“Cassie, please.” She must read the fear in my face because she chuckles, though nothing is funny. “The trial is three months away. Nate, as you might imagine, is of limited use—”
“That’s not true, Eleanor. He’s working hard to help Billy. Plus, he agrees with you.”
“For the moment. But Nate would follow Lawrence into a fire. It’s only a matter of time before his father convinces him to change his mind. I’m exhausted trying to fight the man alone. If you’re there, he might behave.” She stops to shake out a napkin. “I’ll be honest with you, Cassandra,” she says, switching subjects. “I was worried when you decided to spend the summer here alone. With no classes, I feared you might get bored. But it turns out my concerns were unfounded—you have been keeping busy! You spoke to a detective, I hear. What’s his name? Gregory Haggerty?” She’s perfectly poised, her breathing is even, but her eyes are glassy, like stones.
Jesus. Haggerty. How does she know?
“I’m a wealthy woman,” she says, replying to a question I didn’t ask. “That’s what my money buys these days. Information. Cassie, your brother has been accused of a crime he did not commit. Do you honestly believe I would sit back and watch his life blow up?” She tilts her head, appraises me. “Sometimes I wonder. For a smart girl, you don’t always think.”
I sip my espresso; it’s the perfect temperature. I love strong, bitter coffee; I wish she’d brought something to go with it, a biscotti, maybe.
After a minute, the room gets too quiet.
“Do you have a question, Eleanor?”
“Did you speak to a detective named Gregory Haggerty?”
“Yes.”
“Even though you’ve been instructed not to speak to anyone without an attorney?”
“I thought I could help.”
“Because you worked so hard in law school? Because you know so much about legal strategy?” When Eleanor speaks, her lips don’t move, like a ventriloquist manipulating a dummy.
“Eleanor, I’m sorry. After you and Lawrence spoke to the police, Haggerty kept calling me. So, I thought it would be okay. I just wanted to help Billy.”
“Cassandra, dear, we have to be a united front. Come home. Talk to Lawrence. Change his mind. That is how you can help your brother.” Pressing her knees together, Eleanor swivels around then gets up. “Oh, another thing. It’s likely you will be asked to testify in Billy’s defense. Lawrence and I differ—”
“He won’t allow me or Nate to testify. He wants—”
“I know what he wants, Cassie. But if Mr. DeFiore thinks your testimony will help, you will get on the stand. Our family is our family. We have nothing to hide. Again, the best way to support Billy is to show up and speak up.”
“I understand, Eleanor.”
“Thank you, Sweetheart. Well, I am off. I would love to spend the day taking in the sights of New Haven. Regrettably, my dance card is full.”
When Eleanor leans forward, I recoil. But she is only reaching for the empty coffee bag. “I loved seeing you, Cassie, as always.” She opens the door, making an elaborate show of folding the bag into four perfect squares and sliding it into her purse. “Buy yourself a trash can, Cassandra, dear. You are not a child anymore.”
25
THE SECOND SHE’S GONE I CALL LAWRENCE.
“Hey, Cass. I’m in the middle—”
“Eleanor was here,” I say flatly. “In New Haven—”
“New Haven? Why?”
“She’s angry at me. You might get angry too. A couple of months ago—well, more like six weeks—I spoke to a detective; a new guy, Haggerty—”
“A new guy? What does that mean?”
“I don’t know, Lawrence. He’s a cop. His name is Gregory Haggerty; google him.”
“What did you tell him?”
“Nothing. I was just trying to help Billy. But he asked . . . the . . .” I should say more but can’t get the words out.
“What else?”
“Honestly, nothing else—”
“When someone starts with ‘honestly,’ I never believe what comes next.”
“I swear, Lawrence. He asked a few questions; said he’d be in touch. End of story.”
“Well, Peter hasn’t mentioned it. So, it probably doesn’t mean anything. Still, don’t do it again.” He pauses. “What did Eleanor want?”
“She insisted I come home. She’s back to the ‘united front.’ She’s furious at you for pushing Billy to plead guilty.”
“She couldn’t say this over the phone?”
“Why are you interrogating me?”
“Cassie, stop. I’m not giving up or interrogating you. Eleanor hasn’t spent as much time with Peter as I have. She doesn’t understand the intricacies of the law. Billy will have to register as a sex offender, whether he takes a plea or loses at trial. But the plea guarantees him a much shorter sentence. With a guilty verdict, he could get twenty years. Do you want Billy rotting in prison until he’s forty-two? I certainly don’t. Peter is talking to the DA tomorrow. After that, I want all of us to meet with him, including you. I need your support, Cassie. We can’t go to trial.”
Immediately, I feel trapped between my parents. Nate is on Eleanor’s side, but who knows for how long. “My life is here, Lawrence.”
“It’s a life, sure, but not your real life. Your real life is in New York, with us.” He lowers his voice. “We miss you, Cassie. Billy needs you. I need you—not just to fight this case, but to fight Eleanor. Cassie, please. Come home. Don’t make me beg.”
*
I don’t know what to do. Lying in bed that night, I’m restless. I want to sleep but can’t. I want to call Marcus but shouldn’t. We haven’t spoken in nine months. I’ve refused his calls. Deleted his texts. Maintained my silence. But I need someone to talk to, a distraction so I don’t lose my mind. The more I consider calling, the smarter it sounds. Is it, though? Or am I trying to justify a short-sighted decision? How much will I hate myself in the end?
Fuck it.
I text, my heart thumps: Call me. Important.
His reply is immediate: Two minutes.
For Marcus, two minutes means anywhere from ten minutes to three days. While I wait, my hand trails down my stomach, my fingers slip between my legs. I check my phone, willing it to ring. It’s an old habit, one I thought I outgrew. If I check in five minutes, he’ll call. Ten minutes, he’ll call. Fifteen minutes, he’ll call. An hour later, when Marcus still hasn’t called, I feel my skin start to twitch. My eyes fill with tears. Not again. For years I’ve been on hold for Marcus, waiting for him to finish his call, get out of work, read the last page. He says I’m the center of his world, but his sole focus is himself, his wants, his needs. I left New York because I couldn’t let Marcus Silver be my sole focus too. And now, look. Months and months of restraint blown with one text. You’re so stupid, I chastise myself. So goddamn stupid.
The phone rings. “Hey you.”
My relief is instantaneous. Once again, I can breathe. “Hey back.”