Hannah gave her a sympathetic smile. “I get that,” she said. “It’s hard when you have to work closely with someone you don’t click with.”
“Get you another one?” Camila asked. Her beer was empty. She shuffled her way out of the booth seating.
“That would be great. But just one. I’d better have a clear head tonight if I’m going to get up to speed.”
Camila came back from the bar balancing the drinks and a basket of fries. She slid the fries into the center of the table. “That’s why I like this place. Free fries. Help yourself.” She took one herself, and after blowing on it for a moment, popped it neatly into her mouth.
Her outward manner was relaxed, but her eyes were sharp. “Tel me more about you,” she said.
“Not that much to tel ,” Hannah said. “I’d rather hear your story.”
Camila shrugged. “Undergrad at Yale—scholarship kid al the way. Family live in Richmond so wanted to get closer to home for grad school. Law school is costing me a fortune even with financial aid, so I work my ass off and keep my grades up. Fourth in the class at the moment, and I intend on keeping it that way or bettering it.
Love the Project, total y down with the cal ing, but I want a job in a big law firm for big money because I’ve got sisters coming up behind me.”
Hannah laughed. At least Camila was honest. She could respect that much.
“So how does your mom feel about you volunteering your time for the Project?” Camila asked. “I would have thought she would have wanted you with her, when she’s not wel .”
“She’s doing much better, actual y. She just has to be close to the hospital for testing and monitoring. And she’s always been insistent on me living my life. She gets uptight if she feels like I’m being too . . .” Hannah let her voice trail off. She couldn’t find a way to finish the sentence. The idea of Laura pushing her to be more independent just struck her suddenly as simultaneously so unlikely and so attractive that she was struck dumb.
“Oh, I get it,” Camila said. “My mother’s not like that—she’s always nagging us to get home for dinner more—but Sean’s mom is just the same. She real y wants him to live his own life. I think she gets scared that he’l keep trying to look after her and end up real y tied down, you know?”
“Mmm-hmm.” Hannah nodded and sipped her beer. It wasn’t Laura’s fault that she needed to keep Hannah close. There were very good reasons for that.
“My mom’s Catholic, so she’s real y against the death penalty.
Now my dad, he’s weird about it. He’s against the death penalty, intel ectual y speaking, and on one level he’s fine with me doing this work, but then, he hates it when I visit our clients in prison. It’s like some part of him just can’t get past the idea that if they’re in prison they must be bad people even though he knows they’re innocent.”
“Right.” Hannah wanted to point out that bias worked both ways, that it was, clearly, just as easy to put someone on a pedestal of innocence and blind yourself to their faults. She was seeing that happen right in front of her. How could two smart, educated people like Camila and Sean take a fact—like, for example, a missing alibi witness—and read into that only evidence that confirmed their belief that Dandridge was innocent? It was like the truth was right in their faces and they kept looking around and behind it.
“What about your dad? Is he in the picture?” Camila asked.
“He died before I was born.”
“Oh, man. I’m so sorry. That’s awful.”
Hannah shrugged. “I never knew him.”
“And your mom didn’t remarry? You didn’t end up with a stepdad along the way?”
“Ha. God no.”
Camila looked bemused. “Is that a crazy question?”
Hannah shook her head, smiling a little. “Not crazy. My mom, she’s had boyfriends, on and off, over the years, but no one she’d ever bring home. She’d never let anyone into our lives that way.”
“Wel . . . now you’re going to have to tel me why.”
Hannah rol ed her eyes. She was tired and feeling the effect of the beers. She didn’t drink at al at home, couldn’t, around Laura, and she wasn’t used to it. “I guess she just has a whole theory about men.”
“Your mom has?”
“Yeah.”
Camila leaned forward. “Tel me.”
“Oh, God. Okay. This might sound extreme, I don’t know. She thinks that men are shal ow. Ego driven, mostly. So that when they fail—which is bound to happen at some stage in their lives—they either col apse inward or they lash out and hurt someone. Whereas she thinks women get used to failing from early on in life . . .