Chapter Twenty One
I hear the words, but I have to silently repeat them several
times to myself before I can process their meaning. Sam's fingers
have stopped drawing on my shoulder and he seems just as stunned as
I am.
Jail.
The judge instructs the
bailiff to take the defendant into custody, and they handcuff Robin
right there in the courtroom, Cindy Forbes wailing like wounded
animal.
Seven years.
I stand when Sam does,
still staring blankly as the judge adjourns the court.
"Baby," Sam finally gets
my attention.
I turn to him and it's
when I register his smile, the utter relief coloring his cheeks,
that I finally understand.
This is real.
"He's going to jail." My
voice is shaky and disbelieving.
Sam nods. "He's going to
jail, Ror," he confirms.
I whimper a sigh of
relief, the weight of more than a year of fear and suffering
finally lifting off of my very sore shoulders, before I fall into
his arms. Sam lifts me from the ground, holding me so tightly I
think he's more unburdened than I am. When he puts me down Chip
musses my hair playfully like he used to do when we were kids and I
blink up at him. And then my mother is there with tears in her
eyes, and it's contagious. We hug and cry.
I'm so unbelievably
intoxicated with relief that the fact that I don't understand what
just happened, why Robin would take the plea deal for seven years,
doesn't even register.
Well, that is until I
glance back up at Sam to find him glaring over my shoulder with a
strange mix of hostility and awe. I follow his gaze, surprised when
it leads to my father, and even more surprised when I absorb his
own expression. It's one I haven't seen before, not from him…
humility. Regret.
I look back to Sam and eye
him curiously; he seems to know something I don't.
"Sam?"
He snaps out of whatever
had a hold on him, slinging an arm around my shoulder, and turning
me so that my father is no longer in my line of sight. "Let's go
celebrate, yeah?"
I offer him a small,
uncertain smile. "Yeah."
****
It was my father. I can't believe it, but it was.
He called the prosecutor's
office last night, and told them he was the one who told the
Forbeses I'd be in Miami. That he'd mentioned it to Mayor Forbes
over dinner, and that Robin was there. That there's no way it was a
coincidence, and that he would testify to the fact.
The prosecutor called my
mother early this morning and they decided to leverage it for a one
time plea deal offer. Seven to ten if he agreed today. They wanted
to protect me from enduring my cross-examination. And I guess they
agreed. And as the judge said, they were wise to, because
apparently otherwise he'd be doing fifteen instead of seven to ten,
but not without a long, torturous trial that would undoubtedly take
over much of my life for the next year.
Still, I can't believe
it's really over.
After court, my mother,
Sam, Chip, and I enjoy a jubilant late lunch at some fancy
restaurant in South Beach.
I feel lighter. It's
strange knowing without a doubt that Robin can't hurt me. That he's
locked up. For the first time in the longest time, I feel
free. Suddenly Miami
itself is a different place, the sun brighter, the ocean
bluer.
I can't help but think of
Lacey's old words, about how I ruined Robin's life. After all, A
year ago he was a football star on his way to a glorious college
career and then very likely to the NFL. It's ruined now for
certain. He's nothing more than a prisoner with a number as his
identity. For the next seven years, and that's with good behavior.
I'm not sure Robin even knows what that is. He's not even a
has-been. More like an almost-was-but-never-will-be-now.
But I can't feel any
guilt. Because his life may be ruined, but it wasn't me who did it.
He did it all by his damned self.
My mother suggests
changing our flights to tonight instead of tomorrow night,
apparently she has a lot of missed work to make up for. Sam has
another suggestion.
"Or, we could change our
flights to Sunday night."
My mother blinks at him.
He shrugs.
"I just thought that since
Rory had to cut her spring break short, it wouldn't kill her to
enjoy a few days vacation. We're already here," he shrugs
again.
I'm surprised by the
excitement I feel at the idea. My mother looks between Sam and
me.
"I—uh, I really do have a
lot of work to catch up on. I can't stay three more days," my mom
says.
"So don't stay," I reply,
surprising myself again. From the corner of my eye I watch Sam try
to fight his smirk.
My mother narrows her
eyes. "So you're suggesting I leave my teenage daughter alone in
Miami with her boyfriend?"
"It's not like we're going
to do anything here we wouldn't do at home," I retort, before my
hand flies to my mouth.
I'm getting way to open
with my mother.
Sam cracks up with laughter
before my mother's censuring look stifles it for him.
"I don't have anywhere to
be. I could get used to this free hotel room thing," Chip murmurs.
