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“You argue it to statutory and time served,” he says like that seems fair and reasonable.
“He broke her wrist and dislocated her knee.”
He waves his hand at me. “Rough sex gets out of hand sometimes.”
“I think I’m done here,” I say, getting up from the table.
He stands too and places his finger on my chest. “It’s your job to free him and make him seem innocent, or at least not as guilty.” I turn and start to walk away but he grabs my shoulder. “Do your job, Owen.”
I don’t—not well anyway. The client pleads not guilty, refusing to plea bargain making my job even harder. I do not discredit any witnesses, actually get one to admit he was the one who drugged her and tied her according to the client’s instructions. He had a text conversation the defense had used in evidence detailing their plans to tape him fucking a girl that night. The break on her wrist was a stress fracture from the ropes being tied too tight so he is taken into custody as well.
If I could have done less and gotten away with it, I would have. Fortunately for no one except the rapist, he gets off with probation and time served. It’s a travesty of justice and the judge is harshly criticized in the news and social media. My firm is acknowledged for doing its best for the nation’s rich and privileged once again and I’m barely mentioned, thanks to the firm’s PR company trying to erase my existence.
After the trial, I get to the office and immediately start packing my shit but in the end, the only things I take are a photo of my mom holding me as a baby down the shore, and a piece of driftwood I found the summer I met Mollie. I leave my company phone, laptop, keys, and ID card on my dad’s desk and peace out. I’ve never been so sure of anything as I am of leaving this law firm behind.
The first person I call is Brian, my therapist, but he doesn’t pick up, I try Shannon but I’m glad when she doesn’t pick up either, I really need to break up with her—it’s not working out for me.
When I get to my apartment, I feel strange, but the sense of relief and calm I feel is strong. I’m whistling a happy tune when I open my door and I’m surprised the two people fucking on my couch didn’t hear me I was so loud.
In a weird twist, Brian was sorrier than Shannon and even though I don’t respect what they did, he really helped me get through a stressful time. Once they are gone, I call my housekeeper and have her come do a thorough cleaning of the apartment. Even then it still feels off, like I don’t really belong here.
The next morning, I pack every t-shirt, pair of shorts, and swimsuit I own, along with some canvas work pants I bought when I helped renovate the apartment a few years ago. I leave my apartment key on the counter, then call my real estate agent and ask her to list it. I take the elevator to the parking garage, get in my Tesla, a car I hate, but my dad insisted was a good “power” car and drive out of the city. I find the first Ford dealership in New Jersey and trade the Tesla in for a truck.
I’m on a mission and that mission is for me to find peace and quiet away from here. I head to the one place I know will make me feel that way. The one place I can remember being happy.
CHAPTER 30
FRESH START
MOLLIE THEN
Natalie holds me up as I listen to my Aunt Kacey tell a story about my mom rescuing her from a terrible date when they were teenagers. My dad is on my other side holding my hand. So far, it’s been a lovely memorial and a gorgeous day for planting the tree my mom wanted her ashes to be buried with in a huge cemetery. Luckily, my aunt is the last person to speak at the cemetery and everyone heads to my house for wine and cheese after.
“You sure you want to host his party?” Nat asks as we ride in a Town Car back to the house.
“Yes, I need to do something to put off the inevitable nothing.” I’m a mess today and my attitude about life in general is in the shitter.
“Oh, babe, my heart is breaking for you, you shouldn’t have to deal with all of this trauma all at once. It will get better, though. I love you and Mark and I are here for anything you need. He said he could file an anonymous request for Steven to be audited if you want.”
I laugh and it feels strange. “Tell him thanks, and I love him for that.”
“So, that’s a yes?” she asks and we both smile.
She’s right, I am traumatized. My mom is dead and so is my marriage along with a baby I didn’t even know I wanted. I’m not sure how much more I can take.
My dad and step-mom are a huge help with the party and by some miracle, I survive the event. Once everyone is gone, I sit in my backyard and drink wine and allow myself to feel pitiful. I cry, I blame myself, my mom, Steven, the universe. Then I rage, throwing lawn furniture, empty wine bottles into the recycling bin, and I pull plants from the ground and planters that Steven meticulously planted.
Does it make me feel better? Not really, but it was a necessary process and now there’s just an endless maw of nothingness that is my future. Guess my positive outlook is still missing.
Over the next month, I try to write but nothing inspires me and I stare at the blank notebook and then the blank computer screen and feel not one iota of creative juices.
The one time I decide to venture out, I run into Steven at the grocery store. He spends ten minutes trying to persuade me to sell the house so we can split the money. I told him I’d think about it even though I think it’s the right move. He can stress about it and suck an egg for all I care.
Nat takes me out when the divorce papers go through and we eat lobster and drink a very expensive bottle of champagne.
“Fuck Steven and his small dick,” Nat says toasting me and I smile and clink her glass.
“It was not impressive,” I agree. “Seriously Nat thank you for being here for me. I honestly don’t know what I’d do without you.”
