“You two either head home with Officer Belau,” I tell them, “or start walking.”
They choose to walk. Big surprise.
Once they’re gone, I look at Piper’s closed door, then at Belau. “She’s not even mine, and I swear she’s going to be the death of me.”
“I hear you.” He heads back outside. “Good luck.”
“Later.”
I close the doors to the house and pace the living room to get my temper under control. To get my thoughts right. I drop to a seat on the edge of the sectional sofa and rub my face with both hands. “Fuck.”
I didn’t handle that right, but for the life of me, I don’t know how else to respond. I feel Piper slipping away from me, putting up walls, and this situation certainly didn’t help.
I’m not surprised to find her home alone. Karen works as a mortgage broker in Santa Barbara, and between her commute, her long days, and her frequent dates, this is a constant problem.
I’m in an impossible position here. I have no legal right to tell Piper or Karen what to do. Piper’s at an age where it wouldn’t be considered child endangerment for Karen to leave her alone. But without adult supervision, Piper’s on a direct path to juvie, teenage motherhood, or Planned Parenthood.
I feel the weight of failure on my shoulders, and I have the nearly irresistible urge to call Chloe and ask her what to do. In the end, I might, but I want to at least try to fix it myself first.
I drag myself down the hallway and knock on her door. “Piper, let’s talk.”
“No. Go away.” Her voice is clogged with tears. “Just leave me alone.”
The defeat is so heavy, I rest my back against the wall, slide to my ass, and rest my arms on my bent knees. With my head back, I close my eyes and, for some inexplicable reason, the sight of Chloe standing up on stage tonight fills my mind.
How did she touch those women so easily? How did she get them to listen and follow? Granted, they weren’t teenagers, but there had to be some similarity—they’re all women. Yet despite how many I know, they still confuse the hell out of me.
Chloe, KT, and Laiyla have a running almost joke about angels. Even though they laugh about it, there’s definitely a reverence to the topic. I’ve never given it much thought, but I’m definitely looking under every rock for something to help me out here, so I try adapting the prayer Chloe used earlier tonight in hopes it might fit this situation.
Archangel Michael—
No. This already feels totally idiotic. I’ve just got to do it my way.
Dude, help a brother out. I’ve got no freaking idea how to fix this, and she’s so damned important to me.
My mind drifts back to Chloe talking to herself as I came to her boat yesterday evening. She does that a lot—talks to herself, prays out loud—so I didn’t think anything of it, but now her words whisper in my head.
“Healing is brought about through love and vulnerability.”
I love Piper enough to do anything for her, but…vulnerability? I’m a guy. Hell, I’m a cop. I’m not even sure what vulnerability would look like. But nothing else has worked with this kid. I think about things from Piper’s perspective, and I wonder why it took me so damn long to do this.
“Piper,” I say, my voice surprisingly level and compassionate.
I take a deep breath and feel some walls slide down. I didn’t even know I had them up. It’s just how I’ve always been. Am I going soft as I get older? Or is there more to Chloe’s work than meets the eye?
“I know how hard this move has been on you. And I know you miss your dad. I miss him too. Every day.” I pause and lean my head back against the wall, looking at the ceiling. “I know I sometimes come down on you pretty hard, but honey, when you get that close to real danger, it scares the shit out of me.”
I exhale and settle in for a long wait. I’m not leaving until Karen comes home or I take Piper to school tomorrow.
“I never knew how hard it would be to keep that promise I made your dad.”
The door opens, and Piper’s standing there, face red and wet, making her look ten instead of fifteen.
“Great,” she says with a dash of attitude but no anger. “Now you’re calling me high maintenance?” She leans her shoulder against the door. “You’re the one who acts like a girl.” She imitates a high-pitched whiny voice. “Piper, talk to me. Piper, why aren’t you texting me back? Piper, what are you doing this weekend, want to hang out?”
My laughter comes out of nowhere, a short burst of relief and humor. A tired smile lifts her mouth, allowing the rest of my tension to fade and happiness to push in.
Piper mirrors my position on the other side of the hall and wraps her arms around her legs, resting her chin on her knees. We remain silent for a few long, relaxing minutes.