We Are Not Like Them(27)

Julia looks a little overwhelmed by the aggressive hospitality as she settles on the banquette. But she doesn’t get much further than, “I’m sorry, I know you’ve been through a lot,” before the front door opens, bringing in a fury of noise.

“That’ll be the rest of the family,” Cookie explains, as Annie and Matt’s four-year-old son, Archie, comes tearing into the room pretending to shoot a plastic bazooka at everyone. I wonder if I’m the only one who sees the irony in this. When I catch Julia’s quick cringe, I realize that I’m not.

Cookie scoops up her grandchild, weapon and all, and pecks at his neck like a mama lion licking her young cub clean. Matt and Annie, my favorite Murphy besides Kevin, are close behind. They line up to kiss Cookie hello, and she puffs up at the attention. Nothing makes Cookie happier than having both her sons in her kitchen, even under these circumstances.

Julia waits patiently as drinks are poured and Archie is settled with a snack in front of the TV. When she finally has everyone’s attention, she clasps her hands on the table and begins. “So I’m here to help advise you. You’ve been thrust into the public spotlight, and I’m sure the attention is intense for everyone. I’m sure it’s been… challenging.”

“It’s been absolute hell,” Cookie says, wringing her liver-spotted hands.

“I can imagine. And I’m afraid it’s going to get worse before it gets better. You need to prepare yourself. You know the story is getting national attention already. And the local media is rabid. I’m sure you saw the piece this morning?”

“Of course we did,” Matt says about the viral op-ed in the Inquirer about how Philly’s racist police force needs to be rebuilt from the ground up. “All these cocky Ivy League assholes with their opinions on police and guns—I bet none of them has even met a cop.”

Julia eyes Matt warily. “I know it’s a lot to take in. I’m here as a resource to help you through this. The first thing you need to do is deactivate your social media accounts. You can’t give the trolls a platform, and you don’t want to be tempted to say anything yourself that could influence—or damage—public opinion. That’s really the key, no public commentary. Period. Your best bet is to wait until things die down.”

“It seems like an impossible dream that this will ever die down,” I say, almost to myself.

Julia nods at me, compassion in her eyes, compassion I wish I’d gotten from Riley.

“I understand. And it’s not fair to any of you, but the press and the public have already made up their minds that Kevin is guilty. Unfortunately there’s a lot of anti-police sentiment out there right now.”

“Who do they think is gonna come save their ass next time some junkie snatches their Prada purse or someone breaks into their Bimmer?” Matt says. “Not every cop is a racist asshole, but that’s what you’d think from watching the news, the way they spin the stories with half-truths and hyped-up headlines,” he finishes, drawing a long sip from his beer.

Annie nods in agreement. “I remember how when I first married Matt, I was wary of even telling people he was a cop—all the stupid assumptions they would make about him.”

“And now they’re protesting us like we’re bad guys,” Matt snaps.

“Julia, do we have to worry about this protest tomorrow? What can we do about that?” Cookie asks. “I hope it rains, a big old downpour so they have to cancel it. It’s absurd that the mayor thinks it’s okay to talk to them. He’s supposed to be on the side of law enforcement. I mean, for heaven’s sake, show some support. He keeps bending to those activists”—she spits the word as if she’d said “puppy killers”—“when he should be standing up for the people who are doing their jobs.”

I’ve lost track of how many times Cookie has delivered this rant. She’s been in a perpetual tizzy over the mayor and the police commissioner and how she thinks they’re bowing to media pressure instead of protecting the officers, and her son. The mayor issued a statement in support of the police department twenty-four hours after the shooting. Then, a day later, after the protests began, he dialed it back, saying, “The city will do everything in its power to make sure justice is served.”

“It’s a betrayal!” Cookie slams her fist on the table. “Those people trying to make my child out to be some devil just for doing his job. I won’t have it!”

“Come on, honey.” Frank’s jaw gives the telltale twitch. When Cookie gets worked up, her husband is the only one who can calm her down. “We know the truth. Kevin had to do what he did to protect himself and his partner.” Frank’s words ooze from the side of his drooping lips, but they don’t have their desired effect, judging from the red streaks across Cookie’s sallow cheeks.

“Exactly. He was protecting himself. It’s a jungle out there. A war zone—right, Frank? We know. You remember.” It seems to soothe her to say this again and again. “I mean, there are animals out there.”

For her part, Julia doesn’t seem fazed by Cookie’s outburst, or at least she hides it well, probably a necessary skill for her job. “I understand your frustration, Mrs. Murphy. I do. One of the things I need to remind you of is that you should feel free to express these really difficult emotions here in your own home. You should—you need to. But you also have to be very careful about whom you share your opinions with and the language you use to share those opinions. Everything you say can be misconstrued, and that is the last thing Kevin needs.”