Tears started burning the corners of my eyes. “What are we going to do?”
He didn’t reply; he kept looking at the pavement, absent-mindedly playing the tip of his shoe against the edges of pavers. When he finally spoke, his voice was distant, professional, and brutally cold. “How about this name-change business? Was it legal?”
I hesitated for a moment, so tempted to offer one more lie. “The ID is legal,” I said instead.
Stunned, he raised his head and stared at me. A storm of emotions battled on his face. Disbelief. Regret. Anger. Sorrow.
“Why, Hattie?” he eventually asked in a fraught voice. “Why? You could’ve called me, no matter what it was. You know I love you. I always will.”
Why?I didn’t know where to start, so I didn’t. Silence engulfed us. After a while, I stood and walked over to him, then lost myself in his embrace.
“Save me,” I whispered, my face buried in his chest. “Oh, Colton, I’m so scared ... Please, promise me everything will be all right.”
A long beat of silence passed while he rocked me back and forth, gently, like a slow dance without music and without steps. “I promise, we’ll get through this,” he whispered, his lips close to my ear. “We’ll find a way, you and me.”
I didn’t believe a single word.
He was just as terrified as I was.
41
News
With jury selection complete, the trial loomed just days away. My nerves were shot, and the urge to drink something strong was overwhelming. Colton had taken over the dining room table, turning it into a battlefield of files, reports, and legal pads covered in his scribbled notes. His tie was off, sleeves rolled up, hair tousled as he paced like a caged animal searching for escape. Seeing him like this, and knowing it was all for me, made my anxiety worse.
I did a lot of pacing myself, jumping at every doorbell ring, hoping Colton’s assistant would bring back my laptop and phone from evidence. No such luck. I desperately wanted to check Claire’s alibi, but had no way to research without the mall video surveillance evidence or a computer.
Too restless to do anything else, I turned on the TV in the bedroom, shutting the door to keep the noise from Colton. My face was everywhere, with local news announcing the trial’s start and already painting me guilty. Flipping through channels to escape that horror, I settled on a stand-up comedy show from an open-mic night, featuring a Black man in his thirties with a charismatic face and a weirdly shaped hairdo. He was funny, and even made me crack a tiny smile at his jokes about celebrity breakups and their use of dating apps.
Then I heard my name and froze. I picked up the remote and hit the rewind button.
So, have you heard about this fancy-schmancy socialite, Olivia Taylor? I mean, she’s gone from champagne and diamonds to handcuffs and body cavity searches faster than you can sayCriminal Minds! One day, she’s at charity galas. The next, she’s on trial. And it ain’t for grand theft auto, either ... Murder one, folks! Talk about a dramatic career turn! If she were any more scandalous, she’d need her own Netflix series! You know it’s bad when even the tabloids are like, “Girl, tone it down! We kinda liked that dude!”
Sprinkled roars of laughter came from the public, each one a dagger to my heart. Those people didn’t know anything about me, and worse than anything, they didn’t care whether I was guilty or not. I was just a source of cheap entertainment for them.
I turned off the TV and threw the remote against the wall. It fell to the ground intact, leaving behind a small dent. I was tempted to stomp all over it, but I went to the window instead and leaned my forehead against the cool glass, relishing the soothing sensation.
The perfectly blue sky outside only reminded me of how trapped I felt. I needed to get out of the house, to do something. Grabbing a fresh pair of jeans, a white scarf, and sunglasses, I decided it was time to visit Miracle Mile and start getting answers.
I was still getting dressed when the sound of raised voices caught my attention. I zipped up my jeans and slipped on a pair of sneakers, then rushed into the living room.
“She ain’t gonna do this, man, I’m telling you!” Billy Ray was shouting.
I’d never seen him like this ... not since this whole ordeal had started. He’d been quiet, withdrawn, fixing way more food than we could eat. Now his face was blotchy red, and his eyes drilled into Colton.
“She has to,” Colton replied, a little calmer than Billy. “Do you think I want her humiliated like that?”
“Like what?” I asked, feeling a sickening knot in my gut. “What’s going on?”
Both men turned toward me, looking guilty and embarrassed as if I’d caught them doing something wrong.
“Um, I asked for an expert to interview you before trial,” Colton said. “She’ll testify—”
“It’s a shrink, sis. She’ll speak about you and, um, our father ... what the bastard did to you.”
The room seemed to go dark.
My chest clenched, and my throat burned with the sudden pressure of words I couldn’t find. I felt the sting behind my eyes first, sharp and hot, and then my face crumpled, the tears breaking free before I could stop them.
