A/N: I was so nearly done with this chapter and then I had a major bout of writer's block, followed by slipping on a puddle in the bathroom made by my wet hair which caused my hand to swell up for a week (luckily I didn't crack my head open though, so there's that), and then more writer's block. So I'm sorry about the wait!

Turning Tables

911

"Mom, what are you doing here?" Adrian asked, shocked by her mother's appearance at The Scoop.

"I know we were planning to discuss things this weekend, but I've been asked to pull an extra shift so I won't be able to." In response to Adrian's drawn out face, she set her laptop bag on a nearby table and retrieved a folder of papers. "Are you able to take a break?"

Adrian glanced at her watch. "I'm taking my ten!" she hollered towards the backroom and skirted out from behind the counter before Stanley could holler back in protest. She took her mother to the table in the far corner of the ice cream shop and sat her down. "Are we going to be able to go over this in depth in ten minutes?"

"Probably not, which is why I made you copies. You can call me and we can talk over the phone if you have questions."

Adrian cracked open the folder and pulled out a tuft of papers. She examined them. "Is this how much is in the account?"

"Twenty-five-thousand," Cindy nodded. "I set it up when you were just a baby and I've been adding to it as much as I could ever since. I know it seems like a lot, but it's really not. A single semester at some colleges could wipe that out. But for a standard four year university education, not a big name school, it should be enough to cover your primary expenses. I wish I could've done more–"

"You were a single teenage mother," Adrian interrupted. "It's amazing you were able to do this…and I'm grateful."

"Now you do understand that it has to be spent on education related expenses, don't you?"

"Tuition, textbooks, etc," Adrian nodded. "I got it."

"And you've been applying for scholarships?"

"As many as I can get my hands on, between work, school, and parenting."

"And have you looked into financial aid?"

"Mr. Molina's discussed that with me, but I haven't filled out a FAFSA yet, I just haven't had time."

"Don't forget about that!" Cindy warned with a raised finger. "I've known people who've gotten twenty-five hundred or three thousand a semester from federal grants. Those are the kind you want to get, the grants, not the loans."

"I know, Mom."

"It's always good to be reminded though." Cindy tapped the college fund information. "And when you get the grants, you can spend that money on anything. Even gas or a new laptop or rent. It's scholarships and this fund that you have to prove you're using for school expenses, so be sure to keep all your documentation."

"I can spend a grant on rent?"

"Yeah! I knew one girl who got more in financial aid than her tuition and books were every semester, so it was like she was getting 'paid' to go to school. Not by much, only about five hundred or so left over, but it still gave her a padding of gas money because she was living at home, but still, that's better than being in the red, isn't it, Chica?"

Adrian nodded. "Maybe education will save us after all."

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"Ms. Bowman," Mrs. Sharp addressed as she sauntered up to the witness stand. "You testified yesterday that you broke up with Mr. Volberg in November?"

"Yes."

"You also testified that the first time you had contact with Grant following your breakup was in February?"

"Correct."

"While you were on a date with a…" Mrs. Sharp swooped over to the defense table and picked up a police report. "…Jason Treacy, according to the police reports after you became a runaway."

"I was not a runaway," Grace replied.

"You didn't run away to San Francisco then, as you testified yesterday?"

"I went there, yes, but I'm not a runaway like you're–"

"Please," Mrs. Sharp interrupted. "Can you answer my original question: Jason Treacy?"

"Yes, Jason and I were on a date that day," Grace glared.

"And you later referred to Mr. Treacy as your boyfriend in yesterday's testimony, which he confirms when he was interviewed after you'd run away. Tell me, when did you begin dating Mr. Treacy?"

"Objection!" Ruben yelled. He was on his feet in no time. "The witness's dating history is of no relevance to whether Grant Volberg raped her!"

"Normally I would agree, Your Honor," Mrs. Sharp replied smoothly. "But the prosecution spent all of yesterday emphasizing Mr. Bowman's 'good Christian girl' morality. Are we just supposed to take Ms. Bowman's word on that? My client says he did not assault the witness, that the sex was consensual. Uncovering Ms. Bowman's track record on her religious convictions in this case is an absolutely valid line of questioning."

"You Honor!" Ruben sneered. "Where in the Bible does it forbid a young woman from breaking up with her boyfriend and getting another? The defense's argument has no foundation."

"Sustained," Judge Rowlins said. "Please move on."

Mrs. Sharp sucked in cheeks as she turned back to Grace. "Ms. Bowman," she said tersely, "you also mentioned yesterday something called a 'New Lease on Life Drive'? What was that?"

"It was a collection drive I organized at my church," Grace said proudly. "I was collecting gently used clothes, baby items, and cash donations for young mothers in an effort to help them support their children."

