Reporters immediately rush the platform shouting questions. I elbow my way to the front of the scrum. My height always helps in these situations, as I shoot my mic over a petite woman slightly in front of me. Tamara and her entourage are whisked out of the wood-paneled door before anyone can successfully thrust a microphone in their faces. But Sabrina holds back.
“Will Murphy and Cameron be arrested today?” The question is less surreal when it’s drowned out by a dozen other equally zealous reporters shouting similar inquiries.
Sabrina turns to look directly at me and at the camera perched on Bart’s shoulder.
“We are working with Officers Cameron and Murphy to arrange for them to turn themselves in by the end of the week. This isn’t a witch hunt. My office has no interest in causing any further disruption. As I said, we’re only here to make sure that justice is served for Justin Dwyer and that there is oversight in law enforcement.”
Sabrina scans the press pool, ready for another question. It comes from the CNN legal affairs reporter, whom I’ve always admired.
“Are you aware that Officer Murphy’s wife recently gave birth?”
I stop jostling the others for a better position and freeze in place.
“I wish Officer Murphy and his wife the best when it comes to raising a happy and healthy child.” Sabrina looks directly into Bart’s camera. “That’s what every parent deserves. That’s exactly why we’re here today.”
Chapter Fourteen JEN
By this time tomorrow we’ll know where we stand.
“I’ve never been so humiliated, Jen,” Kevin says, staring at the ceiling, still in his clothes.
Moments ago, I’d stripped off my sweats and T-shirt that smell like hospital and crawled into bed next to him in my bra and underwear. I’ve been at the NICU for ten hours and my eyelids are dry as sandpaper, but I’ve got to keep them open because he needs someone to listen to every single excruciating detail of turning himself in this afternoon—the fingerprinting, the mug shot, the paperwork, the shame of being on the other side, all the sympathetic I’m only doing my job shrugs from his fellow officers, who wouldn’t even look him in the eye. He’d thought Cameron would be there too, that they could have gone through the hell together, but Cameron isn’t surrendering until next week. His lawyer asked for more time. Kevin wanted to get it over with—and at least he didn’t have to spend a night in jail, thanks to the $50,000 bond Cookie and Frank scrounged together. I’d heard them talking in the kitchen a few days ago, about how they’d have to give up their dream of a little house not far from the beach in South Carolina. There goes their easy retirement filled only with the drama of grandkids and hurricane warnings. Even so, Cookie never hesitated, never even complained. She never will.
I can hardly focus on what Kevin’s saying since I know I’ve got to get up in a few hours to get back to the hospital. I just want to drift off picturing Chase’s little eyelashes, counting each individual strand framing his deep blue eyes, but Kevin needs me.
“I’m a failure. I feel like I’ve already ruined his life, Jen,” he says, his voice flat. “It hasn’t even really begun yet, and I’ve ruined Chase’s life.”
I won’t let that happen.
He drops his arm across my tender boobs. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Jaybird.”
I blink at him, my face so close to his that I could kiss him. I don’t. I can’t remember the last time I kissed him. “I know, I know,” I murmur, patting him on the shoulder. Kevin is sorry. He’s always sorry. He’s been nothing but sorry for weeks now. His apologies are like background music.
“What did Brice say?”
“He’s all over the place. Says we have a good shot at trial as long as Cameron and I keep our stories straight, stick together, and then five minutes later he was all, ‘They might offer you a deal if you’d be willing to testify against Cameron,’ since the video footage shows him shooting before I even turned the corner. He didn’t properly identify the suspect or confirm the weapon.”
The idea of a deal has been vague, always floating in the air in the Murphy house, with no one willing to let it seem real. It isn’t real to any of them because of the simple fact that cops don’t snitch. I know enough to know that. A cop who snitches isn’t a real cop. He’s a pariah, a pussy, a traitor. But he would also be safe. He’d still be my husband and Chase’s father, and I’ll take pariah and pussy if I can have my fucking family.
Besides, Kevin can’t go to prison. It would break him. He would never survive. The fact of being a cop in prison would mean his life was at risk every day. I wouldn’t survive the fear.
Last night I heard the nurses gossiping about me as I rocked Chase in the NICU nursery.
“That woman would last about two seconds visiting her baby daddy up in prison. Can you imagine?” They both got a big kick out of this.
