The Forgotten Hours(48)

She is a master of focus. A deep diver, but only in certain waters.

John sits behind his desk in his study, wearing his reading glasses. A polo shirt is tucked into a pair of ironed khakis. He stands up as Katie enters. Next to her father is a man she has seen a few times to whom she hasn’t yet been introduced. He has a wild head of curly gray hair and wears glasses with light wire frames. His face is broad and textured, as though he suffered from acne as a child. The pants of his blue suit are unfashionably wide.

The man throws a magnetic smile in her direction, and she is instantly on edge. “Hello,” he says, extending his hand. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Herb Schwartz.”

“Nice to meet you too . . . I’m, uh, Katie.”

He motions her over to an armchair. “So, Katie, great. There’s nothing to be worried about, but we do need to talk.”

“Sorry, but you’re who exactly?” she asks, looking over at her father.

Her father gives her a half smile. “Herb is a lawyer. See, we’ve got a bit of a problem. Has your mother told you anything?”

“Okay, folks,” Herb says, raising a hand to stop them. “Let me deal with this. Why don’t you let Katie and me talk for a bit, and we’ll get the facts straightened out.”

“I think I should be here,” John says, his voice lacking conviction. And he is too fidgety, strangely subservient.

“Where’s Mum?” Katie asks. She feels like a little girl again in the presence of these two awkward men. “Can Mum be here too?”

Her father and Herb exchange quick glances. John says, “You two have a little chat on your own. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.”

In the study that day, Herb explains what is happening: During health class five months earlier, in December of the previous year, Lulu Henderson and a group of students were talking about date rape in college after her teacher initiated a conversation about the meaning of consent. Lulu said, casually, that she’d had sex with her friend’s father, “And I’m not even in college yet.”

Herb’s fingers make air quotes.

“Is she all right?” Katie blurts, horrified, imagining her friend bleeding in some alleyway, crying. Just like that her heart is stripped bare.

“All right . . . ?” Herb asks, his hands hovering in midair, before recognizing the misunderstanding and pointing to her. “Katherine—your father, it is your father she’s talking about.”

And with those words, with that awkward gesture, Katie’s life changes irrevocably.

Herb’s hands are pudgy, the skin like suede, and he uses them often as he speaks, circling through the air, touching his chest to show his sincerity. What Lulu is accusing Katie’s father of amounts to a felony indictment. Herb looks at Katie over the top of his glasses. It is considered statutory rape, he clarifies, his face freezing briefly, as though it takes great effort to say these words aloud. It is then that Katie really begins to comprehend: Here is a grown man who can barely bring himself to say the word rape in front of her. This is serious.

“That’s not possible,” she says, straightening up in the chair. She tries to think back to when she and Lulu last spoke on the phone, maybe after Christmas? Or was it Valentine’s Day? She can’t recall anything specific they talked about. Yes, now, now she remembers. It was short. Awkward. They spoke over one another.

Nothing makes sense.

“What’s not possible?” the lawyer asks. “That your friend is accusing your father or that this alleged crime took place?”

“You mean, when the police came,” Katie says, feeling as dumb as a cow, “they were arresting Dad?”

“That’s the procedure. He’s been out on bail, and we think there’s going to be a trial. Probably not for a while if we can help it,” Herb said. “Listen to me—this girl, she’s saying this incident happened while you were present. She claims the three of you were watching television at the cabin, on the last night of summer. She said there was a storm and you were all together, very early in the morning. Do you remember that?”

“She says it happened in the den—the . . . whatever? Something between her and Dad?”

“Yes. Do you remember that night?”

Katie nods, slowly. A piercing anger makes her ears ring. I am so fucking dumb, she thinks. How can Lulu be so cruel, so selfish? Why would she say something so incredibly, unbelievably stupid?

Because it’s obvious: no one with half a brain is ever going to believe that Katie’s father would have sex with a girl, let alone while his daughter was in the same room. People will laugh at Lulu. Everyone is going to think she is a batshit-crazy liar.

As Herb Schwartz talks, a constant thought runs through her brain, like a frigid undercurrent: All along there is the fact that Katie disappeared with Jack that night. That she had chosen him over Lulu. That Lulu knew it.

She must really hate my guts, Katie thinks.

But there is not much time for reaction; Herb is in action mode. He wants answers. He’s looking to lay out the facts for her. Katie remembers little of what he tells her, other than the basics. There was a counselor who took Lulu to be examined by a doctor and to give a statement to the New York Child Protective Services Abuse Investigation team. There was, of course, no evidence of abuse, and it is clear to everyone involved that the story is full of holes, Herb says.