"Okay," Addy began an hour or so later, shuffling documents back into their designated folder, "is that everything?"
Helen let her fingers dance across a nearby newspaper clipping and blew out a heavy breath. "Yeah, it's all copied." They'd made two copies of everything—one for Helen and Addy, and another for Thomason. "Now we just have to bring it to the police station."
And that was the next issue. "It's across town," Helen continued, knowing Addy was aware.
Sure enough, her best friend looked up from the kitchen table's surface with a conflicted frown. "I know; I can drop it all off and then come back and catch you up?" That, at this point, was the only option. It had started raining a short while ago, and the walk itself would take an hour or two—no one needed to be out in the cold, wet weather for that long.
"Or, um," Helen shifted in her seat, clearing her throat before trying again. "Uh, you could drive, and I could go with you."
Addy's stared at her blankly for several beats, before her mind registered Helen's words and her eyes widened considerably. "Nell, are you sure? We haven't tried since . . ." since it had ended with Helen practically throwing herself out of the car and vomiting onto the street.
"I'm not totally sure," Helen admitted, fiddling with her fingernails in her lap, "but I'd like to try, if you'd let me."
"Of course I'll let you!" Addy blurted, grimacing when she realized her volume. "Sorry, but yes, I'd love to try again." Helen was touched by the woman's eagerness—she'd always known that Addy had wanted Helen to ride with her, and she was also aware of the woman's guilt when it hadn't worked out.
"I'm sorry," she'd apologized once Helen was settled on the curb and her trembling had stopped, "I should've gone slower."
"Great," Helen had a feeling her smile looked more like a grimace, but she still tried nonetheless. "Just . . . try not to go too fast, please?"
Addy nodded fervently. "Absolutely—anything you want. Are you ready now?"
I don't think I'll ever be ready, Helen mused mentally, but I might as well give it a shot.
Gulping audibly, Helen stood on shaky legs, wiping her suddenly-sweaty palms on her jeans and watching as Addy gathered up the folders intended for the police and Thomason.
"Alright," Addy announced once she'd slung her purse over her shoulder as well, "let's hit it." Seeming to realize what she'd said, she paused and shot Helen and apologetic look. "Poor word choice," she amended when she saw Helen's wide, scared eyes. "We won't hit anything, I promise. Let's head out."
Better, I guess.
Following numbly as the other woman led them out of Pat's house, Helen locked the front door with stiff fingers, then turned to find Addy standing by the driver's side of her navy-blue sedan. It had been a gift from Isaiah several years ago, and was admittedly a very nice car, but it wasn't Pat's SUV.
Helen's breaths turned choppy as she approached the passenger side, her knees nearly buckling several times before she came to a stop, her hand hovering over the handle.
What had Anderson told her?
"Think, realistically, about what will happen, and ask yourself some questions. First: Are you with someone you trust?"
This was Addy, so yes. Cecily would never be replaced, but Addy was still a sister to Helen, and she thanked God every day for giving her someone so wonderful as a best friend.
"Second: Would that person ever put you in danger willingly?"
No. Addy had always ensured Helen's safety; even though Helen had never been able to drive with the woman, there were many times in which Addy would walk with Helen, just to make sure Helen got to her location safely.
"Third: Has he or she ever been in an accident before? Was it their fault? What are the chances that they will get into an accident with you in the car?"
Addy had been rear-ended before, but that wasn't her fault, and it had been before she'd even met Helen. Car accidents, although somewhat common, didn't affect everyone. Some people went their whole lives without getting into a car accident; there was only a small chance that something would happen while she and Addy were in the car.
"Finally, remember your breathing. Slow, calm breaths, and remind yourself of these things. You are with someone you trust, and someone who will do anything to make sure you're comfortable; if you have a problem, tell them. They won't push you."
Right. Addy was a bit headstrong and very sassy, but she would never purposely make Helen uncomfortable.