"Young mothers," Mrs. Sharp repeated. "And what inspired you to do this?"

"Like I said, I don't believe in abortion."

"That's all?"

"My close friends, Adrian and Heather, were also inspirations. Adrian kept her daughter, while Heather gave hers up for adoption."

"How did you meet Adrian and Heather?"

"At school."

"When?"

"My freshman and sophomore years."

"So, they're teenage mothers?" Mrs. Sharp said, eyeing the jury. "Two sexually active teenage 'close friends'?"

"Objection!"

"Your Honor, certainly the witness's 'close friends' are influential aspects of her life."

"It is possible to be friends with people, but not share all of their moral views," Ruben argued.

"It's also possible to be peer pressured," Mrs. Sharp volleyed back. "Especially in high school. Children make mistakes; they do things they regret."

"I'm inclined to agree with Mrs. Sharp," the judge announced, looking at her. "Which is why I will give you leeway here, but don't abuse it. Remember that this is about the witness, not her friends, and should you stray too far from that point, I will have to steer you back on course."

"Of course, Your Honor." Mrs. Sharp smiled. She returned to Grace, blocking her view of Ruben, but leaving a line of sight open to the defense table.

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Shhhk.

Shhhhk.

"What the hell?" Ben looked down at his shoes and noticed he was standing in a thin layer of water. He lifted his foot and his shoe made another squeaking-slop. He began to look around and noticed the ripple of the water seemed to be coming from ahead, so he followed it until it brought him to the employee restroom. The door was shut, but the water was moving out from under it. He quickly banged on it, but when nobody answered he threw it open and flicked on the light, disturbed to discover that the toilet bowl was flooding over. "Bunny!"

"Whatever it is, deal with it!" Bunny's voice shouted back. "I'm taking an important call!"

Ben bounced up and down as the water climbed higher, riding over the rubber toes of his shoes. He began to hunt around, searching for a way to turn off the water. Finally he noticed the metal tubing behind the toilet and hesitated before bending down. Each time he got closer his face would crumple up like overused tinfoil. Finally he hunched down and began to twist the almond shaped knob as the toilet water soaked into the cuffs of his pants. "Ew, ew, ew, ewwwwww!"

When the water seemed to have stopped, Ben cautiously pulled the toilet lid back to make sure and sighed in relief. He then took another look at the restroom where the floor was covered in about a half an inch of water and then down at his black slacks, where the water had crawled up the fabric to his knees. He shuddered as he moved to sink with the intent to wash his hands and then noticed a pool of water where, which seemed to be rising. Ben gulped and splashed out of the restroom. "Bunny!"

"I told you!" Bunny scolded while smacking the phone back into its cradle. "I was taking an important call!" Her eyes pinched together as she looked him up and down, noticing his wet pant legs and water glistened shoes. "What on Earth happened to you?"

"That's what I've been trying to tell you!" Ben said, contorting his hands into claw shapes in frustration. "The toilet in the employee bathroom was spilling over! I think I turned it off, but it looks like the sink is filling up too! It's all over the hallway!"

Bunny's eyes popped and she immediately lunged in the direction of her office to find the number for the plumber.

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"Defense Exhibit C," Mrs. Sharp announced as she approached the witness stand. "Ms. Bowman, can you tell us what this is?"

Grace accepted a paper from Mrs. Sharp and looked it over: it was covered top to bottom in phone numbers. "I don't know," she said. "It looks like a list of phone numbers."

"Correct. This is a list of Mr. Volberg's cell phone records. Would you please turn the paper over and look at the highlighted section?"

As requested, Grace turned the page over. "Okay, but I'm not sure what this pro–"

"The dates. What is the first highlighted date?"

"February first."

Mrs. Sharp handed Grace several more papers and pointed to the one on top. "And the last date highlighted?"

"March seventh."

"Objection!"

Mrs. Sharp spun to face Ruben. "On what grounds?"

"I know where this is going, Your Honor, and these papers prove nothing!"

"I believe that's for the jury to decide, Mr. Enriquez. They certainly support our version of events more than your witness's."

"Enough!" Judge Rowlins barked. "Overruled."

Mrs. Sharp pointed to the highlighted sections of the phone records. "Please carefully review the highlights, Ms. Bowman, and if you find your cell phone or house number anywhere from the period of February first and March seventh, please let us know."

Grace felt her hands crumpling around the edges of the papers as she drug her eyes through the highlights, knowing that she wasn't going to find her numbers. When she was done, she shook her head.

"Excuse me?" the defense attorney asked, her voice high pitched like the ting of a tin bell.

"No," Grace snarled. "I don't see my numbers."

