“Billy’s father and sister have a sexual relationship. They were kissing. When I told Billy what I saw, he didn’t believe me. But I saw them!”
The courtroom erupts. I hear a shout, “No!” It’s Eleanor, the Sphinx. She’s up on her feet and shrieking in a voice I’ve never heard before. “No, No, No.”
“Order!” The gavel slams. “We’ll take a break.”
Eleanor rushes out of the room, the Bowtie close on her heels.
My phone dings with a text: #TimesUp #MeToo I turn. Haggerty’s in the back. Seeing me, he waves.
53
TEN MINUTES LATER, MY BROTHERS AND I ARE IN THE CONFERENCE room. We’d shuffled back here, silently, like zombies, neither looking at nor speaking to one another. Unsure what was next, we sat down to await further instructions.
Our silence fills the room. I sit on one side of the long table. Billy and Nate are across from me on the other. The air is so heavy it crushes my neck and shoulders. I want to say something, I need to say something. But I’m struck dumb. Guys? Guys? Guys?
The minutes tick by.
Lawrence appears in the doorway. “You kids see Eleanor? We should find her.” Instead of doing this, he walks into the room. His movements are jerky and robotic, as if his limbs are controlled by a puppeteer. He sits down between my brothers. So, now all three men are aligned on one side of the table, and I’m alone on the other.
“Insane accusation,” Lawrence is muttering. “Absolutely insane. I have no idea what game Peter is playing. But I will find out. Obviously, nothing the girl said is true.” His eyes shift from Nate to Billy, Billy to Nate, begging for a response, a fuck you, Dad—anything but this deafening silence. “You know that, right? Come on, guys. Talk to me.” The only person Lawrence won’t look at is me.
My brothers focus on their phones. “Peter texted,” Billy tells Nate, speaking over Lawrence as if he’s invisible. “He’ll be here in a few minutes.”
My body is on fire, every joint aches. I’m paralyzed. Unable to move, even to shift in my seat. I’m separated from my brothers, separated from Lawrence, separated from myself. The more I detach, the easier this will get. Soon, I’ll be invisible too.
“Insane.” Lawrence’s voice is shrill, almost hysterical. “Did you know this, Billy? Did Peter tell you what he had planned? This is an insane legal strategy.”
Billy gets up from his chair, and looms over Lawrence like a nightmare come to life. He’s breathing hard, as if he just finished a long run, and chewing the meat of his inner cheek. He’s so pissed off I hear his jaw click.
“Shut up, Dad,” he says evenly. In response Lawrence makes a bleating noise that my brother perceives as laughter. “Something funny? What the fuck is funny here?”
Suddenly, Billy’s elbow shoots out. He rams his father’s face so hard Lawrence’s head snaps back. It happens so quickly it’s like a cartoon. Oddly, the casual violence doesn’t shock me as much as his words. “If you don’t shut your fucking mouth, I will destroy you.” Leaning in, Billy is shaking with white-hot fury. “Nothing would give me more pleasure.”
My brother is guilty. He raped Diana Holly. The knowledge comes to me fully formed just as Lawrence cries out, “Billy. Son.”
I sit with the idea. I turn it over. Bat it away. My brother brutalized an unconscious woman. Oddly, acknowledging this frees me up. If I can accept this one fact, then I can accept others. No, I caution myself. Do not. But the puzzle has already been solved; I clicked the last piece into place. To pretend otherwise would make me complicit. Part of the conspiracy. Haven’t I been doing this all along? Didn’t I always know deep down about my brother, even if I didn’t want to?
Nate has Billy in a bear hug. Billy shrugs him off. “It’s over,” he says, adjusting his lapels. “I’m good.”
A red bull’s-eye has appeared on Lawrence’s forehead. The wound makes Billy’s guilt public, and allows me to see him as an outsider might. My brother is a young man who assaulted his father and raped his helpless girlfriend. In a selfish way it’s comforting. At least I’m not the only appalling member of our family. I may have behaved unforgivably. But so has my brother. I may have driven him to hurt Diana. But he’s a monster too.
I remain frozen in my chair, the statue of a girl as she shatters. Hearing DeFiore lumber down the hall, I sit with Lawrence, Billy, and Nate as if this is perfectly normal. We’re fine, I scream. This is all very fine. And yet how do I incorporate this new knowledge into my life? More important: What should I do about Diana Holly? Do I announce what I know? Send her an email? Contribute to a victims’ fund?
My brothers return to their places. Heads down, eyes on phones. As soon as DeFiore walks in, Lawrence stands up, enraged. “What the hell are you doing?”
DeFiore’s nostrils flare. “What does it look like? I’m keeping your son out of prison.”
“By telling lies? Disgusting lies. This is my family. I demand that you issue a statement refuting what you said.”
After letting Lawrence rant a little longer, DeFiore asks, “What’s with your head?”
Lawrence touches his temple as if he has no idea. “I walked into the door.”
“Cover that, my friend. Last thing we need is you looking like an abused spouse.” Chuckling, he asks if I have any concealer. “Your dad needs a touchup, Cassie.”
“Wait a second, Peter,” Lawrence says. “You need to explain how—”
“Hey, hey, Lar. I don’t need to explain a fucking thing. You’re not my client.” He turns to Billy. “That must’ve been brutal, kid. Diana’s testimony. I apologize. Not knowing how it would land, I couldn’t tip you off. But you did great. Your reaction was perfect.” DeFiore speaks dispassionately, as if he’s Billy’s Little League coach and just changed the batting order. He turns my way. “It’s not personal, Cass. No hard feelings, I hope. Jury had to know Diana lied about the texts. If she lied about the texts, she’ll lie about anything. Including rape.” He studies my body just as dispassionately. His eyes graze my neck, breasts, thighs, and crotch, leisurely, brazenly.
DeFiore knew about me and Lawrence all along, I realize. The dirty slut, the sleazy father, the whole fucked-up family. He was just waiting for the right time to use it.
“But it’s not true, Peter,” Lawrence insists. “What you said about me and my daughter. It’s not true.”
“Not the point.” DeFiore checks his watch. “Court resumes at eleven-thirty. I’ll finish with Diana. We’ll break for lunch. Then start again at two—”
“We have to go back?” Billy’s voice catches. “How can the judge let this continue? Diana perjured herself.”
“No, not perjury. She misremembered. Different legal concept entirely.” DeFiore’s laugh is sinister. “Of course, we’re going back. Anderson doesn’t want a mistrial any more than we do. To be frank, this could work in his favor. Familial anger is primal. He’ll say Diana tapped into that and you lost your marbles. Killed the messenger, so to speak. We’ll have to see.”