Chewing on the inside of her cheek, Helen peeked up to find Addy still outside the car, watching Helen cautiously, as though she would run at any moment. "You won't go too fast?" Helen's voice was barely a croak, and she wondered idly when her throat had become so dry.
Addy shook her head vehemently. "No, I'll keep myself in check, I promise. And if you feel like I'm going too fast, just tell me, alright? I want you to feel comfortable."
So, it's not Pat, but it is Addy. Addy loves you too; she won't hurt you.
Plus, just like Pat, Addy had always been there for Helen; the other woman would never put Helen in danger on purpose.
"Okay," she breathed. "Okay." Unclenching her fingers, Helen grasped onto the door handle and pulled it open, taking in a few more, steadying streams of air before dropping into the passenger seat.
So far, so good, she reassured herself as she closed the door. You're doing fine.
Forcing her fingers to cooperate, Helen released the grip she had on the door's interior handle and buckled herself in, barely aware of Addy as the other woman plopped into the driver's seat.
"You good?" Addy asked, and Helen practically jumped out of her skin.
She licked her lips, tried to ignore the frantic beating of her heart, and breathed, "Yeah, I think so."
Addy's hand brushed against Helen's shoulder, and she forced her eyes up to meet the other woman's gaze. "Nell," Addy murmured, "how can I make this easier? Should I talk?"
Truthfully, Helen had no idea. There was no way to recreate the safety she felt with Patterson—a comfort that had been present within the first ten minutes of meeting the man—but she tried to think of what Pat had always done when she'd first started riding with him.
For the first few weeks, he'd always greeted her with a corny joke or pun, and then chattered aimlessly about his past clients or overweight cat. He had been (and still was) the best storyteller she knew; between his deep, rumbling voice and the humor that lined his words, Pat had sucked her into his tales and left her unable to focus on the terrifying fact that she had been in a vehicle for the first time in years.
It might not work, her mind whispered, but maybe . . .?
"Just talk, please," she begged Addy finally, squeaking when the car's engine came to life. "T-tell me a story, about anything."
"Okay," Addy, to her credit, managed to keep her voice relatively even, with only a light underlayer of Oh, shit, what if this doesn't work? "So, I didn't tell you, but I was training a new girl at the salon yesterday," she paused and slid the transmission into Reverse, and Helen shut her eyes.
"Mhmm," even the hum of acknowledgement was strained.
"Anyway," Addy continued quickly, realizing her mistake, "she showed up fifteen minutes late to her shift, so I thought 'oh boy, here we go,' you know?" The car started moving backwards, and Helen's fingers clamped tightly around the leather seat she was settled on. "So, when she finally gets there, I can already tell that it's going to end poorly, cause she's young and was not wearing the uniform; nonetheless, I head over, introduce myself, and say, 'In the future, please make sure to arrive on time or a few minutes earlier, with your uniform on and ready to go.' And do you know what she said to me?"
Thankful for the distraction, Helen wheezed, "No, what?" You're fine, you're fine, you're fine—
"She goes, 'sorry, I didn't really want to get out of bed today.' Like, excuse you? I don't ever want to get out of bed, but I sure as hell show up to my shifts on time!" They were out of the driveway, Helen knew; even with her eyes closed, she felt the car come to a stop and heard the transmission again as Addy shifted it to Drive.
"How dare she," her voice was barely a squeak, but Addy didn't acknowledge it.
"I know!" She shrieked in indignation, her tone so familiar that Helen felt her grip on the leather loosen slightly.
Just Addy, she reminded herself. It's just Addy, and she's going slow—you're fine.
The car started moving, crawling forward so slowly that Helen could hardly feel the motion. "I proceeded to explain that we didn't have to hire a new employee, and that we would be no worse for wear if she was fired. And guess what she had the nerve to say to me?!"
"'Screw off'?" Helen guessed weakly, inwardly chanting You're fine, you're not going to die, you're fine, you're not going to die.
"No! Even worse! She goes, 'I take it that you're replaceable too, huh?' I mean, are you kidding me? Honey, I practically own this salon! Yvette would crumble without me there, and everybody knows that!"