"Thank you," Mrs. Sharp purred. She took the papers from Grace and dropped them into a plastic bag, then she handed her a new stack of papers. "Defense Exhibit D," she said. "The defendant's house phone records. Ms. Bowman, could you please state the first highlighted date…"

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Ben was seated outside the butcher shop with the company's cordless phone in his lap. His eyes were on the purple van parked at the curb. The name on the van read: Two Plumbs Up. The words were centered between the up pointing thumbs of a man in a plumber's uniform that looked a bit like Santa Claus during the off season, complete with a utility belt containing plungers at his sides like guns from a Western.

The cartoonish character was styled after the owner of Two Plumbs Up, Craig Guthrie, who Ben had known since he was in pre-school. After a disastrous plumbing repair that had caused over a thousand dollars in additional damage, Leo had hired Craig to come in and fix what his first hires had made a mess of, and he'd been their go-to plumber for both professional and personal services ever since.

The door jingled, signaling Craig and Bunny's exit. "Welp," the plumber announced, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk between Bunny and Ben. "It looks like you've got yourselves a nasty clog in your sewer drain."

"But it's fixable, right?" Ben asked eagerly.

"Sure is, kiddo," Craig said, reaching out to ruffle Ben's hair as if he was still a six-year-old. "It's gonna be a lil' pricey, but I can work somethin' out with yer pop. Bad news is that I wouldn't advise ya stayin' open 'til we can get this here mess cleaned up."

Bunny grunted. "I'll let Mr. Boykewich know." She shot a look at Ben. "Has anyone called?"

"Just Mr. Fenric. He wanted to reschedule his meeting with me because he forgot he scheduled his colonoscopy for the same day."

Bunny shuddered. "Well, I guess today's your lucky day, you and everyone else will have to go home early." She eyed Craig. "Any guesses on when we might have this taken care of?"

"A day, maybe two?" Craig offered. "I won't be entirely sure 'til I get in there with m' snake."

Ben handed the cordless phone to Bunny and shook Craig's hand. "We appreciate it, Craig."

Craig wagged Ben's hand, nearly tearing his arm off. "Always a pleasure, sonny! Tell yer pop 'ello for me!"

Ben forced a smile and a polite nod. "See you, Craig. No offense, but hopefully not too soon."

Craig grabbed his bowl of a belly which shook like jelly and chortled. "None taken, sonny!"

Ben bid a goodbye to Bunny and headed out to his car, twirling his key ring on his index finger. He couldn't wait to get home, showered, and into clothes that didn't smell like a urinal. His father's business policy was to pay his employees if the business had to temporarily close and the reason for that wasn't their fault, which basically meant he was going to have at least a day and a half's paid vacation that he was excited to spend with his daughter and would even save him and Adrian some money in child care.

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"That was tedious and humiliating!" Grace ranted once the court had recessed for the evening. "Grant's cell phone, Grant's home phone, his parents' cell phones, and even Griffin's cell phone records!"

"That was the point," Ruben said dejectedly. "She's trying to distract the jury; bore them with the same useless facts time and again. They don't have much to go on, except to dispute your word."

"Those phone records don't prove anything," Grace continued angrily. "Would he really be stupid enough to call me from his own cell phone? And the number that did call my phone, can't that be traced somehow?"

"We've tried, but it belongs to a prepaid phone number. The minutes were registered to a false name."

"So use that! Show that to the jury!"

"We'll try. It can help to create reasonable doubt in the defense's case, but it can only go so far since we can't link the cell phone to Grant himself."

Grace sighed. "I don't understand," she said. "When I testified for you, I was only up there for a day. Why do I need to face his attorney again tomorrow?"

"The defense wants to try and poke as many holes in your story as they can, if they can. Keeping you up there flusters you and they're hoping that you'll slip up and give them an advantage. I'm sorry, Grace, I'm doing as much as I can, but legally, she has a right to a complete cross-examination."

"Complete," Grace scoffed. "More like corrupt! She's just as skeevy as her client!"

"She's skilled at what she does though."

"Have you prosecuted her clients before?"

"A few times. She's also gotten a few off. But Leandra usually doesn't work do small city work."

"Not surprising. I'm sure Vic hired her."

"How long do you think this will take?" Kathleen asked as they stepped outside.

"The trial?"

Kathleen nodded.

"I can't say," Ruben replied in earnest. "Maybe days, maybe weeks."

"With the way Grant's attorney seems to be going, I'm not holding my breath for days," Grace said.

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"You've been into the kitchen and back five times in the last thirty minutes," Ricky said when Heather returned from the kitchen. "Looking for something specific?"

"No," Heather huffed. She slouched onto the opposite end of the couch and tossed her stocking feet onto the cushion beside Ricky's. "Yes."

