Chapter Nineteen
Simon
I told my parents everything. About Alan, about Sadie, about that night and what she did. What I did. There was very little I didn’t share with my parents. They’d proven more than once that they were there for me.
They had my back.
When I told them I liked boys at the age of thirteen, my parents didn’t flinch.
They didn’t lecture me or shove Bible verses down my throat, despite being prominent members of the church.
They sat me down and told me they loved me and then said.
.. under no circumstances could I ever have a boy spend the night.
Even if they were just a friend.
I was the only boy in Diamond Creek who was allowed to have a girl sleeping in my bed at the age of fifteen.
I never kept anything from them.
Except Sadie’s abuse.
“You should have called us, Simon.” My father’s disappointed tone cut me deep.
“She begged me not to.”
“I understand that, but this isn’t the kind of secret you keep. Not even for your sister. You know that.”
“I do,” I admitted. “If it makes you feel any better, everyone in town knew the truth.”
“And nobody did anything?” my mother asked, no doubt upset that not one of her friends had told her what was happening with her children.
“You know Sadie.” I shrugged. “She’s pretty convincing when she wants to be.”
My parents shared a look; one I had seen many times over the years. When Sadie came home, we’d both be getting a lecture about keeping secrets and knowing our worth. The fact that they were holding back right now about my relationship with Tony didn’t bode well for me.
It meant they were too concerned about the trial and whether or not I would go to prison to yell at me. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t concerned too.
“Alex speaks very highly of Tony. Says he’s a good lawyer,” my mother said.
“He is. His success rate is very high,” I added, feeling the need to defend him. I wanted my parents to love him the way I did. Well, not exactly the way I did.
“What about the prosecutor? Do we know anything about her? Or why she’s pushing this to trial?” my father asked.
“No. Tony has people looking into it.”
I stood up and set my cup in the sink. “Who’s coming to the salon with me?” I asked, changing the subject. Not wanting to think about the trial, or prison, or what would happen when Sadie came home.
“I am,” Mom said with a smile. “I need a wash and a trim.”
I smiled at my mother. Whenever they were in town, she made sure to come to the salon.
She claimed no one did her hair as well as her son, but I knew the truth.
She wanted to support her kids in any way she could.
If she left my salon with an uneven pixie cut, she’d tell the world how it was just what she wanted.
“Do you want to bring your bags in first?” I asked, patting my legs, searching for my keys.
“We aren’t staying here,” Dad answered.
I froze, my hands against my pockets, and looked at my father. “Where are you staying?”
“At your sister’s,” Mom answered.
I straightened up and looked them both in the eye. “You always stay here,” I pointed out. My hands landed on my hips. “You know I didn’t actually kill Alan, right?” I said with a nervous chuckle.
“Of course we know that.” She looked offended that I would even joke about it.
“We normally stay with you because we never know if Sadie might have someone over. A parent never wants to stay in their child’s home and risk hearing...” My mother grimaced, and I looked at my father, whose face had turned red as he scowled at my mother’s words.
“And you thought I was less likely to have someone here?”
“Yes,” my father said.
“But not for the reasons you think,” Mom quickly added. “You were always the one more likely to put your life on hold when we came to visit. And you never mentioned you were seeing anyone, and we thought that if you were in a serious relationship, you would have mentioned it to us.”
I let out the breath I’d been holding. What could I say? I nodded, knowing they were right. I was the more responsible one. The one always willing to accommodate everyone else. Even if it meant putting my own feelings and desires on the back burner.
Just like I did with Tony.
The salon was busier than ever. Carly had arrived before my mother and me to open up, and she handed me a list of messages the moment we walked in.
I thumbed through them, shaking my head.
“Call them all back and schedule them in order, but no more than four a day. I can’t do more than that by myself.”
Carly nodded and rushed to the back room to make the calls.
“Simon, why don’t you shut down until after the trial?” Mom asked.
“And do what, Mom? Sit in the house and dwell on something I can’t control?”
“You can control it,” she said, lowering her voice so Carly didn’t hear.
“I’m not recanting,” I insisted.
My mother’s face crumpled slightly before she composed herself. “Simon—”
“Mom, please.” We had already discussed this, and I refused to hash it out again.
Carly returned from the back room, her expression bright and oblivious to the tension between my mother and me.
“Everyone is scheduled for the next few weeks. Mrs. Patterson wanted to come in today, but I told her you didn’t have any openings.”
“Thank you, Carly.” I forced a smile. “Mom, why don’t you go with Carly over to the bowl so she can wash your hair?”
My mother pressed her lips together, recognizing the dismissal for what it was.
But she stayed quiet and followed Carly.
I took a breath and looked at my reflection in the mirror.
I didn’t recognize the man staring back at me.
His eyes were dull and lifeless. His complexion was pale, and he wore defeat like a favorite sweater.
I hated disappointing my parents, but this was my sister. Their daughter. Maybe they had more faith in the justice system than I did. But I had more faith in Tony.
He would fight for me.
Maybe not enough to be with me out in the open, but he would fight to keep me out of prison, using every legal maneuver in his arsenal.
I wasn’t certain he would fight the same way for Sadie, though.
Sure, he would do his best if Sadie were on trial.
He would want to win for me. But it wasn’t the same as fighting for me.
I used his feelings for me to keep my sister out of prison, and I hated myself for it.
