Girls Like Us(74)

“No. They had a fling. That was it. It never occurred to him that my mom had gotten pregnant. She moved down to Florida not too long after. We lived there for a while. We came back to Suffolk County a few years ago, after she got sick. I guess she always felt like this was home.”

“And you? How do you feel?”

Maria looks around. “This apartment is the nicest home I’ve ever had,” she says. Then she blushes, embarrassed. “Not just, you know, because it’s big and everything. It’s just peaceful. No guys around with my mom, nobody bothering me. None of that. It was the only place I could ever just be quiet and forget about Gio and everything else.”

“I know what you mean.” I smile, put my hand on her arm. “I brought some pastries from the diner across the street.”

“Thank you. I’m sorry. Please, come in. Sit.”

I follow her into the apartment. I can’t take my eyes off her. She’s so beautiful, so young. And she feels familiar. She reminds me of someone, I realize. At first I think it’s my father. She has his dark hair, his quiet nature. His narrow frame and sharp features.

But then, as she smiles up at me, her face both shy and inquisitive at the same time, I realize: she reminds me of me.

We sit at opposite ends of the sofa, one of the few pieces of furniture in the apartment. I put the box of pastries between us. The afternoon sun is beginning to soften, and it casts a long shaft of light across her face. It doesn’t seem to bother her. She laughs and answers my questions without moving. I have so many, I think I could stay all night.

I don’t, of course. Once it gets dark, I call a cab and return to the house on Dune Road. For the moment, Maria will stay in protective custody. She will spend her days being deposed and then, eventually, giving testimony. As for me, I’m not yet sure. I know I will be there for her whenever she is done. She’s my family and I am hers. I don’t know exactly what that means. Neither does she. But together, we will find out.





Epilogue



It’s the last day of the year when I scatter my mother’s ashes.

I’m alone, though Maria did offer to come with me. It’s a cold, clear day. The sun is setting. I stand on a spit of land that extends into Peconic Bay. Across it, I can see the North Fork of Long Island. Behind me is the beach at Meschutt County Park.

It is beautiful here, especially at this time of year. The gentle browns and grays of the earth meld into the gray expanse of water. My mother used to take me here all year round to collect rocks and breathe the salt air. I have just a few memories of her left, but some of the happiest are at Meschutt.

Earlier this month, Glenn Dorsey took his own life. He hanged himself in his prison cell while awaiting trial. Vince DaSilva pleaded guilty to several crimes, ranging from narcotics trafficking to murder. He will spend the rest of his life in prison, as will Dorsey’s other right hand, Ron Anastas, and their co-conspirator, Giovanni Calabrese.

Sarah Patel tells me, off the record, that James Meachem has signed a non-prosecution agreement with the Bureau. He has turned over his black book, as well as hundreds of hours of video footage from his homes in Southampton, Palm Beach, New York, and the British Virgin Islands, implicating scores of politicians, CEOs, and celebrities of knowingly engaging in sex with minors. According to Sarah, Meachem will be required to plead guilty to two minor charges of prostitution in Florida state court. As a result of this plea, he will serve less than a year in a low-security prison. In addition, Manon Boucher, the madame who helped recruit victims at Meachem’s behest, is immune from prosecution. She is said to be spending the holidays on a yacht off the coast of Little Saint James, Meachem’s private island.

Sarah has returned to Miami, where she’s been internally promoted to a job she dislikes. She misses the field, and I think she will return to it soon. She’s asked me to take a position on the Human Trafficking Task Force out of Miramar, and I’ve accepted. Maria and I both are ready to leave Suffolk County. Miami seems like a good fit. It’s a fresh start in a place where Maria feels comfortable. Lightman tells me that I’ll hate the people and pace of life in Miami. He says there’s an office pool about how long I will last there. His money is on six months, no more. My desk, he tells me, will always be open.

I still speak to Dr. Ginnis a few times a week. He was the one who pushed me to list the house and put down roots somewhere else. With his help, I found a charity that provides shelter, protection, and education to victims of sexual trafficking, girls like Luz and Maria. I anonymously donated the proceeds of my father’s offshore account to them, as well as a portion of the proceeds from our house. The rest I’ve put in a trust for Maria. She doesn’t know that yet, but I will tell her when the time is right.

Ginnis also suggested that I bury my mother before I leave Suffolk County for good. I’m glad he did. I thought being here with her ashes would be hard. It is. But I’m also filled with a sense of calm that I hadn’t expected. After all these years, I’m finally putting her to rest. I will never know if Sean Gilroy killed my mother; but I believe he did and that is enough for me to move on. As the sun slips below the horizon line, I close my eyes and say goodbye. Then I open the urn and let her go, her ashes blowing away on the wind.