal.”

“Oh, of course, you’d think that. It’s all everybody thinks of me.”

“Okay, then tell me what kept you away from your children overnight.”

She inhales deeply and blows out the breath. “A girl at the tryouts said I was pretty enough to get a job dancing with her. She said I could make three thousand dollars in one night.”

“Tryouts for what?”

“They were shooting this TV movie in Gulf Breeze. I heard even extras that don’t speak still get as much as fifty dollars a day, and that’s even if you’re only there a few hours.”

She blinks her big brown eyes at me, and my brow furrows. “What TV movie?”

“It was supposed to be about this serial killer, and they wanted extras for a scene in a strip club.”

“They held a casting call in Cantonment for a movie about a serial killer to be filmed in Gulf Breeze?” I try to follow her twisted story while keeping the skepticism out of my voice, but it’s hard.

“You’re just like everybody else. If I say something, nobody believes me. The doctors don’t believe me, Preston’s mama don’t believe me. It’s like now I’m crazy, so everything I say is a lie.”

I look out the window into the darkness. It’s true, I’m suspicious of her story. None of what she’s saying was in the police report. The only reason she gave for being gone was that she was looking for a job. Police picked her up asleep on a bench in a seedy part of downtown Pensacola.

Still, I know what she’s saying about the “crazy” part is true. Bipolar patients are often treated with skepticism—or worse, completely ignored—by their doctors, particularly young women.

Health care providers rely on research and the reports of caretakers to decide on medications, dosages, even basic human rights like whether to have children—or to have them taken away.

When I entered this field, I wanted to be different. I wanted to try listening to them. I wanted to try believing them.

Now I’m given this test.

Taking a deep breath, I change my approach. “You’re right, I didn’t believe you, but I’m going to listen to you now. You went on an open casting call for a TV movie, and you met a girl there. Then what?”

“She said I could go with her and dance for a few hours and make three thousand bucks.” She glances from me to the road. “I’ve got a decent figure. I worked at Hooters when I was in school.”

“But what about your children?”

Her lip goes between her teeth, and she looks worried. “I lost track of time.”

“You said you got lost.”

“That came later.” Her chin falls, and she looks up at the road again. “I went with her, but it wasn’t until later we were supposed to be at this club, Patches.”

“The strip club is calledPatches?”

She nods fast. “It had a sign out front that says ‘Ten pretty girls and two ugly ones.’” She bursts into a cackle, but I’m not smiling. “I was one of the pretty ones. Anyways, we were all set to dance, but something went wrong. She said we had to go with her boyfriend to this place. She said he’d double-booked her or something. She was also an escort.”

Lifting my cuffed hands, I rub my forehead, swallowing a groan. “Prostitution is illegal—”

“I didn’t!” Her eyebrows shoot up. “I told her I don’t do that. She said I didn’t have to do anything. But I had to go with them because I didn’t have any other ride and we was all the way almost to Alabama. I was just trying to get back to the bus stop.”

“You were picked up sleeping on a park bench downtown.”

Her eyes drop, and her hands tighten on the steering wheel. “A whole lot of other stuff happened that night, but I didn’t do nothing wrong. I was trying to get back to my kids. I thought I could make some good money and maybe we could have some nice things for a little while.” Her voice breaks, and she starts to cry. “I wasn’t trying to hurt them. I’d never hurt them. I love them.”

The car goes faster, and my stomach knots. I inhale slowly, exhaling another prayer. “I believe you.”

She sniffs several times and looks over at me. “You do?”

“I believe you love your children. I believe you would never intentionally hurt them.” I gently take the gloves off. “The problem is, youdidleave them alone for more than 24 hours. That’s neglect. Then you violated your furlough. That makes you subject to prosecution, and then you sent me threatening messages—”

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