Chapter Two Maya

Chapter Two

Maya

May 2023

When we get to the police station, I lean out the door and dry heave onto the pavement. It feels like my body is made of lead as I follow Nate across the parking lot and up the steps of the building. How could this happen? I was supposed to protect her. I promised her I would protect her.

“Maya!” In the waiting area, Margaret sobs into a tissue. The woman who raised Naomi, loved her, baked her a raspberry cake every birthday. The woman whom I once saw pull a bee stinger from Naomi’s pinky toe and another time, rush her to the hospital when she fell off her bike and chipped a tooth. The woman who always made me feel like I wasn’t alone in looking after my sister.

When she sees me, she leaps out of the chair and runs over, short black hair a stark contrast to her pale, tear-stained face. “Thank God you’re here.” She pulls me into her arms. “I don’t understand. How could this happen…Why…” Her words spiral off as she chokes on her tears.

“Did they tell you anything more?” I ask. It still doesn’t feel real. Somehow I half expected to see Naomi here, too, even after what Daisy had told me.

Margaret says something about drowning. Lake Carnegie. Suddenly I remember the text alert on my phone and realize it must have been closed so the police could retrieve Naomi’s body. A wave of nausea passes over me as suddenly it all feels very real.

“But what was she doing by the lake?” I ask, more to myself than to her, just trying to understand.

Margaret looks at me, eyes filled with tears. “I spoke with the detective, but she wouldn’t tell me much. They plan to do an autopsy.”

Now my tears come. I squeeze my eyes shut and let her hold me as they spill from my eyes.

I remember when Naomi was born, the moment I first saw her in our mother’s arms when she came home from the hospital. And when it was my turn to hold her, the unexpected lightness of her. The smoothness of her skin, softer than anything I’d felt. Her milky baby scent and tiny fingers curling around my pinky for the first time, nails like rice paper, barely formed.

Some mothers say the love for their child is more intense than anything else, and now that I’m a mother, I understand what they mean. But the moment I held my baby sister, I felt that same innate feeling rise up in me. I loved her more than anyone on this earth and I wanted to keep her safe.

There’s a widening gash inside me now as if a knife were tearing me apart, flaying strips from my heart. It was my job to protect her. And I’d failed.

“Maya Banks?” I look up to see a stern-looking female detective with a sturdy frame and a slick low ponytail.

My eyes run warily from her jacket to the gun at her waistband, but I try my best to remember she is on my side. “Yes.”

“Detective Simmons. I’ve been assigned to your case.” She holds out a hand for me to shake and I’m struck by the strange formality. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

I stare back, unable to respond. The most I can manage is a small nod.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to ask you a couple of questions about your sister.”

I glance back at my husband, Nate, who is standing with his broad shoulders hunched, hands in pockets, clearly uncomfortable to be the only Black man waiting in the lobby surrounded by white officers, but he nods.

—

Simmons leads me to a small room with a table and two chairs and gestures for me to have a seat. After sitting across from me, she sets a folder on the table.

I stare at it, bile rising in my throat as I imagine what images might be inside. Naomi’s body bruised, injured. Her eyes swollen shut, lips cracked and bloated. The room sways.

When Simmons speaks, her voice is gentle yet firm. “Margaret St. Clair has already identified the body.” The body. I shudder.

“We understand she was Naomi’s legal guardian prior to her eighteenth birthday, is that correct?”

I nod.

“There are just a few more things I’d like to go over with you. When was the last time you were in contact with your sister?”

“Um, I—I spoke to her yesterday…around ten that morning.” I fold my hands in my lap to try to get them to stop shaking as I remember our argument on the phone. “We just got in this afternoon. Naomi was—” The words get caught in my throat. “She was supposed to meet us at the Reunions tents, but she never showed…What happened?”

She clasps her hands on the table. “We received a call from a member of the rowing team this evening around six and recovered your sister’s body from the lake shortly thereafter. Given the circumstances, we requested an autopsy right away.”

I stare at her blankly, picturing my sister floating in the lake, the way I’d seen her float on her back in Margaret’s pool, and my chest aches, as if my heart has burst, the pain leaking into my arms, my legs. Then the water drains away, replaced by an image of Naomi lying on an autopsy table, and I feel myself struggling to hold on to consciousness.

The detective says my name again, and I drop my face to my palms. My forehead is slick with sweat. I can’t do this. “Can I get you some water?” she asks.

I concentrate on taking a deep breath, shake my head no, and after a moment, Simmons continues. She speaks slowly and carefully, the way people would sometimes speak to my mother. “The final autopsy results can take weeks, but the preliminary toxicology results show drugs and alcohol in her system as well as evidence of drowning.”

The room is pulsing with the beat of my heart. Drugs? Naomi never told me she did drugs…

“When we investigate a drowning, there can be contributing factors. Impaired judgment, coordination…” Simmons opens the folder, slides it across the table.

It takes a moment for me to make sense of what I’m seeing, but after a moment my eyes focus on the first word: Benzodiazepines. Okay, Naomi did take medication. She had trouble sleeping. Maybe the detective meant they’d found prescription drugs in her system.

But when I reach the next line, I stop. Ketamine.

“Are you aware of any recent events that could be relevant to the investigation?” She hesitates. “Ms. Banks, how much did you know about your sister’s life?”