But I did what I had to do; I just hadn’t counted on Rosalind Winthrop coming in and charging me with murder.
The bell over the door jingled, and Mrs. Henderson walked in for her appointment. She was one of my regulars, a sweet woman in her sixties who always tipped well and never asked invasive questions.
Until today.
“How are you holding up, Simon?” she asked as she settled into my chair.
“I’m fine, Mrs. Henderson. Taking it one day at a time,” I answered with a smile that was a little too forced.
“The whole town is talking about you, dear,” she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “No one liked that man. We all believed Sadie could do better.”
I swallowed hard and bit my tongue. No one liked the man, but no one did anything to help her either.
Not even you!
I tried; she wouldn’t let me help. She wouldn’t let the club help. She denied anything was happening whenever someone asked about the bruise on her wrist or the cut on her lip.
“Matlock will get this mess all sorted out.”
“He’s very good,” I replied, forcing my hands to stay steady as I sectioned Mrs. Henderson’s hair.
My mother returned from having her hair washed and sat in the chair at Sadie’s station, watching me work with an expression I couldn’t quite read.
Disappointment, yes, but something else. Worry? Fear maybe?
I knew as my parents, they still worried every day that Sadie and I would make the wrong choices, choices that led to pain both physically and emotionally.
But these choices had to be the hardest. Knowing your daughter kept her abuse a secret; knowing she killed her abuser and your son took the blame…
it had to be hard to stand by and watch.
Not being able to protect your children from pain.
Having children wasn’t for the faint of heart.
It took strength and perseverance to survive raising a child.
Knowing you did the best you could and still couldn’t keep them safe.
A thought flickered in my head, and I wondered if Tony wanted kids.
Not that it mattered. If he couldn’t admit he loved me, then he certainly wouldn’t marry me or have children with me.
Mrs. Henderson chattered on about her grandchildren while I applied the color to her roots, my hands moving on autopilot. The familiar rhythm of the work was the only thing keeping me grounded.
I finished Mrs. Henderson’s hair and set the timer, then moved to wash my hands before moving to Sadie’s station and trimming my mother’s hair.
The morning flew by, and the door chimed with every client.
Mrs. Anderson asked me if I was eating enough.
I assured her I was. Mr. Kowalski asked if I needed anything while I trimmed his beard, emphasizing anything at all.
Jenny Morrison, who went to school with Sadie, cried through her appointment, wailing about how sorry she was that we had to go through this.
I gave them nothing.
Pleasant nods, vague reassurances, and the same practiced lines over and over.
My lawyer is handling it.
The trial will clear everything up.
I’m doing fine, really.
The bell above the door jingled again when Beatrice Allen walked in for her afternoon appointment. I groaned silently, knowing she would ask a million questions, wanting to be the person in town with the biggest scoop.
Beatrice sat down in my chair and studied me through the mirror.
“What are we doing today, Bea?”
“Just a trim, Simon,” she answered quietly.
I worked in silence as Beatrice watched me in the mirror.
Normally, she shared the latest gossip she’d uncovered, but today, she was quiet.
My mom ran out to grab some coffee, knowing the entire town was waltzing in and out of my salon, keeping an eye on me.
She trusted I wouldn’t run. Not to mention the fact that Uncle Alex was the last person she feared.
Carly gathered her things and said goodnight. Beatrice was my last client of the day, and I couldn’t wait to go home and crawl into bed.
Preferably with Tony next to me.
“I want you to tell that lawyer of yours something for me,” Beatrice said when the door closed behind Carly.
“What’s that?” I asked, trying to keep my voice calm and steady.
“You tell him to call me as an expert witness.”
My hands paused. I looked at the old woman’s reflection and asked, “Expert on what?”
“This town,” she answered, a sense of disgust in her voice that she had to explain it. “I know everything that goes on in this town.” She looked me in the eye. “Everything.”
The last word had an ominous sound to it as she stared at me, and I swallowed roughly. It felt a little like she was staring into my soul, trying to say something that I didn’t want to think about.
Did Beatrice Allen know about Tony and me?
My mother’s arrival back in the salon cut through what came across as a threat, and I finished her haircut without another word.
As I was cashing her out, she said, “Remember what I said, Simon.”
“Yes, ma’am, I’ll tell him.”
She nodded, as if that settled the matter, and I followed her to the door, locking it behind her.
“What was that about?” my mother asked.
“She wants Tony to call her as an expert witness.” I shook my head and grabbed the broom from the corner of the room to sweep the hair into the wall vacuum system I’d had installed. It was my favorite little perk, making cleanup so much quicker.
“An expert on what?” Mom asked, and I smiled at the look on her face. It mirrored the one I had when Beatrice brought it up the first time.
“The town,” I told her. “Said she knows everything going on in this town. Everything.” I mimicked the dire warning she had given me.
“You know,” my mother said, tapping a finger on her lower lip, “that’s not a bad idea.”
“Mom, being the town gossip is not a recognized expertise in a criminal trial.”
“Are you sure about that? Remember Marisa Tomei in My Cousin Vinny? She was able to prove she was an expert on cars.”
I rolled my eyes as I locked the register and turned off the lights. “That was a movie, Mom.”
“There is an element of truth in every movie. Tony should look into it. Beatrice Allen is over eighty years old. She is one of the oldest residents of Diamond Creek, and the biggest gossip. If anyone were an expert on the people in this town, it’s that old woman.”