Page 96 of Just Ten Seconds

I didn’t expect them to know the terms of my conviction, yet it still hurts that they were content to believe I had been held in confinement all this time. I move my left ankle behind my right and lift my chin despite its quivering interior.

“It came off two years ago,” I say.

Amy has never been a fan of mine. In fact, my sheer existence has always been a stain on their relationship. Every time she sees me, it’s with a skeptical eye. While I haven’t seen my father in many years, I’ve run into Amy at department stores or social gatherings. We always pretend to not know one another, keeping to our corners. It works for me because of this—her sneer.

“I see you stopped using your Hermès bag. All the better. You have a lot of enemies in this city, and if anyone saw you with a thirty-thousand dollar handbag, they would scream,” she states.

I look down at the tote I’ve been using as my sole pocketbook since I left the city. It was a gift from Jackie and adorably practical. “My life isn’t about money.”

She eyes my old Tory Burch flats with scuffs on them, my lack of jewelry, and my need for a manicure. When I left the house, I felt pretty. It was the way Dean’s eyes lit up when I stepped out of the room. Now, I feel like the scum under my worn-out shoes.

“Well, you’ll never meet a new husband, looking like that. Then again, you’re not about the money anymore, so I guess this look suits you.” She folds her hands. “Too bad about the boat and the house in Florida. Did the government really repossess everything?”

I know what she’s asking. Everyone knew from the media reports that Benjamin had proposed to me with a hundred-thousand-dollar diamond ring. What they didn’t report was that I never wore it out of the house and chose a simple gold band when we married.

“I gave them whatever they wanted and more,” I state. The only thing they didn’t want was my wedding band, so I sold it to pay for my divorce attorney. “Some people don’t give a shit about diamonds.”

Her rock of a wedding ring glistens in the lighting.

“You look just like your mother. Act like her too. A total bitch,” she says.

I swallow back the way her words hit me like a knife.

While my mother scraped to give me a good life, my father lived a lavish one. He and Amy had two incomes, no kids, and a free conscience. Mom tried to get child support, but he had a way of hiding his income. Amy, on the other hand, makes plenty of money. They waited until I was eighteen to get married in fear that I’d be entitled to anything of hers. I never wanted it, and I never will.

“Don’t you dare speak of my mother that way,” I spit. She and I might be at odds these days, but the fact remains that she was the one who raised me. “She did what she could. She might say the wrong things and be callous, but she worked her ass off to provide, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to have a man who ran away from us insult her.”

He has a sheer look of annoyed disappointment on his face. “Perhaps I should have taken you with me. Then, maybe you wouldn’t have grown up to be a criminal. People lost their pensions, a man died in your arms, and all you could say on the stand was, ‘I didn’t mean to do it.’ ”

His words make me feel like I’m the one who pulled the trigger. I might as well have. It was my ignorance that caused Michael to lose his life. My stupidity that ruined the lives of so many.

I’ve been running for so long that I almost forgot there is no finish line. You can’t outrun the truth. It’s stronger and quicker, and it will outlive you.

The truth never dies.

“Mara,” Dean calls my name.

I turn to see him and Amanda a few tables away.

Father is taking in Dean’s jeans and black button-down and Amanda’s sequined shirt and cast, which is now frayed at the end while the insulation is gray from weeks of wear. I know what he’s thinking. They’re beneath him.

“We’re all set when you are.” Dean apprehensively looks at my father and me. He holds his chin up and squares his shoulders, sensing something is off.

“Who’s that?” Amanda asks me.

I look down at my father who doesn’t give them more than a pinched mouth. Amy is looking at the bottom of her chardonnay.

“No one,” I say and step toward Dean and Amanda, who grabs my hand and possessively holds it.

I glance back, and my father has already turned his back to us, uncaring that our conversation came to an abrupt ending. Dean is still glaring at him, his protective nature never changing.

I lay my hand on his shoulder. “Dean,” I say.

He turns his head to the sound of my voice. He’s searching my eyes to make sure everything’s okay. From the downturn of his brow, I can see he’s not convinced.

“Let’s go home.” He places a hand on my back, and together, we walk out of the restaurant.

The ride home is quiet. Amanda asks Dean to download the Aladdin soundtrack, so we do so and play it as we drive away from the city, the bright lights fading behind us. We approach our exit, and for the first time today, I feel a hum in my soul. Ever since we crossed the bridge, I’ve had this shooting anxiety running through me that is now letting up a touch.