“I’ll bet. Which one of you found the cell phone?” asked Tristan.
“I did,” said Hank. “It was still in Reilly’s car, wedged under the driver’s seat belt clip and the center console. I almost missed it.” Hank provided more detail on how he had come across the phone when he was getting ready to sell the car. The others added small details about how they had gathered around the phone to listen to the events that had led up to the accident. Reilly even described how she had gotten sick.
“It seems so implausible. Why wasn’t the phone logged into evidence? Was the investigation conducted that poorly?” asked Melinda.
Reilly had thought long and hard about that, but she understood why the police hadn’t searched her car very thoroughly.
“The police did a great job. I suppose they didn’t think they needed to really search the car,” she explained. “Even I assumed that I had been the person behind the wheel that night. I entered a not guilty plea at the advice of counsel, but never offered any kind of defense for myself, and my attorneys were more focused on shortening the sentence than proving my innocence. There was no reason for the police to investigate further. For all intents and purposes, they thought that they had the guilty party in custody.”
“Do you think that’s the same reason the police have for not having interviewed the only witness, Albert Stillman?” asked Tristan.
Reilly was still amazed that Albert Stillman, the homeless man that the police had chased away from the scene that morning, had been able to provide a full account of what had happened that night. Reilly had forgotten all about him until one of the officers mentioned him to her during the interview that occurred when she and Hank had brought the cell phone into the police. His name was listed in the 9-1-1 logs as the caller. She had no idea that it was he who had been at the scene until just a few days ago, when the investigator assigned to the re-opened case called and told her that they had found him, a military veteran with severe PTSD, on the same beach, sleeping near the garbage collection bins. It turned out that he had been arrested for vagrancy during the time of the investigation and had never even been questioned in the case. Four years later, when asked, he provided a full description of what had happened, almost down to the exact dialog that they had all heard in the video.
Reilly thought about the note scratched out on the piece of notebook paper that the investigator had given to her the day before.
I been thinking about you all this time pretty lady. Your heart is good. Things gonna be just fine.
The writing matched that of another note that had been with the rest of the belongings from her car. The note from the coffee shop all those months ago. Hope comes in unlikely packages. The original note had seemed nothing more than a thank you at the time. Reilly’s mind still couldn’t wrap around the synchronicity of certain events in her life. The note was now tucked into the corner of her vanity mirror at home.
“I suspect that a few things contributed to the failure to bring Mr. Stillman in as a witness,” offered Reilly. She refrained from going into more detail because, like many homeless people, he was in that position because of a lack of social assistance in treating mental illness. He wasn’t a danger to anyone, but some of his idiosyncrasies—such as repeating phrases over and over at a loud volume—were, at times, alarming. Another topic she didn’t discuss was that she had set up the help he needed to get off the streets, but his distrust of people made that difficult, and he continued to live out there. He seemed to trust her more than others, and she’d have to play it carefully with him, but she hoped to develop a relationship that would allow him to let her help him some day. She didn’t want to bring any of that up on national television, though. “His being homeless probably had a lot to do with it. But yes, I think that since the police already had me in custody, assuming that they had apprehended their killer, there was no need to expend more resources on what they saw as an already solved case.”
“It must be frustrating to you, though. If they had just looked a little harder, things might have unraveled differently.”
“One thing I’ve learned is that you can’t change what has already happened,” said Reilly. “The police did the best job they could with the information they had.” Although she knew that what she said was true, Reilly couldn’t help but feel resentment about what had happened. She could now talk about it with her friends, but this was one thing she wasn’t ready to discuss with the media. Forgiveness took time, and she’d only recently begun to forgive herself. It was going to take time for her to extend that forgiveness to everyone else. She was glad that Tristan didn’t try to press it.
“Let’s talk about that recording, then. Tell us about what went through your minds when you first listened to it.”
