“Activists are up in arms because people are scared, Whit. Actually stepping up and saying this is an issue could show the parents of black kids who can’t sleep at night since this shit started that this community cares about their kids.” Ron’s angry voice boomed in the room.
If possible, Day tightened his arms even more tightly against his chest, and he did not look like he was going to budge much from his position. “It’s not the right time.”
Ron scoffed, angling his head toward the sheriff. “What would be the right time for you, Whit? After one of these kids gets shot on their way home from school?”
Cindy looked like she finally realized that she’d made a bad call by coming to this and stood up. “I’m going to get some fresh air.”
Sheriff Day’s eyes widened as if just now realizing that Cindy was only a few weeks out of surgery. “If Lorraine knows you’re out here, she’s going to have all our heads.” Cindy’s partner had been a teacher in the Ithaca school district for twenty years and most of us knew her well and respected her. We also knew she was not anyone to mess with, especially when it came to Cindy.
Cindy glared at all of us as she walked to the door. When she had her hand on the doorknob, she turned around. To my surprise, she finally seemed to have lost her patience.
“Whitney, I’m old and don’t want to have another heart attack. Can you please stop acting like there’s not a problem? Fix this for fuck’s sake. Do we want all your hard work blowing up because a kid gets shot?” With that she left, leaving us all in tense silence.
“If it were a matter of one person fixing this it would already be over. I know you can’t fix all of it,” Ron said exhaustedly. “But you need to do better than a slap on the hand.”
Day twisted his mouth to the side, and when he spoke I had to refrain from sitting on Ron. “It took a year to get this department back on track after I came out. Easton, you know that. It seemed like half the county was suspicious of me. If I take sides on this...” He trailed off, but his meaning was crystal clear.
Ron leaned in then and the menacing look in his eyes made me think that we’d be lucky if this thing didn’t end up in a brawl. “Please tell me this isn’t about your fucking popularity, Whitney. Do you know what it’s like to have two black teens about to get licenses with this mess going on?”
Ron’s emotional words seem to finally sink in. Day’s usually unaffected face went from realization, to concern, to what finally looked like genuine empathy for Ron’s distress. He uncrossed his arms and clapped Ron’s shoulder, before he spoke. “Ron, I’m not trying to say this is simple, I just don’t seem to have any good solutions for this.”
Ron’s shoulders relaxed a fraction, but he looked to me to respond.
“I’m not saying any of us have all the answers here, but we need to find them. This is our fucking job. We promised to do this. If people are scared for their kids we are failing at our jobs. To start, we need to let this community know, in no uncertain terms, that we do not think what is happening is acceptable.”
Day let out a long breath and turned to look at me. “I’ve made an active effort to recruit more minorities.” I sighed at his words because he just wasn’t getting it. “You know I even had that LGBT training last year, and how much shit I got for it. We’ve got a lot going on, with opiates addiction wreaking havoc in the rural areas.”
I sighed, well aware of all the shit he was dealing with, because our office had to deal with all those drug charges, but it irked me the way he was talking like he wanted us to commend him for doing the bare minimum. “But hiring minorities is not exactly groundbreaking.” He flinched at that, but I needed to make it clear that I was not patting him on the back for doing what labor laws required him to do. “I know you have your hands full, Whitney.” I leaned in, looking straight at him. “But we cannot just kick the can down the road on this. If something terrible happens, what are we going to tell ourselves then?”
He nodded and let out another long suffering breath. “Fine, I will make sure this is dealt with, but I will appreciate it if I’m given some time to handle this internally. I’m not ready to crack heads just yet.”
It wasn’t exactly what I wanted to hear. I wanted Day to push for an anti-racism training for recruits. I wanted him to publicly talk about implicit bias training, to say that we didn’t want to become another town where young black and brown men had to be scared for their lives just because of the color of their skin. But I knew I couldn’t make Day do it, and now he was asking me to keep my mouth shut too. I looked over my shoulder at Ron, who’d been standing since Cindy had left the room. He twisted his mouth to the side, and I knew, like me, he wasn’t impressed by Day’s answer, but also knew it was probably all we were going to get.
I spoke up before Ron could. “We can give you time, but I can’t promise we won’t have to respond to this at some point. I will not let this county be another one in the long list of towns in this country that sweeps shit like this under the rug.”
Chapter Fourteen
Easton
“Where are you running off to?”
I looked over my shoulder and saw Cindy coming after me as I tried to make my escape out of the courthouse. Things between us had been a little awkward since the meeting with Day, but I’d been too busy to give too much thought to it.
It was Friday, the end of the first week of the Suarez trail, and it was almost 7:30 p.m. We’d been debriefing for the three hours since the judge rested for the weekend. I was ready to call it a day. As always, in cases like this, it had been emotionally draining and combined with the stress of the fuckery happening with the sheriff’s department, I needed a break.
“I’m not running,” I answered Cindy as we made our way down the steps leading out of the courthouse.
