When We Were Bright and Beautiful(95)

Remember this, I tell myself. He’s a dirty dog you can train.

“We had a plan, Sweet Girl. Just a few more days.” Under the table, his hand strokes his crotch. Head back, eyelids fluttering, he’s lost. “After that, it’s you and me.” Then, as if to remind himself, he adds, “I promise.”

Remember, remember becomes a mantra, a necessary directive, my key to survival. I’m trying, I’m trying, but the past is elusive and the now is slippery. I’m not sure what’s true anymore. What rights do I have here? What is mine to demand?

Years ago, in the hospital, the therapist explained that my feelings for men, for Marcus, were confused and confusing. Somewhere along the way my wires got crossed then shorted out. I didn’t understand at sixteen, but now I think I do. All this time, I’ve been confusing pity with desire, gratitude with devotion, obligation with passion. But even if pity and gratitude are shitty reasons to hang on, they’re still reasons. They’re my reasons. Besides, why do I need reasons in the first place? Why does it matter? You can’t choose who you love. Love chooses you.

“Oh shit.” Realizing we’re late, Lawrence regains his composure. “I’m sorry, Cassie. We have to wait. Just a little while longer.” He stands up, adjusts his trousers. “Billy is my son.”

“What am I?”

“Excuse me?”

“He’s your son. What am I?”

Instead of replying, he leans over. I relax for a kiss. Instead, he pats my shoulder. “I tried to protect you. Back in March, I begged you to stay away from the trial. You can’t deny that. Cass, nothing here is real. It’s a play, a performance. We’re acting out parts in a prewritten script. Don’t forget what you know. What we have. What we are to each other. Christ, kid—that thing with your tongue? I practically came in my chair.”

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.”