Chapter 27
TWENTY-SEVEN
ELEVEN YEARS AGO
Josie
“I killed Christopher Langley,” I repeat.
The words seem to unfreeze Mom, and she paces across the living room and back. “Tell me everything that happened again.”
My vision blurs and my stomach rolls, but I start at the beginning and go over the whole terrible day.
Finally, I finish with: “I shoved him as hard as I could then I ran. He fell in the water. I thought he would just climb out, but I didn’t stop to see if he did.
He must have hit his head on the way down. Maybe he got knocked out and drowned.”
Mom’s gaze flies around the room, landing on her bag that she dropped by the door.
She digs through it, picking up her phone.
“We don’t know that he’s dead. This is just a rumor spread by a teenager.
Maybe it’s not true. Maybe there’s some other explanation.
” But when she clicks on her phone, her face goes deathly pale.
“What? What is it?”
Almost in slow motion, Mom presses a shaking finger to the screen and scrolls. “My friends are texting.” She clicks on something and blinks over and over. “There’s already a story in the Harbor Gazette.” Her gaze drifts to mine. “Christopher Langley really is dead.”
“Mom,” I whisper. “Did I kill him?” I want her to say no. To deny it.
She doesn’t answer, but her stricken expression staring back at me tells me everything I need to know.
“We need to call the police, right? We need to tell them what happened.” I stare at her, expecting her to say yes and start dialing, but instead, she carefully sets her phone on the coffee table.
“Did anyone see you at the Langleys’ house?” she asks, her voice shaking as she sinks down on the couch next to me. “You said it was just you and Christopher?”
I nod and curl my body to face her. “I walked past a guard house on my way in, but I didn’t really know what to do since I wasn’t in a car.
It would have been awkward for me to wave the guard down through the window and stand there while he opened the gate that went across the road. So, I just kind of slipped around it.”
“The guard didn’t stop you?” Mom cocks her head. “Or ask your name?”
“I don’t know if he saw me. I think he was looking at his phone. So, I just kept walking.”
She nods slowly as if she’s processing that. “What about when you left?”
It comes back to me in bits and pieces. The sand from the dune flying up around me, slipping in my flip flops and scraping my skin raw.
The sun beating overhead, the sweat dripping down my back, the burning in my lungs.
My hands begin to shake, and Mom reaches out to press them between hers, steadying me.
“Just do your best to remember,” she murmurs.
I nod. “I ran over the dunes and took off through the brush to get to my bike at the end of the road. I didn’t go down the driveway or past the guard house again.”
“Was there any staff like a gardener or housekeeper who might have seen you?”
I shake my head, remembering how alone and vulnerable I’d felt in that house. The way I’d jumped when Christopher pressed his hand on my back and again when he stood too close. I knew something was off, but I told myself it was fine.
“I wish a housekeeper had been there,” I say.
“But it was just the two of us. I should have turned around and left. But I thought Ian had invited me, and Christopher kept saying he’d be there any minute.
Why would he lie?” But I know why. Of course I know.
It all makes sense now. I remember turning around at the club and finding Christopher looking at me with that mysterious expression.
The generous tips he left. The way he’d said my name but not Alice’s. There were signs, but I ignored them.
Christopher must have known Ian wouldn’t be home when he invited me. He set me up. But then another memory rolls slowly into my consciousness. Christopher’s voice as he pressed me into the couch. I’ve seen the way you look at me. I’ve felt your eyes following me across the room at the club.
A nagging sense of doubt drifts over me. I did stare at him at the club. He’s Ian’s dad, and I wanted him to like me. But if I’m really honest, I know it was more than that. I was fascinated and intrigued by Christopher. He was so handsome, so inscrutable, so like a celebrity or movie star.
“Is this my fault? Did I give him the wrong idea?”
Mom’s spine stiffens. “No. Absolutely not.” She takes me by the shoulders so she can look me in the face. “You didn’t do anything. You are a teenager and he’s a grown man. This is Christopher’s fault.” Her eyes fill with tears. “He was a monster.”
The back of my throat burns, and I swallow hard. “We have to call the police and tell them everything, right?”