That's the thing about Miami in June. A great deal on a hotel room
price turned into zero price. At least for Sam.
My mother glares at Chip,
but her lip curls up into a mildly amused smile. "You know I've
always adored you, Franklin, but forgive me if you're not exactly
an ideal chaperone."
Chip shrugs, sipping his
soda as if he couldn't care less either way.
"I'm eighteen, mom. May I
remind you I'm going to college in a couple of months?" She knows
what I'm saying. What's the difference between hotel rooms and dorm
rooms—or in Sam's case, an Upper West Side apartment?
Sam and I are adults, we
love each other, and even though we haven't actually had sex since
we got back together, she must know we're not going to be celibate.
Particularly since she knows we've slept together before. I
confided as much to her on our last flight home from
Miami.
I stare at her
meaningfully, imploring her to support me on this. If anyone
deserves a few days vacation with her boyfriend, it's me, isn't
it?
My mom stares back. She's
actually considering me.
I try a little sincerity.
"We'll be okay. I… I'd really like to stay."
My mother pushes her chair
back, flinging her napkin onto the table. "Well, Rory, like you
said, you're eighteen. I suppose you're old enough to make your own
choices, and I suppose I'll have to trust your
judgment."
Holy shit.
She takes a step toward
the restroom, but pauses. "But, Sam, as much as I like you, you
should know, if you do anything to hurt my daughter, it won't be
jail you have to worry about."
Sam's eyes widen and he
chokes on his soda. My mother just threatened him. Chip chuckles
loudly.
"Oh, and Rory, this counts
as your graduation present," she adds, before walking
away.
I stare at Sam
incredulously.
"Did your mom
just—"
"Yup."
Sam leans over and kisses
me deeply. Chip coughs exaggeratedly.
"I'm still here, you
know," he reminds us, and I pull away, pressing my fingers to my
tingling lips, blushing scarlet.
"You know, I was almost
starting to like you," Sam retorts.
****
We agree to change our flights. My
mother to tonight, Sam and I for Sunday. Chip has no flight to
change, but he decides he will drive back to Linton
Saturday.
Chip offers to drive my
mother to the airport tonight and we all return to our hotel rooms,
my mother to pack, Sam and me to relax, and Chip—well, who
knows.
I'm still feeling
exhilarated as we enter Sam's suite, but he's putting off a strange
nervous energy that dulls my excitement. I change from my skirt and
blouse ensemble into a tank top and cutoffs, but Sam sits on the
sofa like a statue, still in his navy blue suit, eerily silent and
pensive.
I wait for him to snap out
of his unfathomable mood, but the more the minutes pass, the more
he only seems to sink further into it. When I finish washing my
face in the bathroom I check flights on my phone.
"There's a flight Sunday
at six," I call to him from the bedroom.
No response.
I make my way to the
living room and find he hasn't moved, except to hang his head, his
fingers massaging his temples. My stomach starts rolling, telling
me something is very wrong.
"Sam?"
His head jerks up. I sit
beside him and he watches me warily. "You okay?" he
asks.
Am I okay? I roll my eyes. "I'd be
great if you were. What's up with you?"
Sam licks his lips like he
does when he has something important to say and it puts me even
more on edge.
"I need to tell you
something. Before we change our flights," he says intently. He
seems ashamed, guilty of something, and I can't imagine what, but
it terrifies me.
"Sam, whatever it is, it
will be okay. Just tell me." I want to soothe him, I want my words
to be true.
Sam's fingers brush softly
over my cheek, following the frame of my face, and he tucks my hair
behind my ear. He looks at me as if he's trying to memorize my
features, as if whatever he's about to tell me is going to change
everything. It makes my pulse race.
"I don't know if it will
be," he admits. A few hours ago I would have agreed with him. I
thought nothing could ever be okay. But now, we're so close that
whatever this obstacle is, I need to believe it won't destroy what
we only barely almost have.
"Sam?"
"I never meant to hurt
you." His voice cracks. "You were never supposed to
know."
I don't understand. Did he
hook up with someone else? My stomach drops, my heart beating
erratically. Was it when we were broken up, or together? God, I
don't even think I want to know. Why would he tell me
now?
"The plan was for me to
borrow your phone, find the message, and show it to your mother.
Then she would—well, do what she did, just with the Facebook
message rather than your father's statement, but—"
"What are you talking
about, Sam?" Now I'm even more confused. This obviously isn't about
another girl, but… "What plan? How could you have known about the—"