Cindy had been coming to the see the trial, which meant she probably wanted to talk about it with me. Our side was done with witnesses and the defense was bringing in their first one on Monday. That meant we’d work all weekend figuring out what they would try to bamboozle us with. I wanted a night off before the two straight days of work I was sure were ahead of me.
Especially because I was supposed to see Patrice tonight. We were actually going out for dinner, which was different. We’d been doing this thing where he’d show up around dinnertime, either with some takeout in hand or with a bottle of wine. I wasn’t exactly sure what any of it meant, but I wasn’t in a place to deny him. I’d gladly have Patrice Denis in my bed as long as he wanted to be there.
Although that wasn’t fair. We’d been getting to know each other. My biggest problem at the moment was the fact that the more I got to know Patrice Denis the more I wanted him, all of him. Even after all the time we’d spent together, I wasn’t sure if I’d ever get that.
“Oohhhh, this is about the stunner,” Cindy said, her distant expression changing for the usual impish one she sported whenever we talked about my dating life. A knot I didn’t even know I had in my stomach loosened a bit and I smiled back.
“His name is Patrice Denis, and yes, we’re having dinner together. I’m meeting him at that brewery that has the good pumpkin beer.”
Cindy balked at that. “Ugh, I don’t know how you drink that stuff,” she said, shuddering.
I looked around at the trees, which were half bare already. Early October had a bite here in Ithaca. “I embrace the fall weather and all it has to offer.”
“Ummhmm.” Cindy did not look convinced. “So things are going well, then?”
It felt good to just chat normally with Cindy after the tension of the last few weeks. It was such a relief that I went along with the line of questioning, instead of my usual deflections when she got too nosy about my love life.
“So far things are going cautiously well.”
That was an understatement. I knew, and Cindy knew it, but that was all I was willing to say at the moment
.
“Good. I’m cautiously happy for you, then.” She winked, and for the first time since I could remember she left me off the hook without a full interrogation.
“Thank you.” I could tell she wanted to hear more, but she didn’t push. She did reach out for my arm then, wanting to keep me there a bit longer, and I knew she’d followed me for a reason. “So have you given more thought to the DA’s race?”
I looked around the deserted sidewalk and focused back on her. “Cin, is this really the best time to talk about this?”
She gave me that stubborn look I’d seen her use in court hundreds of times. It said, “I’m here to do a job, you’re not getting me off track.”
“This is the perfect time, since you hedged when I tried to talk to you about it after the meeting with Day.” Her expression got a little grim when she mentioned the meeting. It had not been anyone’s finest moment. For all my mouthing off, we walked out of there with very little to show for it.
Cindy’s insistent tone jerked me back to the conversation. “The deadline for submitting the papers to run is in a few weeks. You’d be a good DA. People trust you and respect you, Easton.” There was a lot that was feeling fraught with Cindy these days, but I knew she believed what she was telling me.
“I don’t know, Cin,” I said, hesitantly. My parents talked about my job like it was a strange hobby they didn’t get, but I loved it, and I was good at it. If I was honest with myself, I wanted the DA position, not just to show my parents that this was not some kind of whim, but because I thought I could make a difference. I complained about the paperwork and the administrative piece, but I wondered if I could be a good leader if I just had more leeway. It had become abundantly clear dealing with these stops that when it came to speaking for the DA’s office my hands were tied.
I looked over at Cindy who was still waiting for my answer. “I’ll think about it, okay?”
She nodded, seemingly satisfied for now. “I’ll hold you to that.” She then moved in to give me a peck on the cheek and shooed me away.
“Okay, go see your stunner, but I’ll be back on Monday to make sure you put the paperwork in.”
“Okay,” I said, walking off with a nod, and setting aside my complicated feelings about Cindy and the DA position for now.
As I walked the few blocks to the brewery, I considered the past week with Patrice. No matter how much I got from him, it felt like only a taste, when I wanted mouthfuls.
A buzz in my pocket broke up my musings. I grabbed the phone, expecting to see a message from Amber, my co-counsel on the trial, but instead I saw it was from Patrice. I had to press a hand to my chest, at the throb there from just seeing his name on the screen.
I see you, counselor. How are you not wearing a coat?!!!!
I laughed at his alarmed message and looked up. I spotted him leaning against the brick wall next to the brewery.
God, he was beautiful.
When I lifted my hand in greeting, he did the same, and that unguarded smile I sometimes got glimpses of made an appearance. His face was open, obviously glad to see me, and I wanted to do something ridiculous like wolf-whistle. The weight of the week, the pressure of knowing that getting justice for that young woman rested on my shoulders...all of that lightened a bit now that I’d seen him.
I stood at the corner, waiting for the light to change, focused on him. There was so much to take in. His locs were coiled on top of his head today, giving me a clear view of his face. He was wearing dark jeans and black Chelsea boots, his gloved hands in his navy pea coat, a bright yellow scarf wrapped around his neck. That big body at rest, waiting for me. It was all I could not to run to him.
