Chapter Sixteen
The plane ride is quiet and wistful.
I sit between Sam and my mother, trying not to think about the
upcoming days. The prosecutor, Lauren Counter wants to put Sam on
the stand first, then me. Depending on how our testimonies go,
particularly Sam's cross-examination, she may ask Tucker to fly
down for Thursday. She also told me that Robin plans to testify.
And that terrifies me. Because I can only imagine the lies he will
tell, and who might believe them.
It all comes down to the
judge. He will either believe Sam and me, or he will believe Robin,
and I have no way of knowing how much of the Forbes' influence has
reached his jurisdiction. I suspect it's just enough to get Robin a
slap on the wrist and not much more. Particularly if his motion is
successful and the violation of my restraining order is
dismissed.
Sam holds my hand, but he
doesn't say much. I'm sure he knows every thought in my head. My
mother reads through files she's long memorized, barely stifling a
smile as she notices Sam's and my threaded fingers.
We check into the hotel
around nine. Sam got us the same rooms as our last trip and my
mother's room is next to mine, but not connecting. Which means Sam
and I can access each other's rooms easily. Under any other
circumstances I would be excited about it, but right now, it barely
even registers.
We haven't had a chance to
do anything more than kiss since we got back together only
yesterday, and the upcoming court dates have clouded any real
celebration of our reunion. I try desperately to break out of my
melancholic state, particularly since I know there isn't much I can
do—that there's no worse outcome than the one I'm already prepared
for, but I can't help but feel completely hopeless.
We have a quick, equally
quiet dinner in the hotel restaurant and each head back to our
respective rooms to shower and get ready for bed. We don't discuss
sleeping arrangements, but I make my way to Sam's room after my
shower and climb wordlessly into bed with him. His arms open
automatically, and though I don't have nightmares, I don't really
sleep either.
I don't really wake up the
next morning so much as I'm still awake. Sam is too, looking tired,
but still handsome beyond reason.
I return to my room to
dress for court and Sam finds me after he's ready. He looks
gorgeous in his suit, and I can't help but think of how ironic it
is—the reason for my first time seeing him in one. My charcoal-grey
jersey shift dress is demure and professional, and I pull my hair
into a loose braid to keep it out of my face. I take a pill to calm
my nerves, tucking the bottle into my purse along with my cell
phone and lip-gloss.
Sam's behind me in the
mirror as I put in my pearl earrings. I try to offer him a smile,
but fail. His arms come around my waist and he plants a soft kiss
on the crown of my head.
"You look beautiful, you
know. I know it's probably not the right thing to say right now,
but it's true," he murmurs.
I do smile then, and turn
in his arms, pressing my face to the lapels of his blazer. "You're
not so bad yourself."
"You know, one day, you'll
be getting dressed like this every day, going to court, getting
justice for people. Helping girls just like you."
I pull away and meet his
eyes. His words strike me. They give me hope.
"Do you really think
that?" My voice comes out weak, nothing like the powerful woman he
described.
"I know it, Rory," he says
intently. "First, we have to get through today. And then tomorrow.
And then one day, this whole experience will help other girls. And
they'll be better off for it."
I hug him again. I don't
know how he always knows the perfect thing to say to me, but he
does.
We walk out of my hotel
room hand in hand. My mother is outside her room waiting for us and
it vaguely occurs to me that I should have had him walk out of his
own door. At least put on a show for her. But she doesn't seem to
care.
"Ready?" she
asks.
We both nod. I'm not, of
course. But Sam's words stay with me, and I think to myself that
whatever happens, whatever the injustice, one day I will make it
all worth it.
****
We meet with the prosecutor briefly
before the hearing and then she and my mother continue in private
while Sam and I wait outside the courtroom. The prosecutor told us
the Forbeses and their two lawyers, not including my father and
Robin's, are already inside, so Sam and I will wait until the last
minute to go in ourselves.
I hoped to avoid any kind
of confrontation, but I should have known better than to think my
luck ran that way.
My father exits the
courtroom while my mother is still busy with the prosecutor. Sam
steps in front of me and I squeeze his hand, not sure if I'm
seeking comfort or if I mean to call him off. My father barely
glances at Sam, but the brief look he does spare him makes it clear
that he see's him as little more than scum.
