Reputation(106)

“You were afraid. You had to defend yourself.”

Aurora looks pleadingly at me, her eyes wide, her mouth small, her body curled so tightly in the chair. She’s so young, I realize. Younger than I was when I met Martin. Younger than Willa was when she was raped. Still so innocent.

“I don’t want to go to jail,” Aurora whispers between sobs. “Please, Mom. I can’t.”

I feel my life disassembling, piece by piece, until there is nothing left. Where can we go from here? What can I even tell her? This is the worst possible outcome. No lessons are learned here. No justice is done. It was a hideous thing that we don’t even entirely understand yet—and a child’s impulsive decision. My baby is going to be gone forever. It’s one thing if it’s me in jail, but it’s another thing entirely if it’s one of my daughters. There’s no way I can let that happen.

“I’ll go for you,” I say in a near whisper. “I’ll say I did it. The police already think so, anyway. It’s what everyone wants to believe.”

Willa frowns. “It’s not your prints on the knife. There must be another way.”

Irritation rises inside me. Who cares about holes in the story? I just need to save my daughter. “No. This is the only way.”

“I’ll take the blame.”

My father is propped up a little in his bed and staring straight at us. A jolt goes through me—he’s been so out of it the last few hours that I keep assuming he hasn’t heard much of what we’ve said. But now, he stares at us with resigned intelligence. Even a little color has returned to his face.

“I’ll take the blame,” he says again. “I’ll say I did it.”

I blink hard. “You?”

“You heard the doctor. I don’t have much time to live.”

“But . . .” Willa sounds dumbfounded. “No, Dad. No.”

“You don’t have to,” I interrupt. “This is ridiculous to even think about.”

“They won’t put me in prison.” He breathes in raggedly. “I’m dying, girls. Where am I going to go?”

He almost looks mischievous as he says this. I’m dumbstruck.

“Dad.” I shake my head. “I’m not letting you confess to a murder you didn’t commit. It’s . . . preposterous.”

“It’ll ruin your legacy,” Willa pipes up.

He waves his hand, but his voice is suddenly full of remorse. “What kind of father doesn’t know that something terrible has happened to his daughter? That something has happened to his grandchildren? You are my legacy.”

“Dad.” Willa shuts her eyes. “Stop.”

“It’s true. I put Aldrich on the front burner for years, and that made me lose sight of keeping my children safe.” He shifts so he’s sitting a little higher. “Let me do this. Let me keep you safe. It’s the least I can do.”

Aurora lets out a squeak. Willa stares at me with a look that seems to say, How can we stop him? Tears drip down my cheeks. My father looks so at peace with his decision. It’s all happening too quickly—realizing we’re going to have to say goodbye, and now hearing of the sacrifice he’s going to make for us.

I walk over to Aurora and put my hand over hers. My heart is beating quickly, and I don’t want to get my hopes up that this could work, and I feel conflicted even considering letting him go through with it. I feel her press against me, her body shuddering with pain. Even if she isn’t going to jail for this, she’s going to have to live with it for the rest of her life, just like Willa has lived with her rape.

And maybe that’s prison enough.





EPILOGUE





47





LAURA


FRIDAY, MAY 12, 2017


Mother’s Day dawns warm, sunny, and fragrant, which is a delight. Last Mother’s Day, almost halfway through my pregnancy, I woke up to six inches of snow. Ollie and I went through with our picnic plans anyway, shoveling off a patch on the lawn of Phipps Conservatory, our fingers frozen as we sipped sparkling cider, the snowflakes landing on my slightly swollen belly. We were both so happy, though, the weather barely mattered.

Well. Actually, I guess neither of us was. I was afraid. And Ollie was quietly, secretly furious.

But this is my first official Mother’s Day as a mom. And as I swing into the car, I hear Freddie kicking at his dangling car seat toy in the back, and my world is filled with light and life. I understand the gift I’ve been given. That if things had gone differently, I might not have my son at all. I might not be alive.

The day the police stopped me on the turnpike still comes back to me in horrific flashes. The cops took me into their cruiser, arranging for a separate vehicle to follow behind us with Freddie. I’d begged them to let us ride together, but they refused. The whole drive, I rocked with psychic pain, sensing Freddie’s lonely screams as though they were needles drilling into my skin. I was furious, too. What doctor had signed a bogus note that I was a danger to my child? How long in advance had Ollie planned this? What if Ollie got sole custody of my child? That’s what frightened me the most, I think—that my baby would be with a man who had it in him to kill.

The drive back to Pittsburgh was excruciating. We finally pulled up to the station in Blue Hill, and the police escorted me to a small, isolated interrogation room and told me to wait. I strained to hear Freddie’s cries, but the office was as silent as a tomb. I pleaded with an officer who came to check if I needed something to drink. The baby still nurses, I urged. He’s going to need a diaper change. He’s got to be scared.