25. Charlotte #freebill
Charlotte #freebill
I drove Grace, Merit, and Iris home, and we texted Elliott to ask him to please make sure Julie got home. We figured he didn’t need to be reminded to get Alice home safely. The party was only a four-minute drive from the house, but it felt much longer since we rode in total silence.
Merit was on his phone, which seemed like a potentially unsafe choice since his mother was clearly on the warpath. But from what I could tell from my glimpses in the rearview mirror, Merit didn’t seem particularly contrite. He just sat there texting, while Iris watched him, clearly trying to catch his eye. She was trying to get her story straight, that was for sure. But what did Iris have to do with any of this? I wanted to ask. Or maybe just turn on the radio. But Grace’s face was stone-cold, staring straight ahead, and even though I knew she wasn’t mad at me , I didn’t want to poke the bear.
She got out of the car and stalked up the stairs. We trailed in after her, and she closed the door and locked it behind us, which was unsettling. “Sit down,” Grace said. “All of you.”
“Me too?” I squeaked.
“Yes. I need moral mom support.”
Iris and Merit sat down in their normal seats at the dining room table. Grace and I sat across from them. Grace crossed her arms on the table and sighed. “Merit, on the way home, I was thinking about how you really are a model son. You make great grades and you’re a star athlete, and I know that you go to great lengths to not cause me extra grief or trouble. I know that. I understand that you cannot be perfect all the time. But please tell me why you felt that punching a judge in the face was a good way to rebel.”
Merit seemed pale. And it interested me that Grace said he went to great lengths to be a model son. That was a good quality, of course. But the statement seemed to run deeper than that.
“It was my fault!” Iris interrupted before Merit could speak.
“Great,” I said under my breath. I reminded myself that she was going through so much. I reminded myself that, as the way she’d climbed into bed with me last week proved, so much of her was still just a soft, sweet, scared little girl.
Grace smiled. “Iris, sweetheart, I appreciate that. I do. But Merit doesn’t need you to take up for him.” She looked at her son again.
“No, Grace, I mean it,” Iris said. “The judge was saying that Dad was guilty and that if I didn’t believe that I was dumb. Or I looked dumb, or—”
“You were even dumber than you looked,” Merit said.
“Well, thank you,” Iris said, smirking. “What a helpful time to chime in.”
My face was getting hot, and I could feel my heart pounding. “I’m sorry. He said that to you?”
“He was just drunk, Mom. He apologized.”
“I don’t care!” I protested. “There is no excuse for a grown man saying anything like that to you!” I stood up from the table, enraged. No one talked to my little girl like that.
Grace put her hand on my arm. “I’m mad too, Charlotte, but I think it’s fair to say that Merit settled the score.”
“No! We should turn him in! Get him suspended!” Even as I said it, I knew it was idiotic. Maybe somewhere else that would be an argument. But in a town this small—and in regard to a man that beloved—I would somehow end up being the one who got punished.
Grace just patted my arm, a little sympathetically. To console myself, I thought of what people must be saying about that insufferably proud man’s fall from grace at the hands of a teenager. I sat back down.
“Merit,” Grace said calmly. “There is never any excuse for violence—”
“But, Grace!” Iris interrupted.
Grace put her hand up. “—but in this specific case, I’m glad you punched him. I wish you’d knocked him the hell out.”
Merit smiled but still said nothing.
“So, are we grounded?” Iris asked.
“I can’t think of why you would be,” Grace said. “But if you can think of a reason, please feel free to fill us in.”
Merit got up and kissed Grace’s cheek. “Thanks, Mom.”
“Sit back down, please,” she said.
Merit looked concerned, but then Grace said, “I need more details about Sophie’s tantrum.” She grinned, and we all started laughing.
“The best part of any good party,” I said, “is unpacking all the details afterward. So settle in. In fact, I’ll get us some snacks.”
But before I could, I heard the doorknob turn and then a key scratching in the lock, and Julie burst through. “You guys!” she said. “I think we did it! I mean, at least we did something.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
Julie bounded over to us. “Check out Juniper Shores Socialite.”
I gasped as she handed me her phone. On the screen was a red square and, inside, the hashtag #freebill . It might not bring Bill home. But I could feel the tide starting to turn.