"What?"

"Salt."

"Cupboard."

Heather prodded him with her heel. "Salty; I want something salty."

"And there's absolutely nothing in the whole house that will satisfy you?"

"Nothing I don't have to work for. That skinless, boneless chicken Margaret made the other night was bomb, but you," she kicked him again, "ate the last piece for breakfast and now I have nothing to put the honey smoked barbeque sauce on. We've got pie and juice and fruit snacks and all sorts of sugary crap, but I just want something salty."

"Weren't you downing fruit snacks by the handful just yesterday?"

"That time of the month," Heather shrugged.

"Sorry?" Ricky puzzled.

"It's not all mood swings and horror movie blood spatter," Heather replied, rolling her eyes. "Well, it is," she joked, "but there are cravings too. I usually get alternating salty-sweet ones."

Ricky rolled his eyes and pushed Heather's legs off the edge of the cushions. "Come with me," he sighed dramatically.

Heather grumbled as she got up. "Don't pick on me, I don't feel good."

Ricky pointed to the table as they got into the kitchen. When she sat down he moved to the freezer and pulled out a frosty bag with French bread. Next he cracked the oven, turned it to broil, and spread out a sheet of foil on a metal cookie sheet before laying a fistful of slices out evenly. Ricky slid the tray under the stop sign colored glow of the broiler and then retrieved the olive oil mayonnaise, minced garlic, and mustard from the fridge.

"Okay, that looks like expired sunscreen with bits in it!" Heather cried as her friend began to mix up the ingredients. She made a sideway thumbs up and made the gagging motion into her mouth.

"Do you want to satisfy your salty craving or not?" he taunted. Ricky laughed at her unamused silence and retrieved the bread from the oven. He spread the mayo mixture onto the slices and then grabbed what was left of a small block of sharp cheddar cheese and grated it over the slices until they were as uniformly covered as they were going to get. With that, he slid the cookie sheet back into the cover and began to rinse off the grater. By the time he was done, sizzling sounds were coming from the oven and Ricky pulled out a tray of gooey, popping cheesy toast.

Heather's stomach growled audibly. "Okay, I'll bite," she said, rising and recovering two plates from the cupboard. She used a fork from the drainer to stab a slice and shake it onto each plate and then handed one to Ricky before adding a second slice to her plate. She blew on them as she returned to the table and hesitantly bit into the corner, surprised that it wasn't nearly as hot as she feared.

"Hm?" Ricky verbally nudged.

"Good," Heather said after she'd swallowed. "Where'd you learn to make these?"

"My mom."

"I'll be sure to give Margaret my thanks."

"No," Ricky said. "I mean Nora." He took his seat across from Heather. "We never had much in my house growing up, so sometimes she just had to throw together what was left in the fridge, even if it was just condiments, stale bread, and cheese."

"It hits the spot," Heather said, taking another bite.

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A swizzle of steam escaped the bathroom as Ben emerged, his hair a spiky wet mess and a towel wrapped around his string bean torso. He headed into his bedroom and threw on a fresh pair of jeans and an aqua t-shirt that he'd laid out for himself before his shower, then he headed down the hallway to Mercy's room, where she was playing with Mr. Bear in her crib.

"Dada!"

"Hey," Ben crooned while he put down the crib bar. He scooped up his daughter and kissed her cheek, then he grabbed Mr. Bear and pressed the stuffed animal's face to her other cheek and mimicked a slurping kiss sound.

Mercy squealed and grabbed for Mr. Bear. Once he was in her grasp, she plastered a sloppy kiss to his nose.

"What?" Ben asked. "None for Daddy?"

Mercy raised her arms to Ben's face and the latter leaned in while she planted a wet kiss on his cheek.

"That's my girl," Ben laughed, wiping off the spit with the back of his hand. "Hey, I've got an idea!"

Mercy squeezed Mr. Bear around his stomach and looked at her father expectantly.

"Why don't we go surprise Mommy at work?"

"¡Mamá!"

"Yeah! We'll even get some ice cream too!" He kissed her cheek again.

Mercy giggled and held up Mr. Bear.

"Oh, all right," Ben succumbed and kissed Mr. Bear as well.

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"Hey," Kathleen greeted, poking her head into her daughter's room. She found Grace on her bed, busily focused on her laptop screen. "Could you use a break?" She stepped inside, revealing a plate with a pyramid of brownies. "Fresh baked!"

"Scratch?"

Kathleen shook her head as she shut the door. "Box mix, I'm afraid."

Grace pushed aside her laptop to make room for her mother to sit down. "That's good too." She took the brownie off the top of the pile and bit into the warm, chewy center. She moaned a little as she wiped the crumbs from her lips.