Reilly shuddered at the memory that haunted her, and her throat grew tight. The awful sound of Matt Traynor dying in the recording still played frequently through her mind. The old dreams that had contained a single running shoe lying on wet pavement had started to fill her nights again after hearing that sound. She’d woken more than once in the middle of the night, sobbing into Drew’s arms. Talking about it with Drew helped. She was grateful that she had been advised not to speak about the content of the recording, as it was the primary evidence against Sylvie in the trial that was scheduled to begin in the fall. Parker’s condition had prevented formal charges from being pressed against her.
“We can’t discuss those details until after the trial is over,” said Cray. “What I can tell you is that it proves beyond a shadow of a doubt that Reilly was not responsible for the accident. She was as much a victim as Mr. Traynor was.”
Reilly had an impulse to correct him, but the lump in her throat made her pause, and then Tristan was talking again.
“Well, I’m sure that the rest of the world feels a lot like I do, and I’m just happy that the right people are being brought to justice,” said Tristan.
Reilly glanced over at Hank, afraid of how he would respond. He’d reined in his anger since those earlier days, but it still rose up one in a while, and when it did, it made Reilly flinch.
“We are, too, Tristan,” said Hank. “We’re also glad that they’re taking responsibility for it—well, at least Sylvie is.” Reilly was proud of Hank for his mild response, and she gave him a little smile.
Sylvie’s immediate confession had surprised everyone. Reilly guessed that the guilt had been crushing her all the while when she saw the pictures in the news of a gaunt and haggard Sylvie being booked at the police station. The four years that had passed since Reilly had last seen her had aged her far more than they should have. Parker hadn’t been so easy. She had invited the police into her house and had then excused herself to go to the bathroom. Moments later a shot had rung out. She had been in the hospital ever since. Reilly would have never predicted Parker’s actions. But then again, all of the other things she and Sylvie had done were beyond her comprehension, too.
As Cray added some of his feelings about the matter, Reilly looked beyond the camera crew and out over her beloved arroyo. Despite the subject of the interview, she couldn’t get over how amazing it felt to be outside, to feel the sunshine on her skin and smell the sweet scent of the early season wisteria and honeysuckle on the trellis behind them. Being near Drew and her best friends helped to ground her. She reached over to grasp Drew’s hand.
“Reilly, you spent almost two years in prison for a crime that you didn’t commit. Aren’t you angry about that?” asked Tristan.
Reilly had rehearsed this answer. It was the first question most people asked her. Her practiced response only skimmed the surface of what she really thought, but no one but her closest friends needed to hear her deeper, darker thoughts. And, in truth, she was still trying to come to terms with her feelings about it. In sticking to the script with the public, she was allowed to explore the less tidy part of her healing in private. And, even so, the superficial response was still mostly true, anyway.
“I think angry goes with
out saying. But anger is so counterproductive. Therapists and enlightened people will tell you that you have to process things to heal, and anger is part of that. But you don’t have to dwell there. You can move past that to a more productive place. I can’t change what’s already happened. And being human, I have resentment about that, but I’m trying to let go of it. You know—leave the past in the past and avoid adding even more negativity to that very awful thing that happened four years ago. The thing is, I am very aware that the effect on me was nothing compared to what happened to the man who died and the family he left behind. So, I’m trying to stay focused on being the best person I can be. And, maybe I’m being trite, but it’s what I think is the right thing to do. Forgiving and being a better role model will help me do that.”
“Come on, Reilly. I’m not sure that the Pope would be that forgiving.”
Reilly laughed and glanced at Hank, who winked back. It was true. She’d heard that more than once or twice, hadn’t she?
“I won’t say that I’ve been successful at forgiving everyone, but I’m trying,” she said, studying Tristan’s eyes. It was important to her that she said what she meant. She owed it to her fans and to herself to be honest about what was going on inside of her. She owed it to Matt and his family to make sure that he wasn’t forgotten. She decided to reveal a little more. “It took so long for me to begin to forgive myself for what I thought I had done. I figure that if I could do that, I could at least try to forgive others.”