Yeah, I was “that woman.” I didn’t even have it in me to be pissed, because it was true. I should have walked over and told them that they’re right. I can’t imagine sitting across from Kevin, holding our baby up to a filmy plate of glass to show off his first smile, first words, first steps, first everything.
When we decided that Kevin was going to turn himself in today, all my attempts at positive thoughts and promises to stand by my man were immediately replaced by one screaming question: How can I stay with him? I don’t just mean in the moral sense, I mean in the actual sense of how will I manage as a single mother with a husband locked away? I can’t let him get locked away.
For a full minute, I lay there wishing I had fought against Kevin’s decision to become a police officer all those years ago and that he was back selling ads, as soul crushing as that might have been for him. Why didn’t I fight harder? Well, I have to now. “Kev, if they offer you a deal, you have to take it.”
“But, Jen, I’d have to throw Cameron under the bus. I’d have to get up there and say that he made the wrong decision. That his judgment was bad.”
“But it was bad. You shot because Cameron shot, but your life was never in danger from that kid and you knew it the second you actually saw him. I watched the video. I saw your face. In the split second after the gun went off, you knew you shouldn’t have shot.”
Kevin releases a low moan. “They’ll all crucify me. If I betray my brothers. I mean, remember when I talked to Ramirez a while back and I was so upset? You know what he said to me, Jen? He said he would never be able to look me in the eye ever again if I testified against Cameron. Said he would never be able to forgive me. My best friend said that, the guy I want to be Chase’s godparent. He asked me how I could live with myself. How could I, Jen? How could I lose my best friend?”
“Easy for Ramirez to say: he’s not facing decades in prison. You can’t go to prison, Kevin. If there’s a way out, you have to take it. For me, for Chase.” I look over at Kevin when I say this, imploring him, and it’s like he’s disintegrating before my eyes. We’re running out of time and options.
“And you should have heard Matt laying into me. I mean, Jesus. ‘Imagine if that were me, you’d turn on me like that?’ ” He does a dead-on imitation of his brother. “I don’t know, Jen, would I? It was a bad call. Cameron made a bad call. He should pay for that. But I should too, you know. But, like, how much? Matt asked me if Cameron deserved to lose everything for doing his job. It’s not that simple though, right? I mean, a kid is dead.”
“No, it isn’t that simple. You both fucked up. But maybe, just maybe, Cameron fucked up worse, and there need to be real consequences for that.”
Kevin lets that sink in and turns to me. “I know I said it, but today wasn’t the worst day of my life. The day I pulled the trigger was the worst day of my life.” There’s nothing to say in the wake of that truth, so I finally do kiss him, but only because it feels like a way to end this conversation. Both of us surrender to our sweaty sheets and our private thoughts about how tomorrow will play out.
* * *
I’m at the hospital before dawn, to get a
few minutes with my son before today gets out of hand. Chase feels heavier in my arms today than he did yesterday—at this morning’s weigh-in, he’d gained a full ounce. He’s nearly six pounds now and fits perfectly in the crook below my chin. He squeaks and snuffles against my neck as I push myself back and forth in the rocker in the NICU just as the sun creeps over the horizon.
“He’s a fighter. A little Rocky,” Eva, my favorite NICU nurse, says now in her heavy South Philly accent. Eva says this a lot, and I love her for it. She plays “Eye of the Tiger” at least once a day on her phone and always treats Chase like a baby, not like some fragile doll—and she doesn’t gossip about me, at least not within earshot.
“He is, isn’t he?” I say. It’s ridiculous how proud I am of my son already, just for thriving.
“I’m gonna miss this little guy.” It’s hard to believe this will be Chase’s last night here. We can bring him home tomorrow, provided his last breathing test today looks good. Frank gave us the crib he made, which is the most beautiful piece of furniture I’ve ever seen—he carved all of our initials into the wood, so Chase “would be surrounded by everyone who loves him while he sleeps.” It’s all set up at home, with sheets I’ve washed five times.