Kathleen set the plate between them and took the next brownie in the stack. After she'd eaten a few bites her eyes wandered to the screen on her daughter's laptop. It was a news article about doctors. That was when she noticed her late husband's white lab coat draped across Grace's pillow. "Homework?" she asked casually, nodding in the direction of the laptop.

"It started out that way. I was looking something up for a biology assignment and then something I read sparked about something Adrian mentioned a while back."

"About?" Kathleen asked curiously.

"A class." Grace glanced at her laptop screen. "A class Jason was taking. I sorta got off track looking into it."

"What class is that?"

"It's called Advanced Training in First Aid."

"Grant offers that?" Kathleen asked with surprise. "They didn't have all those options when I was in school."

"Well I looked it up on the school website and it actually looks pretty interesting. No wonder Jason took it, for someone who wants to become a doctor, it's great to have in his repertoire."

"What about you?"

Grace sighed. "It has a prereq. You have to take either Basic Training in First Aid or if you've taken two semesters at the Young Healers Camp, they waive it."

"Oh."

Grace nodded and bit into her brownie again.

"Well, you could always take the Basic Training next year."

"Yeah," Grace nodded distantly.

Kathleen patted her daughter's knee. "I'm sure whatever you decide, you'll shine."

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"Thank you for coming in," Adrian said, while placing change and a receipt into her customer's hand. "We hope you'll 'scoop in' soon." She cringed inwardly at the store's awful attempt at a pun.

The woman pocketed her receipt and began to turn away, then she quickly turned back. "Hey, you shortchanged me!"

"Excuse me?"

"I gave you a twenty!"

Adrian felt her head begin moving side to side before her lips could form words. "No, you gave me a ten."

"I gave you a twenty!"

"No, you didn't! I distinctly remember handing you a twenty!"

Adrian grit her teeth and opened her cash drawer. She pulled off the top ten dollar bill and held it up. "You handed me this exact bill."

"I want to speak with your manager!"

Amy came flying out of the backroom and took a stance behind Adrian. "Is there a problem here?"

"Are you the manager?"

"No, he's left for the day."

"Then I want his name and phone number!"

Adrian side eyed Amy and shook her head.

Amy smiled tersely. "Just a moment."

Adrian whirled around as Amy turned towards the backroom and mouthed, 'I didn't do anything wrong.'

Amy nodded and disappeared into the back. A moment later she returned, scribbling onto a sticky note Stanley's name and the store phone number. "We're sorry for the inconvenience," she said, handing the woman the purple sticky.

"I bet you are!" the woman shouted before storming out of The Scoop.

Adrian felt her cheeks burn as several other customers turned their eyes from the infuriated woman to Adrian.

"I can take the last few customers if you want," Amy offered quietly.

Adrian threw up her hands and darted into the backroom. Her stomach was clotting at the thought of the woman following through on her threat to call Stanley and as big a scene as she'd made, she feared the woman just might do it. She headed to the manager's office, where the security cameras were, but the door was shut and locked. Angrily, she punched the wood and immediately rubbed her sore knuckles before falling back against the door and sliding to the floor.

"Adrian?" Amy's voice called several minutes later.

Adrian didn't answer. She waited until she heard Amy's footsteps grow close and only looked up when she felt Amy sit down beside her. "I gave her the correct change," she insisted.

"Some people try to rip you off like that. When I was little, sometimes Ashley and I would hang out at my dad's furniture store. He always taught us that you should leave the customer's cash on the counter as you count their change, that way they can't try to claim you shortchanged them because the last thing you do is put their bill in the drawer."

"Do you think she'll actually call Stanley?"

Amy shrugged. "Hard to say. If she really believes you did it – or if she'd desperate enough to make a buck – she might. But if she was trying to con you, then she might not have the guts to follow through with it."

Adrian cursed under her breath.

"Why don't you take five?"

"I took my break earlier."

Amy shrugged. "Who's going to know? Stanley left early, so it's just us."

Adrian nodded. "Thanks."

"No need."

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"You okay?" Ricky asked, having discovered Heather curled up on the couch in a fetal position.

"Nmmp," Heather replied, her voice muffled by the pillows her face was buried in.

Ricky leaned over her crumpled form and pushed her red hair away from her face. "What are you doing?"

"Dying," Heather replied. She pulled her knees up tighter to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. "I shouldn't have eaten that last cheesy toast."

"Do you need some Pepto?"

Heather shook her head. "Not gonna help, Underwood."

Ricky noted the wet splotches on Heather's face. "Are you—crying?"

"No, I'm perspiring from my eyes," Heather snapped. She turned herself over. "It's called cramps, you big dumbo! And I already took Midol."