“Still, you must have some sort of anger at having been blamed for something that you had no part in. What do you do with that?”
“Sure, I feel anger. But that’s mixed in with a lot of guilt. Ultimately, I lost very little compared to the Traynor family,” said Reilly, remembering her last visit from Matt’s wife, just a few days ago. Lydia had brought the girls with her. The girls were young and Reilly didn’t know how much they knew about their father’s death or what they had been told about Reilly’s part in it. But they’d been sweet and seemed like normal kids, even with everything that had happened. Reilly had spent the visit in awe over the girl’s resilience and feeling wonder over the closeness she saw binding the mother with her daughters. All the while, she wrestled with a tremendous sadness knowing Matt would never be a part of it again. It was hard to feel like she deserved their forgiveness, but she was working on it. Something occurred to her then. A certain clarity filled her and she decided to give voice to it. “I believe it’s important to acknowledge that I was not completely innocent in what happened. I need to take responsibility for the kind of person I was at the time. The thing is that it could have very well been me behind that wheel, with the way my life was headed and how I was behaving at the time.”
“When you put it that way, it could have been any of us behind the wheel, Reilly,” said Tristan, looking a little surprised at her candor, even a little skeptical.
“In some respects, yes. Accidents happen,” she said, the realization becoming more solid as she gave voice to it. “But I know the empty person that I used to be. When you don’t care, or when you care too much about your own happiness to the exclusion of others, you breed a certain kind of environment around you. I take responsibility for the life I used to lead and the influence I had on others. For a long time I truly believed that I had killed a man. And thinking that I was capable of it has had a profound impact on my life. It’s made me think long and hard about the power of intent. It’s made me more aware of how I need to focus my own intent and how that impacts others. I know that I didn’t have any power over Sylvie and Parker’s choices—they were very wrong in what they did to me, and everyone else involved—but, I can’t help but think that if I had behaved as a better person, they may not have made the choices that they did. Like I said, I can’t change what happened, but I can try to be a better person going forward.”
“It sounds like you’re taking on a lot of responsibility for other people’s actions,” said Tristan.
“No more than I should, I guess,” said Reilly, hoping that she didn’t sound like she had a messiah complex. “I’ve come to realize that a certain responsibility comes with being a public figure. It’s just reality, Tristan. And I think most people naturally live their lives in a responsible way without even trying. I just have to learn how to be that way, too.”
“What took you so long to speak publicly about what happened? Was it that you knew all along that you were innocent?”
“Until last November, I genuinely thought that I was guilty. I didn’t speak about it because I was a coward. I tried to justify it to myself that I was honoring Matt Traynor by not making the whole thing about me, but that backfired. The longer I didn’t speak, the more it actually did become about me,” admitted Reilly. “To be honest, I feel like I deserve what I’ve gone through. I don’t think that what Sylvie and Parker did was okay, but I acknowledge that I played a part in what happened. Like I said earlier in the interview, it could have easily been me behind the wheel.”
The forgiveness that she’d been searching for started to take hold within her. It felt like a weight was lifting from her and she was glad when Tristan shifted the conversation. She needed some time to digest her revelation.
“Tell me a little about the Matt Traynor Project.”
Reilly blushed. Nothing in Hollywood was secret for long.
“With the generous help of my studio, a large portion of the proceeds from Salsa Nights will be used to fund the Matt Traynor Project, a grant program that provides support to families who have lost a parent due to drunk or drugged driving.”
“By ‘a large portion,’ don’t you mean your entire salary from the sequel, and your full portion of the proceeds?”
Reilly’s blush burned hotter.
“She’s too modest to discuss it, but her generosity has inspired some of the other actors to contribute to the effort, along with the studio, who will donate a portion of all ticket and other movie sales to the program,” Cray confirmed. Reilly wanted to slug him. It was supposed to be anonymous.