Mom’s eyes shift past me to the opposite wall. A tear trickles down her cheek, and she swipes it with her palm. Slowly, she lets go of my shoulders and wraps her arms around her middle as if she’s fighting a wave of nausea.
“Mom?” I can hear my heart pounding in my ears. Why is she just sitting there? Does she think this is my fault and just doesn’t want to say it? “What do we do?”
Mom stares silently at the wall and slowly shakes her head like she’s trying to convince herself that this isn’t happening. Panic grips me. Is this going to ruin my life?
“Mom?”
Finally, she takes a deep breath and seems to collect herself. She turns in my direction. “We aren’t going to go to the police.”
My mouth drops open. “But Christopher is dead. And I was there.”
“Christopher was the richest, most powerful man on the island,” Mom says, a cutting tone creeping into her voice.
“And to the police, you’re just some girl.
” Her expression turns fierce. “Josie, I want you to know that you didn’t do anything to cause this.
You did the right thing by fighting back when he attacked you.
But—” Her face twists in anguish. “What if nobody believes you?”
My vision blurs. “Do you really think that would happen?” I whisper. “Nobody would believe me?”
Mom presses her shaking hands to her face.
“Sweetheart… it happens to girls all the time. They’ll question why you went over there when the family wasn’t home.
They’ll ask what you were wearing. They’ll see the two cocktail glasses and say that you were drinking.
” Her words come out in ragged gasps. “I’ve seen it happen, and it’s—” Her voice breaks.
“It’s awful,” she finally manages to whisper.
I stare at her. “You have? When?” I take in her stricken face. “Did it happen to you?”
Her face crumples, and for a moment, I don’t think she can answer me. Finally, she nods.
“How? When?”
“It was my sophomore year of college. I was taking a Philosophy class, and there was a guy who always sat next to me. He was so nice, and good-looking, and charming. I liked him, and I thought he was interested in me. A couple of times, he walked me to my next class, and we stopped for coffee on the way.” She takes a shaky breath.
“When we were nearing midterms, he invited me over to study, and I agreed to go. I knew he lived with a bunch of roommates, and I assumed they’d be around…
” She presses her lips together as if she’s debating whether to admit something.
“To be honest, I didn’t think too deeply about it.
I thought I knew him, and it never occurred to me that I wouldn’t be safe… ”
Oh my God. I had no idea. She never said a word about it.
“You don’t need the details,” Mom says. “But after it happened, I went to the police. They investigated, but the guy said it was consensual. It was my word against his. He came from a wealthy family, and even though the police decided not to press charges against him, his family was angry that I jeopardized his reputation. They painted me as a slut who was after their family’s money and filed a complaint with the Dean of Students. ”
“What?” I gasp. “Against you? And the Dean of Students let them?”
“Like I said, it was my word against his. The department decided to investigate. It was a complete nightmare. I couldn’t believe that after that guy assaulted me, I might be blamed.
My parents hired a lawyer, and they got the university to agree not to pursue the complaint if I transferred to a new school.
The university didn’t want the publicity, and they were happy for me to go quietly.
It wasn’t like I wanted to be there anymore anyway.
I transferred that spring and eventually put it all behind me. ”
I’d say I can’t believe it, except maybe I can. The guy who assaulted Mom was wealthy and powerful, and he thought he could get away with anything he wanted. Just like Christopher. And he probably would have gotten away with it if I hadn’t been lucky enough to land a knee to his crotch.
And a shove off the dock.
My vision blurs.
“Josie,” Mom says. “If we go to the police, you’ll be accusing the most powerful and respected man on the island—in the whole state—of sexual assault.” She shakes her head sadly. “I wish I had more faith, but we just don’t know if they’ll take your word for it.”
I want to deny what she’s saying. I want to stand up and scream about the unfairness that I’m the one who won’t be believed. But it happened to her, and I know it happens to other women. It even happened to me earlier this summer.
When Cal harassed me on the dock, he knew he could get away with it.
After all, he was the rich son of a sailing club member, and I was just a server.
I left the situation feeling lucky that I didn’t get fired for pushing him in the water.
But I never thought for one second that he would get into any trouble for his rude jokes.
When Susan told me to tell her if I had any problems with the sailing team boys, I knew I never would.
Because I knew that nothing would happen to them, and I’d be the one they blamed.