"What can I do?"

"If I rub your bottle, do I get three wishes? Because wish numero uno: men should get the joys of PMS too."

"Sorry, I just ran out of wishes."

"Well there goes all my hopes for I Dream of Ricky." Heather's face contorted until it was so wrinkled it looked like a third degree burn and lasted that way for well over a minute. When it began to ease up and look like Heather again, she eased her arm away from her stomach. "You could help me up to the bathroom. Sometimes a hot bath helps."

"Is it the heat or the water?"

"Heat. Why?"

"What about a heating pad?"

Heather scowled. "I've been living here how long and nobody bothered to tell me there was a heating pad? What kind of family is thi—ooogh!" She pressed her hand back to her abdomen and held it there until the pain subsided.

Ricky grimaced, feeling guilty that there wasn't more he could do.

"Well what are you waiting for?" Heather asked when she could speak again. "Heating pad! Now!"

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"You wanna ring the bell?" Ben asked. He picked up the bell on the counter and guided Mercy's hand to it. Together, they shook the bell. Mercy began to laugh and she pump her little arm back and forth until Ben feared the bell might break and was forced to pry his daughter's hands off the object. From the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of orange, green, and yellow emerge from the backroom and looked up expecting to see his girlfriend. Instead, he saw his ex. Ben blinked once, then twice. "Amy?" He did a double take of her outfit, which was identical to Adrian's Scoop uniform. "What's going on here? Do you…do you work here?"

Amy flushed. "Yes?"

Ben shook his head. "But – you never said – I don't understand, why didn't Adrian tell me? Why didn't you tell me?"

Amy pushed out from behind the counter and motioned to a nearby empty table, which had yet to be wiped down from the last messy patrons. She sat across from Ben, twiddling her thumbs. "I asked Adrian not to say anything."

"Why?"

"I was embarrassed." Amy stood up and motioned to her clothes. "Does this look like something to be proud of?"

"I might be a little bias because it's half the reason Adrian and I stay afloat, but yes, you should be proud: you're earning your own money, aren't you?"

"Working a crappy job, in crappy clothes, for a crappy boss…and only because my mom doesn't make enough working her own crappy job."

"It's honest though."

Amy smiled. "You're such an optimist, Ben."

"So…is this the reason we stopped hanging out?"

"Yeah," she replied guiltily. "I was never mad at you, I just didn't want to have to explain."

"I would've understood."

"That doesn't make it any less humiliating."

Ben nodded. "Understood."

"Oh!" Amy shouted. She lunged forward and grabbed Mercy's hand, stopping the toddler from sticking a burgundy wad into her mouth.

"What the…" Ben grabbed a napkin and peeled open Mercy's hand, revealing a piece of chewed gum. "Oh, Merce!"

"She probably got it from under the table. Maybe even on the table knowing the customers we get. I'm sorry."

"Sorry? You just stopped my daughter from plopping that into her mouth and contracting who knows what from it. Or choking on it." Ben pushed up from the table and tossed the napkin wrapped gum wad into the trash. "Thank you!"

Amy bowed her head. "All in a day's work."

"¿Mamá?"

Ben thumped his head with his palm. "Right! Where is Adrian?"

"Right, of course," Amy said, shaking her head. "Sit tight, I'll go get her."

Ben wandered over to the freezers and began to examine the ice cream cakes as he waited. Less than a minute later, Mercy began to bounce in his arms.

"¡Mamá!"

"¡Preciosista!"

"You're like her catchphrase," Ben laughed.

Adrian punched his arm as she took their daughter and nuzzled her face. "What are you two doing here?"

"Long story," Ben dismissed. "I'll tell you when you're off. But we wanted to surprise you."

Adrian kissed both of Mercy's cheeks and then she kissed Ben on the mouth. "This is the best surprise I could've had today."

"Tough day?"

Adrian rested her head against Ben's chest while Mercy played with her hair. "Long story," she groaned. "I'll tell you when I'm off."

Ben rested his chin on the top of Adrian's head. "Looking forward to it."

Mercy sputtered and clapped her hands together gleefully.

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Grace fingered the hem of her black skirt. For the third day in a row, she was perched on the unrelenting wooden chair of the witness stand, beside a stoic judge and jury, as Grant's defense attorney pranced in front of her. Although the words were coming out of Leandra Sharp's mouth, the way they entered Grace's ears were muffled, as if she were submerged in a pool. Suddenly Grace became aware that the woman was staring at her with her answer awaiting expression. "I – uh – can you repeat the question?" she stumbled.

"I said," Mrs. Sharp spoke as she encroached upon the witness stand, "'Can you please tell us the results of your rape kit?'"