“That’s amazing. I’m sure his family is pleased. You’ve turned a terrible thing into a positive thing.”
“I’m sure that they’d rather have Matt back,” said Reilly.
“True. I’m sure it would have been best if none of this was even needed,” agreed Tristan. “But, to paraphrase a saying I’ve heard, it’s not our mistakes that define us, but the way we respond to them. I have no doubt that the project will be successful. So, do you have other plans? What’s next?”
Reilly could sense that the interview was coming to a close, and she relaxed a little with the new found peace. She wondered if she would have found it earlier if only she’d spoken out before now. In a way, she felt that, despite all of the changes that she had made, and all of the difficulties that she had gone through over the last four years, she could now start to really move forward with her life.
“Well, Salsa Nights II: Dare to Dream is going to be released this summer. My studio would kill me if I didn’t mention that,” smiled Reilly. As important as the topic of the interview was, she still knew that the show couldn’t end on a downer. There was a delicate balance in maintaining a dignity needed to honor the fallen man while keeping her fan base interested enough to watch the interview. It was a responsibility she had learned to accept as part of her celebrity. Her hope was that she could use her public presence to become a better role model for those who looked up to her. If just one person learned to become a better person because of her experience, she would be grateful. “And I have a few movies in the works. Aside from that, Drew and I are working on a yoga-based prison release transition program. But most of all, I’m just going to try to live a more meaningful life, however that might evolve.” Reilly smiled. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll write a book—give my mom some competition for the top of the bestseller list.”
“I’ve read her book. I loved it. With the list of movie projects that you’re rumored to have signed up for, and with all
of what you just listed, it sounds like you’ll be a busy lady for quite some time. I hope that you’ll find room in your schedule to visit us at The Morning Show in New York even with all of that going on.”
“I don’t know, Tristan. I kind of like the idea of taking the show on the road and coming here,” chimed in Melinda.
“I’d have to agree with that suggestion,” chuckled Tristan, smiling at his wife.
“I’ll never turn down a chance to see Melinda,” said Reilly with a wink at the blushing co-host. She fought a giggle when Drew squeezed her hand.
Reilly smiled and her eyes shifted to find her mother, who was standing just beyond the boom operator, taking everything in with a calm intensity. Reilly squeezed Drew’s hand and smiled at her. When she glanced over, Drew’s silver eyes filled with encouragement and love, and Reilly’s heart overflowed with emotion. There was so much to do, but now that her life had a purpose, Reilly looked forward to seeing how it would all unfold.
Peace
THERE WERE SEVERAL MINUTES BEFORE class would start and Reilly sat on her mat in her usual place in the back corner of Drew’s yoga studio. She’d been early, as was usual on days that she came directly from meetings at the studio, and the room had been empty upon her arrival. Her eyes were closed and she was comfortable in Lotus, pushing away thoughts about the new movie she was just about to start filming, tangled in worry over how she was going to fit in the meetings with the county that she needed to attend regarding the prison release program she and Drew were establishing. Drew was doing most of the work, but Reilly wanted to participate, and when filming started there wouldn’t be much time. She juggled schedules in her mind.
Set the intruding thoughts aside, she told herself.
She switched her focus to an image of the beautiful stream in Drew’s yard and how the dappled summer sunlight had made the surface look like diamonds tumbling over the pebbled bottom when she’d walked along it on her way to the studio. Reilly imagined that she was smaller and her body was floating along the stream, buoyant and serene. The koi swam slowly below her, sometimes nibbling at her limbs, tickling her skin. Long grasses growing along the sides brushed over her skin. The heat of the sun warmed her, while the water below soothed her. The mat beneath her was liquid, and she was drifting. The sounds of people slowly entering the room and settling around her faded away, became inconsequential outside of her immediate consciousness. Her surroundings blurred and ran together. She was at peace.
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