I wait for him to say more, to make a crack about how clean the house is now that I live elsewhere. He doesn’t, but I know what he’s thinking. Whereas Eleanor is supportive of my move to New Haven, Lawrence has mixed feelings about it. Yale is prestigious, the distance is fine, but six more years of school? And a PhD? “What about the foundation?” he asked last May when I announced my plans. “Why the sudden change of heart?” I couldn’t talk about Marcus, so I told him the partial truth, which was that I felt suffocated, and needed to be on my own. This, he could understand, if not accept. The five of us are always together. Our life is grand and glorious, but also a trap. Money is a noose that yokes children and parents together in ways you can’t anticipate. It binds you for life and then some. Even if my brothers and I go through the motions of adulthood—college, job, apartment, marriage—we must never forget where our true allegiance lies. What about the family? Lawrence kept asking. What about us? “Please, Lawrence,” I told him. “You can’t pull me back. I’m already gone.”
A second later, my eyes flood. Soon, I’m crying so hard I soak his shirt.
“Hey, hey, hey, Sweetheart,” Lawrence says, patting my hair. “Your brother will be fine. This is all a big mistake. The right lawyer will correct it.” When I wipe my nose on my arm, he stands up and whips out a handkerchief like a magician. “Use this. Or just drip snot everywhere. Your choice.”
As I take the handkerchief, I notice that Lawrence has lost weight. He’s naturally slim, but his button-down is baggy, and his slacks hang loosely on his hips. Otherwise, he looks the same: piercing blue eyes, a shock of black hair, movie-star teeth. In a few days, he’s turning fifty-four. He’s graying at the temples, and he used to jog so his knees are shot, but otherwise he’s still as loose and energetic as a man in his thirties.
“How’s Billy?” I ask. “For real.”
“Like I said, Cassie, I’m optimistic.” He offers a smile. Lawrence has a killer smile. His whole face lights up and fills with warmth; when he looks at you, you shine. But today his upbeat tone is undermined by his bloodshot eyes and hollow cheeks. “Dealing with the cops yesterday was bleak. But now that I’ve spoken to several lawyers, I’m confident we’ll resolve this mess today. As long as we act quickly. The longer he’s in the system, the harder it is to get him out.”
“Did you get my messages? I tried you, like, ten times. Why didn’t you call me back?”
“I was on the phone all day, looking for a criminal attorney. I like one guy—Peter DeFiore. Supposedly, he’s the best. Plus, he knows New Jersey courts. Eleanor can’t stand him, naturally. And he is a little rough around the edges. But . . .” He pauses. “Regardless, sorry I didn’t call, kiddo, but I knew Nate was reaching out.”
I scoff. “Nate was selective with the details. Which means I need the whole story from you.”
“I wish I had time, honey. But this guy, DeFiore, agreed to meet me at the place where they’re holding Billy. He’ll be there at”—Lawrence checks his watch—“eleven. I can’t be late. He said he might be able to get me inside.”
“Inside the jail?”
“Not a jail,” he corrects me, sharply. “It’s just a detention center.”
“I’ll come.” Standing up, I reach for my canvas tote bag, which is on the floor, open. Leggings, T-shirts, underwear, and bras spill out. Rummaging through the pile, I quickly grab a clean pair of jeans, a sweater, and suede boots, but Lawrence just stands there, watching me.
“Cass, wait. Cassie, stop. It’s better if I sort this out alone. Eleanor will be able to tell you more once she gets back. But you won’t be able to see Billy. I probably can’t either. Regardless, it’s best if I meet the lawyer by myself. Eleanor agrees,” he adds, as if she’s the final authority.
Regardless, regardless, regardless. The way he repeats himself drives me up the wall. It’s always like this: I miss Lawrence terribly and feel guilty when I’m away, but after five minutes with him, I feel trapped, anxious to flee. My phone dings. It’s Nate, texting: there in fifteen.
A thought occurs to me. “Where is Eleanor anyway?”
“Mobilizing a private militia, of course. Right now, she’s having breakfast with Burt and his partners. She’s talking to lawyers, judges, anyone who can get Billy home. By noon, she’ll have the US Attorney holding a press conference.”
“You still haven’t convinced me why I can’t go with you.”
“I’m concerned about Billy.” His voice breaks. “He’ll be fine. Of course, he will. But the girl is refusing to back down. As is the DA. He wants to make an example of Billy for reasons that aren’t entirely clear. So I have to stop this today—before your brother gets further embroiled. And before the press hears about it.” He’s interrupted by his phone; a ring so loud we both jump. “It’s Eleanor.” He clears his throat then calls out an upbeat “Hey, hey, honey!”
The change in him is instantaneous, like he stepped through a screen and emerged triumphant. “Everything’s moving along great. Yes, Eleanor. Of course, you’re upset. I’m upset too. But I promise, it will be fine . . . Yeah. I am. Leaving in a minute.” Glancing at me, he points to the phone, mouths sorry.
“I’m going with you.” My own voice is forbidding; I dare him to say no.
“Of course!” He waves, still talking to Eleanor. “Sounds good!” Then he heads out of my bedroom and into the hall, walking and talking, filling the air with glad tidings and cheer.
6
WHEN I STEP OUTSIDE A FEW MINUTES LATER, THE SUN IS shining, but it’s windy. Lawrence’s Mercedes idles in the driveway, and I expect to see him behind the wheel, but he’s standing under the heated porte cochère, his back turned to me, presumably still on the phone with Eleanor.
“Did you sleep here?” I ask Anton as he escorts me to the waiting car. “Aren’t there rules about working too many hours?”
“Yes, there are many rules.” He pats my shoulder. “But I appreciate your concern for my welfare.”
We both watch Lawrence approach, finally phone-free. He’s wearing a ski jacket and thick wool cap. I’m shivering in my light tweed blazer. For a second, I consider going back upstairs for a heavier coat, but don’t move. “We’re driving to New Jersey,” I tell Anton.
“So I hear.” He starts to open the driver’s side door, but Lawrence is already there. “Got it, thanks,” he calls out, waving dismissively as he slides into the front seat. “Let’s go, Cassie.”
“How did you hear?” I ask Anton quietly.
“Hearing is my job. I take my job seriously. This way I know everything.”
Anton is kidding, but I panic all the same. I feel a sudden chill spread along my arms and down to my fingers, which start to tingle. Saliva soaks my mouth. A metal taste permeates my tongue and teeth. “I doubt you know everything.”
“Knowledge is power, Miss Cassandra,” he says, but his voice comes from a remove. He chuckles in slow motion, like a tape played at half-speed.