My Name Is Venus Black(32)
Out of nowhere, a waitress is at my table, and I quickly slap the newspaper shut. She sets my food down, and I notice it’s the same girl who took my order. Her name tag says JULIE. She seems in a hurry, so maybe she didn’t notice my overreaction.
Once she’s gone, I dig into the omelet, which tastes amazing. I scan the P-I story, which holds no surprises. There’s mention of Leo and the mystery surrounding his disappearance. As usual, there’s an inference that I was somehow involved, because of the timing, so close to my crime. Otherwise, it’s mainly an overview of the controversies my case stirred up at the time. A lot of folks got upset when the prosecutor tried to have my case moved to adult court. They accused him of grandstanding for the media, and they shared Betty’s contention that I was way too young to be tried outside the juvenile system.
While the judge kept my case in juvenile court, I was still convicted of murder one because my crime was determined to be premeditated. But rather than receiving the maximum sentence—thanks to Betty and all the mitigating circumstances—I got five and a half years when I could have been locked up till I was twenty-one. Some folks in the legal world questioned the legitimacy of the mitigating factors in my case. A small but vocal camp insisted that I should serve more-serious time. They worried if I wasn’t punished severely, it would send the wrong message to other kids: If your parents piss you off enough, it’s okay to kill them.
I’m guessing a number of asshole stepdads were shaking in their J. C. Penney slippers.
Others wrote editorials in the opposite direction, and a bunch of women’s-rights types practically made me their hero. They used my story to raise awareness—outraged that what Raymond did wasn’t technically a crime at the time.
But did anyone ever consider that I might not want more attention brought to my case?
Of course, I didn’t know about most of this until much later, when my counselor, Sharon, told me about it. She reassured me that justice had been done, and she emphasized over and over that I shouldn’t feel guilt about what Raymond had done to me. What I never heard her say once, though, is that I shouldn’t feel guilt about what I did to him.
Which, of course, I did. Even as I raged against him, I was horrified that I had killed a man. Even at my young age, I knew Raymond deserved to be punished but he didn’t deserve to die. To her credit, Sharon helped me see that I could take responsibility for killing Raymond—without letting Inez off the hook for her part. And I could admit the enormous guilt I felt—without wishing Raymond were still alive.
Taking a bite of my bear claw, I look for the section with the funnies, and my eyes slip over to the horoscopes. I don’t actually believe in astrology, but I always read it, anyway. The one for Pisces says “your career will take a positive turn today.” Great news if I had a career.
My eyes drop down to the entry for Leo—and guess what? If he’s alive somewhere, “a financial venture may prove lucrative.” Why do I bother reading these things?
When I first arrived at Echo Glen, all I could talk about was Leo and what could have happened to him. I clung to the hope that he was still alive and badgered the staff for news. I even begged random people like the maintenance man to make the police do their job and find him.
At night, I’d lay awake, imagining all kinds of dark scenarios—scenarios that seemed increasingly possible now that I went to school with a good number of young pervs and violent offenders. Once I finally got to sleep, I’d have nightmares where Leo was in great danger and pain and begging me to rescue him but I couldn’t because I was locked up.
It was a bad dream that always came true.
I thought I was going to die of missing Leo and wondering about him, until one day something clicked. I remembered the epiphany I had back at Denney about doing time and how being anxious for it to pass is how they punish you. And everyone knows nothing makes time drag more slowly than hoping and waiting for something.
That meant if I wanted to survive my sentence with my sanity intact, I couldn’t afford to keep hoping for Leo. But hope is hard to kill, so the best I could do was pretend to give up on Leo so other people would shut up about him.
In the meantime, I never really bought the idea that Raymond’s brother took him, which was one of the early theories the police went on. They named Tinker a person of interest, partly because he was an ex-con—he’d done time in Monroe for burglary—and because he seemed to have left the Everett area shortly after Leo disappeared.
But what would a guy like Tinker want with Leo? The idea that Tinker might be a pedophile or want to sell Leo to one—it’s possible, but it just felt wrong. The few times I met him—he and Raymond never got along, so he wasn’t around much—he struck me as kind of an idiot, not evil. Plus, he had showed zero interest in Leo.
While I couldn’t bear to keep hope alive for Leo’s safe return, Inez dealt with losing him in the opposite way. She kept badgering the press all the time to do follow-up stories—at least that’s what Sharon told me. Come to think of it, Inez is probably to blame for the fact that there’s even a story about me in the paper today. She’s been so determined to keep Leo’s story alive, she’s kept mine alive, too.
The realization is like an unexpected gift—something new I can blame on Inez.
Done eating, I force myself to turn to the “Help Wanted” section. Why didn’t I start here last night? I find postings for a lot of dishwashers, cooks, and bussers. The one that pops out is a hostess job at what sounds like a fancy seafood place. I like the idea of being a hostess. But then I think about the hostesses I met last night, and I realize they were all beautiful, bubbly types who were practically jubilant to see you.