When We Were Bright and Beautiful(104)

Lawrence was charged with statutory rape of a minor, along with other crimes related to me. Turns out Billy’s testimony, my conversations with Haggerty, and affidavits from Anton, Joey, and Maeve were enough to get a warrant. It’s unlikely the case will go to trial. Given the facts, and the havoc Eleanor can wreak, at some point soon he’ll make a deal. So, unlike his son, Lawrence is headed to prison. Upon his release, he’ll have to register as a sex offender.

I’m not sure that what Lawrence did was a crime, nor am I sure if he committed it alone. We fell in love together and with my full consent. Even if I was too young, as defined by an arbitrary law, I knew what I was doing. Men are men are men. Feral, submissive—it’s biology. I appealed to Lawrence’s baser instincts and got what I wanted.

And yet.

Recent developments suggest that the concrete pillar at my core has sustained a hairline fracture. After Billy was arrested, I saw cops everywhere. Now I see girls. Twelve-year-olds buying frozen yogurt with their moms. Thirteen-year-olds arm-in-arm on the street, laughing uproariously. The other day I walked past a playground and watched a group of girls huddled in the corner, smoking. They were fourteen, maybe fifteen, max. Their cigarettes were hidden, but smoke plumed in the air. Wearing plaid skirts and school blazers, with their yarn friendship bracelets, Converse high-tops, and swinging ponytails, they looked so childish, so blissfully unaware that I felt my legs give way and had to sit down. Then I started to cry.

The terms of Lawrence’s bail agreement prohibit him from contacting me. Even so, two weeks after his arrest, out on bond, he called me and my brothers and begged us to see him. Neither Nate nor Billy agreed, but after a week of yes-no-maybe-I-don’t-know, I said yes, okay, I guess.

Lawrence is living in a plush hotel near the Hudson River, far from the Valmont. We agree to meet on Monday afternoon in the lobby restaurant. At four, Nate walks me to the hotel entrance, but that’s as far as he’ll go.

“I can’t.” He gestures to the bar next door. “I’ll wait here.”

“I’ll be in and out in twenty minutes.”

“It not, I’ll come find you.” A promise and a threat. Nate knows that without it, I’ll waffle. I’ll stay too long. I’m not nearly as tough as I think I am.

“I’ll be fine,” I tell him.

“I’ll be here,” he assures me.

Lawrence is in the back, in a corner booth. It’s almost Christmas, and the walls are decorated with sparkly tinsel and blinking lights. Candles glow on the tabletops. It’s lovely and romantic, and yet, the room has an air of tragedy. Or maybe it’s just that this feeling is evoked in me when Lawrence lifts his head. “Cassie,” he says. His voice cracks.

“Lawrence.” Numbness permeates my body even as I start to tremble. What now? What next? Panting, I grab the back of a chair to steady myself.

A couple of years ago, Eleanor told me that when her parents reached the end of their lives, she was forced to think of them as strangers. She cared for them with the diligence of a loving daughter, but these cranky senior citizens, who barked orders and called her Eloise, weren’t her real mother and father. She said it was the only way she could handle her sorrow and absorb the enormity of what was happening to them, and to her. “They weren’t just dying,” she explained. “They were also leaving me behind.”

I study Lawrence’s face. He still has the same arrogant lift to his chin, the same chiseled jaw. But the light is gone. His skin is ashen. His blue eyes are cloudy. He’s a shadow of the man I knew.

“You look so beautiful.” His cheeks are wet. “My Forever Girl.” On the table, there’s a gift wrapped in elegant gold paper with a silk bow. He pushes it toward me.

I thank him but don’t touch it. This man is a stranger, I tell myself. I’ve never met him before. I focus on the age spots near his nose. They make him look old.

The next fifteen minutes are awkward, with frequent pauses and small talk that trails off. He doesn’t appear nervous, but I can feel his strain. As for me, my body continues to shake.

At one point, he asks if I plan to go back to school.

“I’m not sure. But I’m moving back to New Haven.”

“For good?”

“For the foreseeable future, yeah.”

Before long, I’m depleted. Standing up, I clutch my bag. “I have to go.”

Lawrence watches me. “I keep telling myself that’s where I am.”

“Where?”

“Home. At the Valmont. Instead of a hotel. That what’s happening isn’t happening.” He offers a sad smile. “You know me, Cass. I’ve always been good at fantasy.”

“Does it work?”

“Not really. Not the way it used to, at any rate. I’m in a hotel downtown. I am going to prison eventually. My life, the life I had, is over.” But even as he speaks, his eyes flicker in and out of focus, as if he doesn’t quite believe this. “The life we had,” he adds.

Lawrence is baiting me, I can see him doing it, and yet I feel the old familiar pull, the flutter and flush, the need to make things right. I begin to waver, weaker still.

He tracks my face. “Do you ever think about us?” His voice is coy. “About me? About what we have?”

I take my time replying. The clock ticks. Nate waits. But I have to be accurate. I shift my bag to my other arm. I want and don’t want to go. I could lean over and kiss him. I remember the wetness of his mouth, the weight of his body. His fingers trailing down my thigh.