Chapter Sixteen #2
knuckles begin to turn white. My pulse races, beads of sweat
breaking out on my nose and forehead. I swallow anxiously. His
anger elicits terror in me, and I can't help my fear, even if
rationally I know I'm not currently in danger.
The defense attorney takes
things too far, asking incredibly personal questions, and though
our side objects, the judge allows the defense a "short leash".
Apparently nuances of our relationship speak to whether or not Sam
would beat someone up for me, if he would lie for me.
"Mr. Caplan, is your
relationship with Miss Pine sexual?" the defense attorney, Walter
Serpo, asks for the third time and this time the judge directs Sam
to give a clear answer.
Sam allows a small
half-smirk to play on his lips. "Sometimes," he replies. He's
playing the room, being his charming self, but I hate that he has
to answer such a personal question in front of an audience. In
front of this audience.
There is a small spattering
of chuckles from the strangers in the room, but I see Robin's fists
tighten even more. For the first time, he turns my way, and though
he keeps his glare inscrutable, I can feel his rage, his contempt.
He wants to kill me. He wants to kill Sam. He very well
may.
The attorney seated next
to him elbows him subtly and he returns his gaze straightforward.
Everyone is focused on Sam and I doubt anyone noticed Robin's
brief hostile glare but me.
I swallow my second pill
of the day dry.
Finally Sam is excused and
we break for lunch. I barely pick at my sandwich as Counter goes
over my testimony with me for the third time, the first two times
having been over Skype before we flew down.
I don't want to do this.
I'm terrified. But I know I have to find some courage, because this
is my chance to stand up for myself—to be my own hero—and I have to
come through for myself.
We re-enter the courtroom
and get settled, but before we begin, the doors fly open and a new
face steps inside.
Well, not a new face. An
old face.
Chip is here.
He looks around the room
until he finds me, offering me an unsure smile. He's grown taller,
his hair longer, almost shaggy, and he pushes it behind his ears.
He looks good in his khakis and blazer—handsome, and more mature
than I ever expected him to look. He walks over to the bench behind
me, this one act demonstrating the reason for his presence—to
support me.
My mother elbows me, as if
I hadn't noticed him, and I nod at her. I smile at Chip, my friend
who I honestly never thought I would see again. He must have driven
six hours to be here for me.
"Who is that?" Sam
whispers to me.
"That's Chip. Franklin
Chipley," I tell him.
"The sheriff's son?" Sam
remembers everything.
I nod. Sam nods at Chip in
greeting and Chip nods back with a slightly confused expression. Of
course, he has no idea who Sam is.
The judge re-enters and we
all stand in unison until he tells us to be seated. I'm called to
the stand not a minute later.
I am a pathetic witness.
My voice is shaky, soft, and the judge asks me to speak up several
times. I feel like I'm failing, but I tell the truth. I answer
every question, if not always particularly eloquently, and
Prosecutor Counter is very patient with me. The defense objects
more times than I can count, and the judge grants their objections
more often than he overrules them, making me more anxious each
time. It feels like he's on their side. I don't know why, but it
does, and it terrifies me even more.
I avoid Robin's eyes,
except for when I'm asked to point him out in the
courtroom.
I disappoint myself by
crying more than once, and I have to take three breaks, and one
more anti-anxiety pill. But I don't panic and I suppose that's some
small victory.
It's nearly five in the
evening by the time I'm finished and the judge decides to continue
with my cross tomorrow. I'm partly relieved, but at the same time,
I just want to get it over with.
I step down from the stand
and receive hugs from both my mother and Sam, who whispers to me
how brave I was. Chip approaches us hesitantly, and my mother pulls
him into a hug, thanking him for showing his support.
I can't find words to tell
him how much it means to me that he showed up. Instead, I start
crying, and he wraps his arms around my shoulders. It's the first
time I've tolerated the touch of a man other than Sam since Cam's
death.
"Of course I'm here, Rory
girl. I've always had your back, you know that," he whispers to me.
It's true—he has. But I'm not sure if I've always known
it.
"Thank you Chip," I murmur
as I pull away, wiping my eyes.
He turns to Sam and holds
out his hand. "Franklin Chipley, I'm an old friend of Rory's," he
introduces.
Sam shakes his hand,
sizing up Chip as if he might be some kind of competition, which is
ridiculous. "Sam Caplan, Rory's boyfriend."
Chip's eyebrows raise as
he continues shaking Sam's hand. He doesn't trust him, that much is
obvious. Of course, he knows what happened with my last
boyfriend.
"Did you drive down?" I
ask Chip.
He nods. "Left at dawn,
woulda got here earlier, but I-95 was shit."
"Are you drivin' back
tonight?" I ask.
"Is this bullshit hearing
over?" he asks, already knowing the answer, so I don't offer him
one. "Then I ain't goin' anywhere, Rory girl," he says
meaningfully.
Hearing the nickname both
twists my heart painfully and makes me smile. That's what grief
does once you've actually begun to process it, which I'm starting
to realize I have, thanks to Michelle's Cam box. It makes you think
of the happy times, and makes you miss them terribly at the same
time.
"Well, where are you
staying?" I ask.
He shrugs. "Haven't quite
figured that out just yet. I'll find a motel."
I look up at
Sam.
"I'll get you a room at
our hotel," he offers.
Chip starts to argue, but
Sam explains his hookup and Chip relents. My mother wants to work
on the case tonight, so Sam, Chip and I plan to have dinner
together and catch up. I want them to get over their distrust of
one another. I want them to like each other. Because Chip has no
romantic interest in me and Sam would never hurt me, and once they
both realize that, I'm sure they can be friends.