"You already know the answer to that."

"A 'yes' or 'no,' please, Ms. Bowman."

"No." Grace snapped.

"Why is that?" Mrs. Sharp persisted. "And please, no roundabout answers."

"There isn't one."

Mrs. Sharp moved to the jury box and laid her hands along the edge. "There are no rape kit results because there was no rape kit," she said, almost singsonging the words. "Isn't that because there was no rape, Ms. Bowman?"

"No! That's not true! He raped me!"

Mrs. Sharp stalked up to the witness box and filled Grace's line of sight with her physical presence. "How many days after you had sex did you run away from home?"

"I ran away from him," Grace said, pointing to the defense table, "seven days after he raped me!"

"And did you leave your house at all for the first six days?"

"No."

Mrs. Sharp looked at the jury. "Ms. Bowman, when do you believe life begins?"

"Objection!"

"Her religion guides her life, Your Honor. The witness has already testified to that."

"Overruled."

"When does life begin?" Mrs. Sharp repeated.

Grace grit her teeth. "At conception."

"So you didn't leave your house for six days. You didn't happen to take a Morning After Pill within those first three days, did you?"

"What do you think?"

"Your Honor!"

"Answer the question, Miss Bowman."

"No! Of course I didn't! I barely moved from my bed for six days!"

"So let's try this on for size: you have premarital sex, you regret having premarital sex because you believe you've sinned in the eyes of the Lord, you miss your period, and then you run away for two months and come back with this outlandish story of rape to explain your underage, out-of-wedlock pregnancy!"

"That's a lie!" Grace shouted. "Stop it! Just stop it! I didn't even know I was pregnant when I left, that was the furthest thing from my mind! All I could think about was getting away from him!"

"You wanted to get away from him so badly that you couldn't bear to have him locked up in a jail cell? That wasn't enough distance for you for over two months?"

"Objection! The witness has already testified as to why she did not report the rape. Repeatedly! At this point, the defense is guilty of badgering."

"Sustained. Move on, Mrs. Sharp."

TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT

"What are you doing?"

Adrian slapped her hand to her throat and jumped.

"Sorry, wasn't trying to sneak up on you," Amy apologized.

Adrian shook her head and extended a finger towards the television screen on the top shelf of Stanley's open office: the screen was broken up into four squares, revealing the footage of four different cameras. Adrian's eyes were on the one in the upper right corner, located on the cash register. "I was trying to see if the bills are visible from that camera."

"Stanley hasn't said anything?"

"Not yet, but that doesn't mean anything. It's been less than twenty-four hours and you know how he is about being on top of anything."

Amy nodded. "Any luck?"

Adrian shook her head. "Too far away."

"And unlike CSI, you can't zoom in and get a perfect image."

"Hey! What are you two doing back here, there's a line of customers out front and they aren't going to stand there all day!"

Adrian cursed under her breath as she moved past Stanley.

"It's not like he could possibly wait on anyone," Amy whispered.

TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT

"The witness may step down."

Grace ran her fingers across her sweat beaded neck as she climbed out of the witness box and hurried over to take a seat beside her mother. She felt Kathleen take her hand and squeeze it, but Grace was too exhausted to squeeze back, so she rested her perspiring cheek against her mother's arm. From the row behind her, she felt Heather's hand pat her shoulder, but she didn't turn around to acknowledge the gesture.

Ruben stood as members of his team carried bags in varying sizes down the aisle and set them on his table. He turned to the judge. "Prosecution Exhibits G and H, Your Honor."

Mrs. Sharp shared a look with Grant and pushed up from her seat. "Objection, Your Honor."

"On what grounds?"

"Contaminated evidence."

Ruben shot a scornful look in the defense attorney's direction. "Contaminated with your client's fluids."

"Mr. Enriquez!" Judge Rowlins snapped.

"I apologize, Your Honor, but the defense can't possibly think that Miss Bowman's clothes and bed sheets should be suppressed, they're vital, valid evidence."

"They were stored in trash bags and hauled around San Francisco in the back of a car for two months, Your Honor. Who knows what happened to the 'evidence' in the interim!"

"The trash bags were brand new!" Ruben rebutted. "Miss Bowman stored them to preserve evidence."

"Preserve evidence? You mean as she thought out her vile claims against my client instead of calling the authorities when the alleged 'crime' took place and allowing them to keep the chain of so-called evidence intact?"

"Enough!" Judge Rowlins barked. "Counselors, approach!"

Grace looked between the whispering group at the front of the courthouse and her mother. She suddenly found herself sweating more in that moment than she had during her last two days under cross-examination. Her stomach began to knot until she felt like she was having cramps when Mrs. Sharp and Ruben finally returned to their seats.