When the light changed I started walking, and he pushed off the wall to meet me. My heart pounded as I got close, and I took a moment to revel in the fact that I had butterflies in my stomach. I got to him and stopped just a couple of feet short of where he stood. “Hi.”
“How are you not freezing?” he asked, his lips turned up in a tiny smile. I lifted a shoulder and looked down at myself.
“I guess I’m not that cold,” I said distractedly, too focused on how close we were and that I wasn’t kissing him.
I wasn’t sure how to greet him. I wanted to kiss him, but I didn’t know how that would be received. I could see in his face that he was debating something too.
After a moment, his expression grew determined, then he moved closer and pressed his lips to mine, putting the question to rest. I immediately put my hand behind his head to bring him closer to me. I pressed my palm to the back of his neck, my eyes closed as I kissed him, feeling the warm skin of his neck, face and shoulders.
Our breaths mingled and I marveled at what was happening, I was kissing Patrice on a street corner and he was kissing me back, his arms tight around me. I should’ve been terrified, because this feeling, this would hurt whenever it went away. Instead I licked into his mouth, just once, to taste. When we pulled back I had my eyes closed, still reveling in the feeling, and when I finally opened them, the way Patrice was looking at me almost made me swoon.
He held my hand as he angled his head to the bar door. “Shall we?”
The urge to say, “I’d go anywhere with you by the hand,” was on the tip on my tongue.
But I kept it short, cautious not to break the spell by, as Tyren would say, “doing the most.”
“Let’s go.”
The usual Friday crowd of townspeople and students were scattered all over the popular brewery when we walked in. We spotted two stools at the end of the bar and headed over. As we dodged bodies on our way to the empty seats Patrice leaned over and spoke into my ear.
“How did today end? I saw on my news feed that you guys finished with your witnesses.”
I settled in my seat and looked around to see who was within earshot. A habit of being a small town prosecutor. “It’s going well, there is a lot of evidence,” I said with more confidence than I felt. “The issue will be whether a jury will actually choose to believe that any of what happened was consensual.” I grimaced, thinking about the pile of photographs from the victim’s medical exam after the assault. “It’s not likely.” I lifted a shoulder. “But you never know.”
He dipped his head and I could tell he was thinking hard about something. Before he answered, the bartender came to take our drink orders, and distracted us for a moment. When he walked away Patrice picked up the conversation again, his face serious. “That is a huge amount of pressure on you.”
I ran a hand over my forehead, ready to give an answer along the lines of “well I’m just doing my job” and then thought about the way he’d said it: “is” not “must be.” That distinction rocked me for a moment, because it was not very often that people in my life acknowledged that the pressure of this job sometimes could be paralyzing. For once I didn’t try to alleviate the other person’s worry, I just said it.
“It is a lot of pressure. We’ve worked our asses off, and prepared as much as we possibly can, but the jury ultimately decides. We have good witnesses, and the sheriff’s department did a really good job with the investigation part. So we’ll see.”
He ran his hand over mine before speaking, “I can’t imagine what having so much hanging on me would be like. No matter how I feel about the justice system, it is not an easy job that you have.” He then moved closer and asked in a low voice. “Any news about the sheriff?”
I shook my head and tried not to show the frustration I felt. After the meeting with Day he’d followed up to let us know he’d “made it clear” to the deputies that they needed to be more careful, but there didn’t seem to be any real sign he was taking things further than that, at least for now.
There was only so much I could tell Patrice anyway, so I just shook my head. “No, not really. I’m sorry.” I meant that sincerely.
I worried that my answer would shift the mood of the evening
but Patrice just nodded and ran his hand over mine again. He gave me a tiny smile and when he spoke his tone was intentionally gentle. “I know this stuff is not all on you. I just want you to know that I’ve been working with some of the groups in town and people are organizing for whenever it happens again.”
My heart sped up then, worried for him, and once again feeling like we were making a huge mistake with our silence.
“Patrice.” I wasn’t even sure what I wanted to say, but he lifted his gaze to mine as if he was also thinking of how to say what was on his mind. I leaned closer, waiting for his answer, when a voice from behind startled me.
“Well, well, well and here I was thinking that I’d have to show my new colleague around. I guess he’s doing just fine.”
I pulled back to see who the voice belonged to, and when I glanced at Patrice he was barely containing his annoyance. I didn’t blame him, Brad Gunham was a piece of work. We’d known each other since we were kids, and had had one very underwhelming date when I was trying and failing to get Patrice out of my system, so I couldn’t exactly pretend I was blanking on who he was.
“Brad.” Patrice’s flat tone made it clear that though they might be colleagues, they were not friends.
While I was still trying to figure out where this was going Brad leaned in and spoke very close to my ear, completely violating all personal space rules. “I haven’t heard from you in a while, Easton.”
I sat there wondering what exactly this guy thought he was doing. We’d gone on one bad date that ended up in mediocre sex before we went our separate ways. Why he thought he needed to come and talk to me when I was obviously with someone else was a mystery to me, especially given our history. Which I really hoped did not come up tonight.
American Love Story (Dreamers) Page 17