Helen managed a meek chuckle. "Is that what you told the newbie?"
"More or less, though I wish I had been able to cuss. She didn't even seem that bothered, which only made me angrier, you know? It is one thing to come late to your first shift, not even wearing the uniform; it is another thing entirely to refuse to be intimidated by the senior worker. What's the point of being the newbie if you're not scared shitless at one point, right?"
"Totally pointless," Helen agreed, the words leaving her in a whoosh of air when she realized the car was picking up speed. "Makes no sense."
"My thoughts exactly! But she apparently missed that lesson in 'how to be a brat' school; all she did was say, 'I'd like to speak with my actual boss, because I know it's not you.' So, I did what any decent, upset worker would do, and I told her, 'alright, just wait here.'"
"And then you went and told Yvette that you'd leave if she didn't fire the good-for-nothing, horrible excuse of a worker?" Helen predicted, her heart beginning to slow as she forced herself to understand that, You're not dead. You're with Addy, and you're safe.
"You know me so well." Addy muttered with awe, before raising her voice and continuing, "Yeah, pretty much. Yvette told me she wasn't even that surprised. 'I didn't expect much from her,' she said; apparently she promised a friend that she would get the daughter a job, but the girl would have to actually do well."
"Was she fired, then?"
Addy huffed angrily, and Helen cracked a single eye open to spy the woman frowning ferociously at the road ahead.
But both her hands are on the wheel, Helen noted, her shoulders slumping with relief, and her head is turned towards the road, and she's not swerving, and she's going the speed limit.
And she wasn't laughing. Those loud, booming laughs as the car had swerved and then left the pavement, before flipping and flipping and then the burning and screaming and Cecily, Cecily, Cecily—
"Nell," Addy's voice was hurried, and Helen's eyes swiveled to her friend, to find the woman's own gaze frantically darting between Helen and the road. Once she caught Helen's stare, Addy turned her attention back to driving and said, "Anyway, she wasn't fired, but Yvette had me write her up, and then had a nice long chat with her; we'll see how it goes on her next shift, I guess."
Sucking an uneven breath, Helen nodded, turning her gaze down to the floormat so she didn't have to look at the trees as they whipped by. "Young . . ." there was a rock of emotion in her throat, and she cleared it twice before trying again. "Younger people aren't, um, mature enough sometimes. She might need to grow up a bit more."
"You're telling me," Addy snorted. "I don't understand how you got so lucky with Ivan. Isn't he in college? This girl is too, but she's not anything like him."
"He's, uh, a . . . junior. Yeah, he's a junior in college. And their personalities seem pre-pretty different. Um. I-Ivan's a good kid—he really tries."
"Ask if he has a sister," Addy joked, and Helen released a breathy laugh that sounded more like a choked gasp.
"Right, yeah, sure."
"Did I tell you about Isaiah's mother?" Came the abrupt question, and Helen grasped onto it like a lifeline.
You. Are. Fine. She insisted mentally, just as they rode over a bump. Barely containing a whimper, she kept her wide eyes on the floor as she squeaked out, "No, what happened?"
Isaiah's mother, a kind, introverted woman whose husband had passed away from cancer when Isaiah was only a toddler, had always babied Isaiah; even though the woman was quiet, she had made it very clear (according to Addy) that she would not stand idly by if Addy did anything to harm her only child.
"Well, she actually called me the other day and confessed that she was truly happy for us, and that she looked forward to welcoming me into her family."
Helen blinked. While it was true that Isaiah's mom had never been outright frosty or cruel to Addy, the older woman hadn't outright bestowed her blessing upon the couple, either. Helen knew that such words meant a lot to Addy, since she was estranged from her own parents (a pair of lawyers who'd always pressured her to be more than a "cheap hairdresser") and ached for a maternal presence. "Did you bribe her?" Helen couldn't help but tease, sneaking a glance sideways to find Addy's lips curled into a small smile.