"Aurora," he greets
me.
I study my
shoes.
"I hope you're happy," he
accuses. That gets my attention, and I meet his accusing
gaze.
Sam steps forward and
opens his mouth, but I pull him back, this time clearly calling him
off.
"Do I look happy?" I
retort.
"You are destroying a
family, does that mean nothing to you?"
"You destroyed ours," I
remind him, but he ignores me.
"What did you say to Lacey
in New York? How did you even know she would be there?"
"That—" Sam begins but I
squeeze his hand again.
"Don't you think you're
putting Robbie through enough? Now his own kid sister won't speak
to him! How do you think Bobby and Cindy feel—their own daughter
refusing to support her brother!"
This stuns me into
silence. Did Sam actually get through to
Lacey?
I look up at him, but he's
still glaring at my father murderously. But he squeezes my hand
again to let me know he knows what I'm thinking.
"What do you think you're
doing?" My mother's furious voice calls from down the
hall.
My father startles,
turning toward my mother and Prosecutor Counter.
"Amy—" my father sounds
almost remorseful, but anything he feels is lingering emotions for
my mother, not me. He just hates me.
"Mr. Reed you are a
potential witness in this case, I'll ask that you refrain from
communicating with Miss Reed for the duration of the motion
hearing," Prosecutor Counter says pointedly. He isn’t really, but
he technically could be called to the witness stand, so I suppose
that's enough.
My father says nothing
more, he simply walks away and heads to the men's room without even
looking at me again.
****
I sit stoically through the defense's opening statement while
Sam cringes and nearly growls at every other word. Every other lie.
It's nothing new. Just Robin's statement retold in dramatic
fashion, describing the crazy ex-girlfriend he ran into on spring
break, our hooking up in an alley outside a bar, and my turning on
him when I supposedly questioned him about his love life since our
breakup. Apparently I was jealous and I attacked him. Then come the
details of Sam and Tucker's beat-down. I can't help but wonder how
much of them are true. They don't even make Sam sound like a bad
guy. They make him sound like another one of my victims. Like I'm
some manipulative, sociopathic witch who tricked him into believing
my stories about Robin just like I'm trying to trick the
court.
Outside, I'm an ice queen,
but inside, I'm hyperventilating. I feel the shape of my pill
bottle through the soft leather of my purse, trying to count the
hours since I took the last one, and wondering how soon I should
take another.
Sam doesn't hold my hand.
The prosecutor told him not to. That he should do his best to
appear unbiased or it may affect the judge's perception of his
testimony.
His testimony comes next.
It sounds much like his statement, just longer, and he shows less
emotion than that night in Miami. His cross-examination runs
significantly longer than his initial testimony. The defense tries
to paint him as my puppet. They try to get him to admit that he
couldn't possibly have known for sure if it was Robin or me who
started the altercation, and that when he came upon us in the alley
it was possible Robin was holding me against the wall to keep me
from assaulting him more.
He doesn't.
Sam just keeps saying that
it was clear what was going on and that the defense's story isn't
remotely plausible. But they keep at it.
Eventually Sam loses his
patience. Despite his best performance, his detailing of the exact
sight he first saw in that alley gets to him. It gets to me, too. I
hate seeing him so affected by it. But he's effective. After all,
it's hard to defend holding a girl by her throat, cutting off her
air, and shoving your hand under her skirt as self-defense. But it
will only be effective if they believe Sam, because that's about
the time the defense changes tact and starts questioning Sam about
our relationship and his devotion to me—specifically how far he
would go to back me up.
They question him over and
over about the supposed beating he delivered to Robin after I was
safely removed from the alley—after Robin was already subdued. Sam
denies it. He swears he did what he had to do to keep Robin down,
to keep him from coming after me, nothing more, nothing
less.
Photos of Robin from the
hospital are entered into evidence. They're pretty damning. Photos
of Sam also taken that night show some bruising and swelling, but
there's no comparison. It doesn't prove anything, but it doesn't
support the story of a fair fight either.
The questioning continues,
now asking details about Sam's and my relationship. He's truthful
but evasive at the same time. I haven't looked at Robin since I
walked into the courtroom, trying to pretend he isn't even here,
but I glance at him now. He holds his face carefully without
expression, but his hands are curled into fists, so tight his