Why does it matter? A man’s hand reaches down, a flash of naked skin. Blue sheet with tiny pink flowers. You’re repulsive. Because, like Haggerty said, it happened. It keeps happening. You’re twenty-four years old and a child of ten. You want to say no but don’t have a voice. Your only option is yes, please, yes, please, yes, please.
My nerves are frayed. Everything hurts. I can’t take much more. “Lawrence. I don’t want to wait.” I’ll be good. I’ll stop acting out. Please don’t leave me behind. I can’t be alone. “I want you to choose me.”
Already in motion, Lawrence pretends not to hear. He stands tall, inflates his chest, and transforms into his public self. Striding out, he’s a man on a mission. I’m hot on his heels. But instead of following him back to court, I head into the elevator where I call an Uber. I’m on autopilot, unsure where I’ll go or for how long, unsure of anything, just that I need to keep moving. On the street, a mass of reporters spot me. “It’s Cassie, the sister!” one cries out. But as they start to descend, a black SUV pulls up to the curb.
It’s Haggerty. “Get in,” he says.
55
WE DRIVE THROUGH DOWNTOWN TRENTON. MY MIND IS racing. I can’t shut it down, and I don’t know why. I used to be able to block out my thoughts, cauterize my feelings. But now everything rises, torturing me.
There’s a McDonald’s on the corner. Pulling into the drive-through, Haggerty orders two coffees and two breakfast burritos. “Ever try one?” he asks. “It’s my go-to meal.”
“I used to eat them all the time,” I say indignantly, thinking wistfully of Eddie and the Neighborhood Café.
“McDonald’s? They’re the best.” He smiles.
“McDonald’s is disgusting, no offense.” I pause. “A place in New Haven.”
We continue to drive, sipping our coffee. The burritos sit, untouched, in a bag on the floor. Haggerty glances at me sideways. I ask if he heard all of Diana’s testimony.
He nods. “I bet that was awful, Cassie. I’m sorry.”
My eyes fill with tears. “So, what happens next?” What I mean is, how do I live in my family? As a daughter? As a sister? How do we move forward? What do I say?
Haggerty is thinking more immediately. “My money’s on Anderson. Your brother is a rapist. Maybe he was drunk. Maybe he didn’t mean to. But facts are facts. Billy was out of control. He wanted to hurt someone. That night, it was his ex-girlfriend.”
I see Billy’s elbow clip Lawrence’s face. Lawrence’s head snap back. My body recoils, a delayed response.
“He’s going to prison, Cassie. Diana’s perjury might get the case tossed on appeal. But he’s guilty. The jury knows it.” You do too, he doesn’t say.
I look out the window. “So, what do I do now?” Again, I mean, how do I reconcile the idea that Billy Quinn is a rapist with the fact that Billy Quinn is my brother?
Again, Haggerty misinterprets. “Go on the record. Help yourself, help other survivors.”
“Victims, you mean. I am nothing like those girls.”
“Because they’re braver than you?”
This throws me. “Braver? I’m not the one crying to the press and the police. I’m not blaming my problems on everyone else. I’m the one with the real life.”
“You call this real life? Pinballing up and down ninety-five?” He laughs, but not unkindly. “You were a child, Cassie. You were abused. Tell your story. Set yourself free.”
“My story?” Again, I’m indignant. “Lawrence and I are together, Detective. I won’t testify against him.” But the more I insist, the less confident I feel. “I mean, what should I say to my brothers? To Eleanor? How do I fix our family?”
Haggerty scoffs. “If you and Lawrence run off to New Haven, do you honestly think Eleanor will invite you over for Christmas dinner? Or did you not consider that?”
If I tell him the truth, that I never thought that far ahead, or with any real specificity, he’d never believe me.
“Cassie, come on. You’re smarter than this. I’ve met too many men like Lawrence over the years. There are no happy endings here—for you or for him.”
“Lawrence isn’t like other men.” Haggerty doesn’t understand. “I wasn’t a victim. It was my choice.” We’re talking peacefully, rationally, but I’m spinning so fast I’m dizzy.
“Not every victim is a victim. Some graduate from Columbia and go to grad school at Yale. Some are picture-perfect. Some change the world. Call yourself whatever you want.” He unwraps a burrito for himself and passes the other to me. While he wolfs his down, I take a tentative bite. I can’t believe how delicious it is.
“I’ve never considered a life without Lawrence,” I say quietly. “I try, but he’s always there, even when he’s not. I don’t know how to live without him. I don’t know how to be a person. I can’t do what normal people do, go on dates, talk about myself, have a job, plan a wedding, walk down the aisle. Who would want to marry someone like me? And kids? If I can’t protect myself, how could I ever protect a child?”
“You grow up. You learn how to live. We all do. No one is normal. In fact, I bet you’ll be a better wife, a more empathetic mother. As for your family, when you’re ready, you’ll forgive them.”
“Forgive them? I’m the one who ruined us, who . . .” It’s too intense to think about, like staring into the glare of white light.
“They didn’t protect you.”
“They didn’t know.”
“Cassie, there are no secrets in families. We sense when something is wrong, or off, even if we can’t say exactly what it is. To say Eleanor didn’t know is bullshit. She should’ve known. A parent’s job is to know. She brought you into her home. She raised you. She promised to protect you. And you know what? She failed.”
Pulling into a parking lot, Haggerty shuts off the car and makes his pitch. “You won’t testify alone. We have witnesses. Anton and Joseph Rivera, Maeve McAllister—they all spoke on the record. Did you know Lawrence offered Anton Rivera money to keep him quiet?”
“Who told you this?”
“Eight years ago, Rivera came to me with his concerns. He was iffy about testifying, but I could’ve pressed. Not that it mattered. When I tried to pursue it, I got shut down. Your family was too well known. Too powerful, too connected. But then Billy was arrested, and so I contacted DeFiore and worked with his team. Mostly his investigator. Paul talked to everyone I couldn’t reach.” Haggerty opens his hands. “Two birds, one stone.”
DeFiore. What a piece of shit. “You’re not my client” he told Lawrence. Instead, he used him as bait. Me too.
“So, what’s the problem?” I ask.
“We need you.”
“I can’t,” I say reflexively. “It’s simply not possible.” After the trial, Lawrence promised, we’ll be together. “This is your fight, Detective; not mine. Speaking of—I have to get back.”
“For Lawrence’s testimony? Why would you put yourself through that?”