"Surprisingly, no. We had a lengthy talk, and I totally understand now that she was just being like any good mother; she wanted to make sure her baby boy was with someone he loved, and who loved him too."
"I'm really happy for you, Addy," Helen confessed honestly. "You and Isaiah are perfect for each other."
"We are, aren't we?" Addy chuckled, before sobering and saying, "I appreciate that, Nell, especially coming from you."
Helen smiled, but didn't move her head from where it was angled to face her knees. "Cause I'm your best friend and I am the wisest." She agreed, and then asked, "Are we there yet?" She felt . . . certainly not as relaxed as she was when she was with Pat in his car, but she didn't feel like she was about to spiral into a panic attack, and she was no longer gripping the leather seat as though it was the only thing keeping her sane—those victories had to count for something, right?
"Nearly," Addy soothed instantly. "A few more minutes, I think; thankfully, traffic's pretty light right now."
"Thankfully," Helen muttered. The car shifted as Addy took a sharp turn, and Helen sucked in a sharp breath, her eyes flying closed and her mantra of You're fine, you're fine, starting over again.
"Sorry!" Addy apologized, her voice tinny with poorly-hidden panic. "Sorry. I forgot about that curb." There was a brief pause, no doubt as she scoured for a subject change, before she settled on, "Do you know who we're supposed to talk to when we get to the station? I know you mentioned that Pat knew the detective in charge."
"Mhmm," Helen nodded tightly. "Buckley. His name's Buckley. He seemed nice."
"Right, so we'll ask for Buckley, then."
"And we'll give him the files," Helen tacked on, seeking to say anything so long as it kept her from falling back into her own dangerous thoughts and memories. "And we'll tell him what we know."
"And he'll have to listen," Addy declared, her tone firm.
"We can hope."
"No, he'll have to listen," her friend repeated adamantly. "This is important." Her tone became lighter when she announced, "There it is!"
The car began to slow, and Helen tried in vain to unfurl her tightly-curled shoulders.
See? She told herself. You're fine, so you can relax.
It was hard, though. Even as the car came to a stop and Helen opened her eyes and straightened in her seat, she had to suck in a few steadying breaths and try to calm her racing heart.
You're fine.
Right. She was. It wasn't exactly a stress-free drive, but she couldn't stop a swell of delight from forming in her stomach when she realized that she had done it.
Addy seemed to come to the same conclusion, if her awed murmur of, "Holy shit, Nell," was any indication.
Helen met her best friend's wide-eyed gaze with a matching look. "Did I do it?"
Her lips twisting into a wide, toothy grin, Addy nodded eagerly. "You did it! I'm so freaking proud of you, Nell!"
Helen slapped a hand over her mouth to smother her own giant grin, tears coming to her eyes. "I can't believe it," she whispered. "I can't . . . oh my goodness, Addy. Wow." She slumped back into the seat, watching the other woman through blurry eyes. "Thank you for being so patient with me. I love you, you know?"
Addy's smile softened, and she reached a hand across the console to squeeze Helen's shoulder encouragingly. "Thank you for giving me another chance, and I love you too. Even with these boys in our lives, don't ever forget that it's you and me forever, okay?"
Bringing up her own hand to grab Addy's, Helen returned the woman's squeeze. "You and me forever, I remember." It was what they had said back in college, when they were both trying to find a path while still being haunted by their familial situations. They were hurting in different ways, perhaps, but she and Addy would always have a sisterly connection; Helen knew, without a doubt, that she was insanely lucky to have the woman as her best friend.
"Now let's go kick some police butt, shall we?" Addy asked, releasing Helen before practically kicking open her door and clambering out of the car.
Helen laughed. "Of course, your highness." She grabbed the folder from the backseat and followed Addy, her knees still trembling and her heart still pounding, but a bubble of pride in her gut.
Not bad, Helena. Not bad.
Now, with one giant hurdle cleared, it was time for the next one.
Here's hoping this doesn't go too poorly.