"I will review the evidence and have a decision when this court reconvenes tomorrow at three o' clock." The judge banged his gavel and retreated into his chambers.

Grace nearly toppled Ruben as he pushed out of the gate. Her eyes were swollen and she kept shaking her head. "Tell me they can't do it!" she whispered.

Ruben glanced back at Mrs. Sharp, who was in a hushed conversation with Grant. When he turned back, Heather and Ricky were on either side of Grace and the three teenagers' parents weren't far behind. "Why don't we find a quieter place to talk?"

"I wanna kill 'im!" Heather snarled under her breath.

Ricky draped an arm around Heather's shoulders. "Calm down."

"Don't you?"

"Yeah," he whispered. "But not in front of Grace."

Heather guiltily let her first unfurl.

"We should let them talk in private."

Heather nodded, but not before giving Grace a fierce hug. "You're gonna beat the bastard."

Grace squeezed Heather in return, but despite the redhead's words of encouragement, her stomach felt like it was filled with lead. "I – I'll fill you all in later."

Ricky nodded.

"I don't understand," Heather spat out once Grace, Kathleen, and Ruben were out of earshot. "If someone gets murdered and they find the body out in the elements months later, that's a crime scene and they can still collect evidence, so why can't they use the stuff Grace actually saved?"

"Because she just might win."

TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT TSLOTAT

Ben toured into the kitchen the next morning, following the smell of sizzling sunny side up eggs. He peered over Adrian's shoulder as she shook the handle of the pan and kissed her cheek. "Smells good," he whispered, covering the mouthpiece of his cell phone.

"You smell good," Adrian returned, sniffing Ben's freshly washed hair.

"Don't turn me on before school."

Adrian shrugged. "You made your bed, now lie in it."

"If you don't be careful, I'll have you lying in it with me."

"You already have."

Ben moved the hair away from Adrian's neck and gave it a gentle kiss. "Yeah," he agreed. "I have."

"¡Vos! ¡Vos!" Mercy chanted from her highchair.

"Huevos," Adrian corrected with a wink. She turned the dial on the oven down and moved the pan to a cold burner, then she began to divide the eggs among two places and one of Mercy's miniature plastic plates with a picture of Dora and Diego in the middle.

Suddenly a high pitched noise came from the speaker on the cell phone and Ben quickly turned away. "Yeah, sorry Bunny, I'm still here! I was, uh, just trying to get…breakfast."

Adrian rolled her eyes as she cut up Mercy's egg and then sat down in front of her daughter and blew on the breakfast until it was suitably cooled to feed to the toddler. She used a plastic fork to give the little girl a small bite at first and when Mercy appeared excited for more, she picked up the pace.

A few minutes later Ben set his phone down on the counter and picked up one of the plates Adrian had set aside and took a large bite. He added a little more salt and then sat down beside his girlfriend and stabbed a large piece of egg, fork feeding her the same way she was feeding their daughter.

Adrian made a face as she swallowed.

"What?"

"Too salty."

"No, you just put too much pepper on it."

"I did not."

"Did too."

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

"¡Vos!"

"Huevos." Adrian slid another forkful into Mercy's mouth. "So what did Bunny have to say?"

"Craig's still working on the clog, so I'm supposed to check back at lunch for a progress report. My bet is that I won't have to go into today, but I don't know, she's still threatening that we might be able to open for half the day."

"She likes to rile you up."

"I know, just like all the women in my life." Ben piled the rest of his breakfast into his mouth and rinsed off his plate as his girlfriend finished feeding their daughter. His phone buzzed from the counter and he picked it up without looking at the caller I.D.

Adrian wiped Mercy's eggy lips with a napkin, untied her bib, and scooped the little girl out of the highchair.

Mercy reached to touch the scab on Adrian's earlobe from where she'd ripped her earring ten days prior.

Adrian pushed the little girl's grabby hand down and set her into her playpen. She handed Mercy Mr. Bear and then returned to the kitchen to wipe down the highchair tray, but didn't get a chance when she noticed Ben was in exactly the same stance he'd been in when she left. "Ben?" She rounded him, and although she was looking right at him, he seemed to be looking through her. "Ben?"

The cell phone fell from Ben's hand and hit the counter. A crack appeared in the screen, but it didn't seem to drop the call as the light was still on and the timer was still counting the call minutes.

Adrian grabbed the phone. "Hello? Bunny?"

"Adrian?"

"Camille?" Adrian looked down at the caller I.D. and indeed it was Camille's cell number.

"Where is Ben?"

"He's right here," Adrian said. "But he's not talking to me. What did you say to him?" There was silence. "Camille!"

"Adrian, Leo's in the hospital."