Chapter Seventeen
Rory's mom is still talking to Prosecutor Counter and Rory and
Chip are chatting like the lifelong friends they obviously are, so
I decide to give them a few minutes to catch up in private. The
truth is I could also use a few minutes. Hearing Rory recount all
that—watching her relive it… it wasn't easy for me. I leave them
talking and head to the men's room.
It's good that they're
still in the courtroom because I stop cold when I turn the corner
to find her father and that motherfucking
bastard's father standing around talking
about the day's proceedings.
Fucking
traitor.
Neither man notices me and
I don't make myself known. As much as I'd love to tell them both
off—or fucking deck them—I know that wouldn't be helpful to
Rory.
Robert Forbes takes the
opportunity to say some nasty things about Rory's testimony and I
grit my teeth to stop myself from reacting. I wait there, not
wanting to pass them, which I have to do to get to the
bathroom.
"Your daughter is one good
liar," Forbes observes.
I wait for Rory's asshole
father to agree, or at least respond, but his silence surprises me.
Both times I've met him he's jumped at the chance to condemn Rory.
There's a long, pregnant pause and, for some reason, it startles
me.
"She's not, actually," her
father mutters so quietly I almost can't make it out.
I listen more intently,
suddenly riveted by the exchange.
Forbes scowls.
"What?"
There's another long pause
before Rory's father speaks again. I stare at the small glimpse of
profile I can see of him, his introspective expression confusing me
deeply.
"When Rory was nine she
broke a vase," he says cryptically.
Forbes glares at him with
impatience, but he doesn't seem to care.
"I came home from golfin'
early—with you, actually—on account of a sudden rainstorm, and
there it was, shattered on the livin' room floor. I went up to her
room to ask her about it. Cam Foster was with her, told me they
heard a noise, but had no idea what had happened. That it musta
been the cat."
Rory's dad lets out a
soft, ironic snicker at the memory. "Kid was a good liar.
Convincing as all hell. I asked Rory if that was the way of it. You
see, those kids couldn't go an hour without tossin' a baseball
around those days. Little League season was just startin' out and
Rory was intent on startin' with the boys. She never could warm a
bench.
"But like I said, it was
rainin'. They weren't supposed to play ball in the house, Rory knew
that…"
He trails off for a
moment, Forbes watching him both warily and with frustration.
"Honestly, Marty, my son is on trial for sexual assault and
battery! His entire goddamn future is at risk because of your
daughter! Why the hell am I listenin' to this stupid
story—"
But Rory's father cuts
Forbes off, continuing as if he wasn't interrupted in the first
place.
"She had this tell, you
know. Has this
tell. She can't lie for shit. Bites her lip every time. When I
asked her about the vase, she chewed it red. I knew right away she
was lyin'. That she and Cam broke the vase, probably playin' ball
in the house. Even as a teenager she bit her lip any time she so
much as stretched the truth or left somethin' out. Amy and me, we
always knew when somethin' was up with her because of it… Until I
stopped payin' attention…
"But, you know, Bobby,
that wasn't the only reason I knew she lied. She wasn't just bad at
it, she couldn't stand doin' it. That stupid lie about the vase—an
hour later she came to me sobbin', her eyes rainin' harder than the
rainstorm, confessing that she did it. That she talked Cam into
practicing inside, and she knocked it over goin' for a catch.
"
His voice has grown
strangely self-recriminatory, and I wonder. I wonder if it could be
possible that he's finally coming to his senses. And from the look
on that motherfucking bastard's
father's face, he's wondering the same
thing.
"Rory ain't a good liar,
Bobby. Rory ain't a liar at all," he says pointedly.
Forbes expression morphs
from nervous to indignant. "What exactly are you sayin',
Marty?"
"I think you know exactly
what I'm sayin'. I—shit." And then without another word, Rory's father turns and
walks away, heading into the stairwell and disappearing inside
it.
I back away, not wanting
to be noticed, but I'm hoping. I'm hoping that what I just saw,
what I just overheard, is exactly what it appeared to be. I'm not
sure how it can help Rory's case, but the idea of Rory winning this
small piece of vindication, it gives me just that—hope.
I won't tell her. I'm not
sure what good it could do. But if Rory's father, one of
that motherfucking bastard's biggest supporters, was convinced by her testimony, then
maybe the judge was too.
But I'm not leaving it up
to chance. My father explained the best way to ensure the case,
including this hearing, goes our way, and I plan on seeing to
it.
Like I've said before, I
keep my promises. Especially to my girl.