Page 353 of Wicked Brutal

Arthur opens another folder. “The paperwork is only corroboration.”

There are six years behind those pages. Real days. Real nights. Real people who saw us.

“Dr. Brenner has treated Tobias since infancy.” He reads. “’Jane O’Toole ordinarily accompanied Tobias to appointments. Alison O’Toole was frequently present, and as Tobias grew older, sometimes brought him herself. She demonstrated detailed knowledge of his medical history, his medications, his allergies, his prior reactions, and his routines.’” I stare at the table. “’Tobias frequently sought reassurance from Alison during examinations. When frightened, he would reach for her, or ask her to stay beside him.’”

I remember holding his hand through stitches when he split his chin open. I was fifteen. He screamed when the doctor tried to move me away from the bed, so Mom told them to let me stay.

Arthur moves to the next statement. “Tobias’s teacher writes: ‘Jane O’Toole was his primary parent contact. Alison was also consistently involved in his school life — she attended events, collected him when authorized, helped with assignments, knew his classroom routines. When Tobias became ill or upset at school, he asked for one of two people. His mother, or Ally.’” My eyes sting. “’This was true before Jane O’Toole’s death, and before I had any knowledge of the family’s legal circumstances.’”

Then it’s my school. My teachers. One remembers me leaving early because Tobias was sick. Another remembers him coming to an Edgewood event with me because Mom couldn’t take him and Dad wouldn’t. My English teacher writes that I’ve sometimes built my own deadlines around things involving my brother.

Then the parents. Mrs. Palmer, who used to call me to arrange playdates. Mrs. Keller, whose yard Tobias fell out of a swing in — she couldn’t reach Mom, so she called me, and I came. Mr. Ellis, and the sleepover Tobias couldn’t finish.

Arthur reads from his statement. “’Around two in the morning, Tobias became upset and asked to go home. When we asked who to call, he told us to call Ally.’” I close my eyes. “’Alison arrived shortly after. She appeared to have come straight from bed. Tobias went to her immediately. She held him while we gathered his things, and took him home without a word of complaint about being woken.’”

Arthur sets the statement down. “These aren’t people who started watching Alison after Jane died. They’re describing what they saw when there was nothing to prove.” Then he reaches for another page. “This statement is from Fiona O’Farrell.”

My head lifts. Arthur glances at me once — he knew that name would get me. “Mrs. O’Farrell first met the family after they moved to Edgewood in July. Months ago. She barely knows me.” He reads. “’I don’t have the history with Alison that the other adults submitting statements have. I met her only after her family moved here last summer.’” He pauses. “’When I first met the O’Tooles, I assumed Alison was Tobias’s mother.’”

My mouth falls open. Behind me, Cassandra makes a tiny sound.

Arthur keeps reading. “’No one told me that. It was an assumption I made from watching them. Tobias stayed near Alison. When he needed something, he asked her. In a new place, he reached for her hand. She checked whether he’d eaten, fixed his clothes, kept track of his things, and responded to him with the automatic familiarity of someone who does those things every day. It wasn’t until Jane referred to Tobias as her son that I understood I’d misread it.’”

I blink through tears.

“’I want to be clear that I barely know Alison O’Toole,’” Arthur reads, “’and I don’t think pretending otherwise would help her or make me more credible. What I can offer is the view of someone who came into this family’s life with no history at all. What I saw, immediately, was a young woman functioning as a parent to her little brother. If that was obvious to me before I knew any of their history, I think it’s worth saying now.’”

That is so completely Fiona I almost laugh through the crying. She didn’t have six years. She didn’t need them.

Arthur submits the rest of the family statements without burying them under a list of names — Callum and Saoirse, who’ve known me since I was born; Thomas; Clifford and Louise; Gideon and Alice; Theodore and Katya. Each one says what they personally saw. Each one offers help if I need it — housing, transportation, childcare, school, money, medical care, help with the baby. And not one of them asks for Tobias. Every single one asks the court to let him stay with me.

Then Arthur closes the folder. “Your Honor, the defense has placed considerable emphasis on Alison’s current residence and her reliance on the Harrington family.” He turns. “I’d like to call Walter Harrington.”

Walter stands. My chest tightens before he even reaches the stand.

After he’s sworn in, Arthur approaches. “Mr. Harrington, how long have you known Alison O’Toole?”

Walter looks at me. “Since the day she was born.”

My eyes burn instantly.

“And her parents?”

“Before that. Our families have known each other since before any of the kids came along. They all grew up around each other.”

“And Tobias?”

“His whole life.”

“So you’ve watched Alison and Tobias together for six years. Before she began dating your son.”

Walter looks almost offended by the understatement. “Yes.”

“Before she became pregnant. Before Jane died.”

“Yes.” His face changes on the last one.

“Tell the court what their relationship looked like when Tobias was little.”