22. Gemma
Chapter Twenty-Two
GEMMA
“Mom, I don’t know that I need to feel more free,” I offered as I adjusted the phone against my ear and stirred the pasta on the stove.
“Honey, I’m just saying it’s a way to take back your part of the story. I hate how everything went back then. While I am absolutely furious that man was allowed to continue coaching and has since gone on to abuse other girls, I’m also relieved it’s all coming out now. The truth will set you free.”
“Oh God,” I groaned. “Now we’re back to clichés.”
My mother was undeterred. “Clichés become clichés for a reason. Because they make sense, and they can be meaningful. I couldn’t protect you from him before, and I wasn’t able to make sure he was held accountable. I think it might be empowering for you to be a part of this case.”
“Mom, I already told you I’m thinking about it. Give me a little time to decide. There’s not a big rush. The attorneys on the case sent me a letter and let me know the schedule. The first hearing where I could even testify isn’t going to be for three months. If that. You’re the one who always tells me how waiting for court takes longer than watching paint dry. It’s highly possible it will get continued. I don’t have to decide right away.”
“I know, I know. I just wish?—”
I cut in. “Mom, let this be something I figure out for myself. Please.”
My mother was quiet, and I could practically visualize the disappointment crossing her face. She was the kind of person who charged at life, and I knew she wanted me to charge at this.
“Okay, I will. Just know we’re there for you, one hundred percent.”
“I know, Mom. Your support means so much. I need to go because I’m making lunch, and I need to drain the pasta. I’ll call you in a couple days, okay?”
“Please do. Love you, dear.”
“Love you too, Mom.”
I had a respite from phone calls on uncomfortable and emotionally loaded topics while I ate my lunch before I headed in to my yoga studio for evening classes. I was looking forward to going out to the resort tomorrow for my first two yoga classes there. Daphne had texted me today to let me know the guest one was already full.
After I rinsed my dishes and set them in the rack to dry, my phone rang. Glancing down, I didn’t recognize the number, but I recognized the Oregon area code, so I answered out of curiosity more than anything.
“Hello?”
“I’m looking for Gemma Marlon.”
“This is her. How can I help you?”
“Excellent,” the man said smoothly. “I’m Tom Johnson, and I’m an attorney working on the legal case involving Shawn Winston. You’re listed as a potential witness, and I was hoping we could speak to you.”
“I’ve already said that I’d like some time to think about it and I’ll get back to you,” I said, trying to keep my tone firm.
“To clarify, I don’t work for the DA’s office. We represent Mr. Winston. You were listed as someone whose testimony might be positive for our client. Your hesitation to be available for the prosecution speaks volumes.”
My mouth fell open as shock slid through me. For a second, I was bewildered, thinking it was insane that they’d think any of his victims would testify for him. Anger and bitterness followed. I’d seen this kind of thing in the news, where they persuaded people to change their stories years later. I finally scrambled together enough sense to reply.
“I don’t know what gave you the idea I would be willing to testify in any way that would be supportive for your client. Absolutely not.”
The attorney didn’t miss a beat. He replied smoothly, “Well, if you reconsider, please let us know. He is innocent of all charges, and we are hoping to present that case to the court and to the public. Please don’t hesitate to call.”
“I won’t reconsider,” I said firmly.
I hung up the phone and set it slowly on the counter before curling my arms around my waist and crossing the living room to look out the windows. I felt sick and cold, so cold.
“The nerve!” I muttered to myself. “How do they even know I haven’t agreed to testify yet?”
As I stared through the windows, my eyes landed on the horses, as they almost always did. Shasta had his chin resting on Charlie’s rump, something he did often. I took a breath and let it out slowly.
Without thinking, I walked outside, crossing the parking area into the pasture. I walked through the barn and into the paddock area adjacent to the pasture. I fetched some treats out of a small sealed bucket that was mounted on the outer wall of the barn, immediately beside the door.
The horses were smart. The minute they heard the sound of the bucket opening, their heads lifted and they jogged over.
“Hey,” I said softly when they stopped outside the fence.
I gave all four horses treats and took a few minutes to scratch between their ears. I let Shasta nuzzle my shoulder and felt myself calm down. Time with horses was grounding, and I was grateful I happened to be home when I got that strange call.
After that, I climbed in my car and drove in to my studio, my mind spinning over what-ifs. The call from my former coach’s attorney solidified a decision for me. I would testify as a corroborating witness. Whether or not it would be freeing as my mother hoped, I absolutely was not going to be part of letting my former coach get away with something. I would do everything I could to make sure he was finally held accountable in a genuine, meaningful way.