Chương 9
Rebecca looked at the note again. “My intent was to make the problem disappear.”
“That is not the same as intending to facilitate a false statement.”
“It was close.”
Susan’s expression remained neutral. “Our response will not use the phrase ‘close.’”
At home, Lily began occupational therapy for balance problems and play therapy for fear. The therapist advised them not to force discussion of the incident. Instead, they created predictable routines. Breakfast at seven. Quiet play after lunch. No surprise visitors. A calendar with stickers for medical appointments.
Lily became frightened of brown leather.
The first time James wore his old work belt, she screamed and crawled beneath the dining table.
He removed it immediately.
After that, he wore a woven fabric belt in gray. He threw the leather one into the garage trash, then retrieved it because Rebecca said disappearing objects could teach Lily that fear controlled the house. They placed it in a sealed box on a high shelf until the therapist could advise them.
James hated the box.
Rebecca hated that she was the one who argued to keep it.
Their marriage narrowed to logistics. Who handled therapy. Who answered the detective. Who documented Patricia’s messages. Who slept beside Lily after nightmares. They were polite because anger required energy they did not have.
One evening Rebecca found James in the garage trying to repair the crooked kitchen cabinet door he had removed.
“You’re doing that now?”
“The hinge has been bothering me.”
“For three years.”
“I have time.”
“You don’t have to avoid me in the garage.”
“I’m fixing a hinge.”
“You’ve been fixing it for an hour.”
“The screws are stripped.”
She leaned against the workbench.
A small fan moved hot air around the room. From a neighboring yard came the sound of a lawnmower, though the grass was almost invisible beyond the closed garage door.
James turned the screwdriver again.
“Vanessa’s lawyer called mine,” Rebecca said.
His hand stopped.
“Why does Vanessa have a lawyer?”
“Because Kessler’s investigator accused her of changing her story under pressure from me.”
“You haven’t spoken to her.”
“That doesn’t prevent the accusation.”
“What does she want?”
“To meet through counsel.”
“With you?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“She has something she thinks I need to know.”
James set down the screwdriver. “Bell said no contact.”
“This would be attorney-arranged, with the prosecutor informed.”
“You want to do it.”
“I don’t know.”
“That means yes.”
“She’s my sister.”
“She nodded when your mother said Lily deserved it.”
“I saw.”
“She lied to police.”
“I know.”
“She may be trying to protect herself.”
“Probably.”
“Then why meet?”
Rebecca looked at the cabinet door on the bench. Without it, the kitchen would have one open cavity exposing cereal boxes and a chipped blue bowl.
“Because she changed her statement when it would have been easier not to.”
James wiped his hands on a rag.
“Or because she realized the witnesses made her first statement look bad.”
“That too.”
“You always give them another explanation.”
“People usually have more than one.”
He looked at her. “Does that include you?”
“Yes.”
The meeting took place in Susan Park’s conference room. Vanessa arrived with her attorney, a nervous man who handled business disputes and seemed uncomfortable near criminal allegations.
Vanessa wore black trousers and a white blouse buttoned too high at the neck. Without party makeup, she looked older than Rebecca remembered, though they had seen each other less than three weeks earlier.
For a while no one spoke.
Then Vanessa said, “Your hair looks terrible.”
Rebecca touched the loose bun at the back of her head.
“So does yours.”
Vanessa laughed once, and the laugh turned into something close to a sob. She pressed her fingers beneath her eyes.
Her attorney began to speak.
Vanessa shook her head. “No. I asked for this.”
She looked at Rebecca.
“I saw him hit Lily.”
“I know you told the detective.”
“I saw the belt touch her back. She slipped when she turned. Her head hit the floor.”
Rebecca kept her face still.
“Why did you lie?”
Vanessa folded and unfolded a paper napkin beside the water glass.
“Mom said we needed to be careful.”
“When?”
“Before the deputies separated us. She leaned toward me and said, ‘You didn’t see contact.’”
“Did anyone hear?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you tell Bell?”
“Yes.”
Rebecca’s mind moved through corroboration, timing, motive, impeachment.
Vanessa saw it.
“Could you not look at me like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like I’m already on the stand.”
Rebecca lowered her eyes.
Vanessa continued folding the napkin until it became a narrow strip.
“I nodded when Mom said Lily deserved it because I knew what came next.”
“What came next?”
“She would look at me. If I disagreed, I became the problem.”
“We’re adults.”
Vanessa smiled bitterly. “You became an adult. I became better at being twelve.”
Rebecca did not answer.
“When he hit me,” Vanessa said, “Mom would explain what I had done first. I slammed a door. I embarrassed him. I rolled my eyes. I wore shorts he didn’t like. There was always a first thing, so the second thing belonged partly to me.”
Her attorney shifted in his chair.
Rebecca said, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I did.”
“When?”
“Constantly.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“I told you he was crazy. I told you I hated being home. I slept at your apartment for a month after graduation.”
“You said you wanted to be closer to your boyfriend.”
“I didn’t have a boyfriend.”
Rebecca stared at her.
“Yes, you did. Trevor.”
“Trevor was gay.”
“What?”
“He asked me to pretend so his father wouldn’t find out. You met him twice.”
Rebecca remembered a thin young man with bleached hair who had called Vanessa babe and spent most of dinner discussing a musical Gerald hated.
“You never said.”
“You never asked.”
The room went quiet.
Vanessa pushed the napkin strip away.
“When Mom broke her wrist, I told you Gerald shoved her.”
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“You said they were arguing.”
“I said he grabbed her. You told me not to speculate.”
