Reclaim: A Recovered Innocence Novel Read Online Free PDF Page A

the road so she can’t see me. She looks over at me again, a little longer this time. I wish she’d turn the AC on. It’s freakin’ hot in here. Every time I inhale I take in her scent, which is damn distracting. Her hands rest lightly on the wheel at ten and two just like she was probably taught in driver’s ed. She checks her mirrors at regular intervals and signals every lane change. She’s the poster child for proper driving. A rule follower to the max.
    She’s short so her seat is pulled all the way forward, practically cramming her up against the wheel. Her breasts brush it every time she looks over her shoulder to make a lane change. I wonder if it’s the friction that made her nipples hard or something else. It sure as heck isn’t the temperature in here.
Is it getting hotter?
I could swear the heat just went up a couple of degrees. I rub my sweaty palms on my jeans. She notices the movement.
    “Do you mind if I crack the window?” I ask.
    She hits the buttons and both of our windows go down a couple of inches.
    “Thanks.”
    “Sure.”
    I resist the urge to sniff myself because I know she didn’t roll hers down because she’s hot. Damn. I probably stink. We ride in silence for a while. The cool air is helping. I can’t smell her as much anymore and I finally stopped sweating like a beast. To refocus my mind I take out the list of questions I have for Carla. One of the biggest is, What was she doing when her son died? Why didn’t she notice he had the elastic cord around his neck and was slowly strangling to death?
    I’m not sure how to present the question without accusation. Because there’s a big truckload of blame to lay at her feet. She was the adult in charge. She should’ve noticed
something.
At least the silence. Kids are loud. I know that from spending five minutes with my cousin’s kids at Christmas. What was she doing that she didn’t realize her kid was unusually quiet? Why did it take her so long to reach him that the paramedics couldn’t revive him either at her apartment or en route to the hospital? The emergency room doctors didn’t have any better luck. They called his death shortly after he arrived at the hospital.
    Diego died in the same small, crappy apartment in the next room from where his mother supposedly was. It was too early for him to have been in bed. Why was he in that room alone with the door closed? It just doesn’t add up for me. How do I get answers to my questions without sounding like one of the cops who coerced her into confessing? And how do I do it in front of Lila? Especially given how close she seems to be to this case.
    Maybe I’ll get lucky and Lila will ask them for me. Ha. I wish.
    “Are those your notes on the case?”
    I look up to find Lila glancing back and forth between the road and the notebook resting on my thighs. I know she’s trying to get a peek at my notes, but the thought that she’s interested in anything in and around my lap has me shifting in my seat.
    “Ah, yeah,” I say.
    “Tell me about them.”
    “They’re questions really. That I was thinking about asking Carla.”
    She makes a motion with one of her hands, taking it off the wheel momentarily, that invites me to elaborate. Here goes nothing.
    “I was wondering what Carla was doing when Diego died.” There. It’s out. I wait for what comes next—censure, anger, annoyance. I just don’t know.
    “I have the same question myself. Since Carla didn’t testify at trial no one asked her that.”
    I relax a little in my seat. “Why was Diego in a closed room alone? It was too late for a nap and too early for bed. Not that I know much about kids, but nine o’clock in the morning seems like a strange time to put a kid down. Why didn’t she check on him until it was too late to save him?”
    She nods, her lips pressed into a grim line. “Yeah. I had the same thoughts.”
    “Any guesses?”
    “One or two, but I’d prefer to hear it from Carla.”
    I want to ask her what