“Are you serious?” I say.
“Look it up,” Kat says.
“I’ll call you back,” I say and end the call.
I open my phone and start searching for Rosalie’s name. A Facebook profile hits, and I open it. It’s her. The woman I saw at Poison Wood. The nurse. She’s in scrubs in her profile picture, but her job status says she’s self-employed.
I backtrack to the search results and scan them until I find the article Katrina mentioned. It’s linked to an article about an appeal for Johnny. “Sister of Convicted Felon Questioned About Suspicious Death.”
The article says Rosalie was fired from Regional Home Health after a patient she was overseeing died. The family blamed Rosalie, said the death was due to her incompetence or, worse, her purposeful negligence. Rosalie’s employment was terminated, but no criminal charges were ever filed.
I keep scanning the search results for an address for Rosalie, but nothing comes up, and her phone number is not linked to her social media to cross-reference with the one Martha gave me. I’m thinking of ways to find an address from a cell phone number when the voice in my head reminds me that is not my information to gather. It’s Erin’s.
“Dinner’s ready,” Debby yells up the stairs.
I find sweatpants and a sweatshirt in my closet and throw them on and twist my hair on top of my head.
When I walk into the kitchen, my dad is already at the kitchen table, sitting at the head and looking too thin.
“Welcome home,” I say. “How are you feeling?”
“Great. I feel great.”
“Great enough to get all the slush cleared from the road,” I say.
“Yep,” he says.
Debby puts a plate in front of him with a pile of noodles and Bolognese sauce on it, a slice of white bread, and a salad drowning in salad dressing.
I look at the plate and up to Debby, who is blinking at the expression on my face, waiting for me to comment. I glance from her to my father and back to her. This story isn’t the only thing I’ve been fighting.
“Looks good,” I say, and I don’t miss the surprise in her eyes.
“Thank you,” she says.
“Did you see the news van?” I say to my father.
He nods.
“Are you going to release a statement?”
He nods again. “I’m working on it.”
“I can help.”
This time he shakes his head. “I got it.”
I stand and fix my own plate, noticing the noodles are pale green. I put a few on my plate with a small amount of sauce.
“What are these noodles?” I say, sitting back down next to my father.
Debby brings her plate to his other side. “Zucchini noodles.”
“What?” my father says just before he takes a bite.
“Try it,” Debby says.
He takes a small nibble, cocks his head to the side, then eats the whole bite. “Not bad.”
