Free Girl of Rage by Charles Sheehan-Miles Page B

shoulder toward the motel. An ambulance had arrived at the hotel, and a young woman was being led to it by two female police officers. She had a black eye.
    The no-longer-bored police officer was handcuffed and being led by two of his fellow officers to a car. Andrea gave a grim, satisfied smile and stepped onto the bus.
    Adelina. May 2. 6:55 am Pacific
    “We have to get going, Jessica. Let’s get you together, and then you can sleep again in the car, okay?”
    Adelina felt her eyes water with frustration as she finally gave in and physically pulled Jessica up, pulling her legs forward until they dangled off the edge of the bed.
    “Mmmmm, I’m okay,” Jessica mumbled.
    The exhaustion, if anything, was worse now than it had been the first few days after they’d arrived at the retreat. Sister Kiara had been clear about that. Ten to twenty days where Jessica would do very little other than sleep or eat. Six months where she would seem listless. Increased risk of heart trouble, strokes or brain aneurisms because of damage to the blood vessels.
    Most meth addicts relapse, Adelina. She’ll need a great deal of care and close attention.
    Right now Jessica just sagged in place. At least she didn’t curl up again. The sun would be up shortly, and she wanted to be out of here within the next few minutes. She couldn’t trust that the manager of the campsite would keep his promise. He might realize he had fugitives on the property. He might call the police figuring a reward might be in the offing. He might do anything , and she wasn’t willing to take a chance.
    At the same time, she wasn’t taking her daughter out looking like this. Jessica’s face was smudged with what looked like dirt. Her t-shirt was rumpled and dirty, which was probably fine—she was a teenager after all—but her hair was also a snake’s nest of tangles.
    “Hold still,” Adelina said. And in the dim light of the cabin in the northern California forest, she began to brush her daughters hair.
    “It’s okay … stop…” Jessica said, pushing Adelina’s hand and the brush away.
    “Hush,” Adelina responded. She brought the brush back up and began to brush. Jessica’s hair had always been lighter than her twin’s, brown like Alexandra’s—and Richard’s. .She could see his features clearly on Jessica’s face. The squarer than was entirely feminine jaw, the thick, almost luscious eyebrows. Richard had been a handsome bastard, after all.
    Of course, that was one of the saddest parts about their marriage. It’s not like Richard couldn’t have picked up a woman. For thirty years she’d seen a parade of unfortunate women throw themselves at her husband, though it had become less common as they’d grown older. She never cared. If he was busy with someone else, he was far less likely to bother her.
    Right now, Richard wasn’t her problem. Jessica, her eighteen-year-old daughter, was. Jessica was leaning forward now, her eyelids heavy, and Adelina said, “Come on, Jessica, sit up. We’ll be in the car soon.”
    A few more swipes with the brush brought Jessica’s hair into some kind of order. Not beautiful, because large amounts of it broke off every time it was disturbed. Her hair was far thinner than it had been a few months ago. Her whole body was far thinner. Once again, rage at her husband flooded through Adelina. He’d been with Jessica, in California, while Jessica fell apart from grief and addiction.
    While Jessica went to parties with guys from school, Richard had been busy in his office doing God-knows-what. Adelina had never trusted him. She’d never loved him. He’d never been her husband in any way that mattered. But she’d believed that he’d watch after his own daughter, while she stayed in Washington to deal with the aftermath of Ray’s murder and Sarah’s injuries.
    Instead, he’d just let her do whatever she wanted. She’d signed her own report card and erased messages from the home answering machine documenting her