Chapter 9 #2
“Thank you.” I sit in the chair Nantes points to, my heart filled with a warmth only found here in this home with these people. I didn’t even realize how much I missed Nantes and his family until now.
I won’t let us drift apart again. Somehow, we’ll stay in touch. We live less than three hours away from each other—that’s nothing.
Giuliano tells us about the latest case he got settled instead of going to court, but then his energy shifts.
“I could never be a defense attorney. This case my friend had last week, he had to defend this guy he knew was guilty. We all knew, but there was a major flaw in the investigation. Major.”
“What happened?” Brogan asks.
Giuls glances at Jacob before continuing. “Sloppy police work. They didn’t have a proper warrant to search and they kept pushing for a confession after the suspect invoked his right to an attorney. The whole thing was thrown out.”
My chest tightens with tension. “What did the suspect allegedly do?”
Giuliano’s brow creases. “Not great dinner convo, but he raped his stepdaughter and her friend. For years, too. Not a one-time incident. The dude is a fucking volleyball coach. He had so much access to these girls. His wife won’t testify against him, and we think it’s because she’s afraid to. He’s not a good guy.”
“Dude,” Brogan whispers.
“The worst part is there’s a ton of evidence. The shit found on this guy’s computer would make your head spin, and because of shitty police work, we can’t do anything but wait for him to fuck up again. And he will. They always do.”
“They always do,” I mumble.
Nantes immediately reaches out to rub my back to soothe me. My stomach twists into a knot, and I’m compelled to learn more, but I don’t ask. I won’t let myself.
“It’s shit like this that makes you wish there was some Robin Hood out there, taking out creeps like him,” Brogan says.
“Brogan,” their mom scolds. “God will handle it.”
Brogan rolls their eyes. “Oh, come on, Mom. If God is so great, why’d he let it happen in the first place? What kind of omnipotent deity watches it happen and waits to invoke his wrath? That’s some gaslighting bullshit.”
“Brogan,” Nantes’s uncle, Brogan’s dad, snips. “Not at the dinner table.”
“Brogan has a point,” Nonna says. “We all know how devout I used to be, but this world, this mess, it’s given me doubt.”
“Believe what you want,” Brogan says. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, but I refuse to buy into this concept when there is so much suffering of innocent people in this world. I’m supposed to respect an institution that thinks I don’t have a right to exist?
That thinks I’m mentally ill? That thinks my cousins don’t deserve rights, respect, and love? Fuck that noise.”
I have to fight back my grin. Brogan is absolutely right as far as I’m concerned.
“We’ve had suicide cases at the hospital because of religious parents who don’t accept their kids,” Nantes says somberly. “If hell does exist, I hope there’s a special place for parents like that.”
Nodding, I glance at him. “I’ve had to counsel a few people, young people, who were in crisis over their sexuality. I’ve had more than my share of kids post sexual abuse. In a lot of those situations kids are abused by grown men in powerful positions, often in the church.”
Everyone falls silent, listening to me.
“The first time you listen to a nine-year-old child talk about the bad man who touches them after church… well, let’s just say it’s pretty hard to believe in a benevolent god after that.”
“It’s disgusting,” Larry says. “I’d like to talk to every man who touches a child. Just once.”
“How do you do it?” Brogan asks. “Like, how do you not lose your shit?”
“I put my feelings aside and focus on what the child needs. At least I can try to soothe their pain and help them move forward.”
“I’m sorry that you have to,” Deo says. “It’s fucked up that there’s a need for professionals like you.”
Nantes squeezes my knee under the table, smiling warmly.
“I agree.” I take a bite of my delicious stuffed pasta, ready to change the subject before my true feelings slip out. “Nonna, this is fantastic. It’s been too long since I’ve had Italian this good.”
She practically beams. “Even living in Chicago, huh? I haven’t lost my touch.”
“Not even a little bit.”
We finish dinner and sit around chatting a bit, but every time my eyes settle on Jacob, I get a vibe. It’s the kind of vibe I’ve honed over years of working with abused kids. He has a history, and probably not a good one, if I had to guess.
After a couple of hours and helping clean up, Nantes announces that we’re leaving, and I notice the anxious look on Jacob’s face.
I have to say something. Discreetly, I walk over to where he’s standing off to the side, away from the loud chaos of Nantes’s family, and tap his arm. He startles slightly, then smiles.
“Hey. Don’t mean to pry or anything, but if you have a question or need support, I can try to help.”
Jacob’s eyes immediately well with tears he blinks away. “You can tell?”
“I’m sensitive to people’s emotions and body language. Occupational hazard.”
He laughs softly, wiping at his eyes. “I’ve had some trauma. I haven’t found a good therapist to deal with it, so I gave up.”
“It can be challenging to find the right fit. I’m out of Chicago, but I’m sure I have some colleagues who know solid therapists here in Madison. I could ask around if you’d like?”
He looks nervously over my shoulder. “Giuliano doesn’t know.”
“It’s completely confidential.” I reach into my back pocket and pull out my wallet to grab a business card. “Text me if you want my help. I’m happy to see what I can do.”
Jacob nods, glancing at my card before tucking it into his front pocket. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure.”
“Yo, Doc,” Nantes calls out. “You ready?”
I pat Jacob’s shoulder then turn to Nantes. “I’m ready.”
As we walk out together, I clap his shoulder. “Why do you call me Doc when you’re also a doctor?”
Nantes tilts his head. “Huh. Good question. Guess it just came out.”
“I don’t mind. I’m rarely referred to that way. I insist my patients use my first name. Makes me more approachable.”
“No one ever used my first name. It was always Dr. Benedetti, or as my department head called me, Bennie.”
I laugh softly. “That’s funny.”
“The life of kids with weird names. Am I right, Vanian?”
“Absolutely.”
He rubs his hands together. “Let’s get ready to turn up. Wait… is that what young people say now?”
“No, I think it’s lit. Or maybe that means the thing is lit, like fun. God, we’re old.”
“Shit, we are, aren’t we? We still look young though, and that counts.”
“It absolutely counts.”
“Alright, old man, let’s get ready to have fun. How’s that?”
“Works for me.”