“You look nice,” Eva tells me. She’s trying to make me feel better. She knows why I’m dressed up today and not in my usual dirty sweats and no makeup. My eyeliner is crooked. I couldn’t hold my hand steady enough to draw a straight line this morning—and this frilly blue dress isn’t exactly right for going to court, but it’s the only maternity dress I own, the one I was going to wear for my shower. None of my pre-pregnancy clothes fit me yet. I didn’t realize my stomach would still look six months pregnant weeks after giving birth. I can barely shove my still-swollen feet into kitten heels. I’ve already kicked them off. Apparently, when your husband goes in front of a judge to find out whether he’ll be locked up for the rest of his life, you’re supposed to look “classy.” That’s how Julia described it when she came over a few nights ago to prep us. She prepared a short statement for Kevin to read after the hearing but said he could also let Brice read it for him. I don’t know what he’ll do. Julia said I should be prepared for photos and that I should hold Kevin’s hand as much as possible. “And don’t get caught laughing or smiling.” As if either of those things are something I am capable of these days.
“Here, let me take him.” Eva leans down, and I have the irrational urge to turn away so she can’t take my baby. Sensing my resistance, she steps back.
I move Chase to my lap, nestle him in the small crevice between my thighs. “I’m sorry I have to go, baby boy. But I’ll be back soon. I won’t be long.”
Chase’s eyes flicker open at the sound of my voice. This is happening more and more; each time, it’s no less magical. He focuses his eyes right on me. It’s you, they say. Then he opens his little mouth, his pillow lips, and I think he’s about to yawn. Instead, he lets out a wail, high and shrill. His pink skin turns purple from the effort and I reflexively start to bounce and rock to soothe him. His breathless sobs make me feel desperate, useless, especially since I can’t stay. How can I leave him like this? Why do I have to leave him like this? I curse the fact that I’m being forced to spend the day away from my baby.
Eva doesn’t ask this time, she just leans down and lifts Chase from my arms, and I want to snatch him right back. I can’t, though. It’s time. I push against the arms of the chair and slowly stand—any sudden movement sends a crackle of pain through my still-raw incision. I move around like a turtle. I try to steady myself on the kitten heels and then kick the dumb things off again. I’ll carry them to the car.
“Good luck today, Jen.” The look in Eva’s eyes, the tone of her voice, her kindness. It’s so genuine I have to turn away.
It’s not luck we need. I don’t know what we need.
I kiss the fuzz on top of Chase’s head one last time, then each of his feet, then his little hand, the size of an acorn. “I’m sorry I have to go, baby boy. But I’ll be back soon. I won’t be long.”
When I step outside, I stand facing skyward, blinking into the too-bright glare. After weeks of leaving the hospital well after dark and returning before sunrise, I barely recognize the sun, and I want to suck down the light as if it can make me strong for the day.
The one great thing about my rusty old car is that it still has a six-disc CD changer in the trunk with a rotation that hasn’t changed much since high school. I have a plan for the ride to the courthouse. As soon as I start the engine, I cue up Guns N’ Roses’ Greatest Hits. The first notes come on—the guitar revving faster and faster into a startling crescendo. The electric intensity matches my mood and I turn the volume way up, as loud as it will go. And then I sing—no, I scream, lungs burning—the whole ride from the hospital to City Center. “Welcome to the Jungle,” “Paradise City,” and finally “Patience.” At a red light, a man in the blue Chevy beside me stares at me like I’ve lost my mind. I look directly at him and belt out the lyrics even louder.
It’s a madhouse when I arrive; what looks like a million people and cameras surround the courthouse, and I toy with an exhilarating thought. What if I keep driving, get as far away as possible?
By the time I do another slow loop around the block, I’m back to reality and searching for the rear parking lot and entrance that Brice told us would be private, protected by security. There’s also no media allowed inside the courtroom today, a blessing; it means I don’t have to face Riley. Yet, anyway. We have to talk; I just have to get through all of this, this part first. And get Chase home, and maybe get six full hours of sleep, and then Riley and I will talk again.
As soon as I pull into the gated lot, I see the Murphys, gathered in a cluster near the back door, looking beat down, like they’re waiting for a funeral to begin. I park as far away as possible and walk slowly toward them, taking in Cookie, her hands clasped tightly around Frank’s arm, hip to hip, in solidarity and also to help him stand, which he has trouble doing for long periods. Next to her, Matt talks to Brice. I feel queasy at the sight of the lawyer with his thinning hair slicked back with so much gel it gleams in the sun, just like his Crest Whitestripped teeth.
I’ve really turned on Brice these last few weeks. I can’t shake the feeling that he’s out of his depth here. He’s a suburban lawyer who specializes in DUIs and slip-and-falls and then happened to stumble on a high-profile, headline-making case because his mom joined a book club. You can practically see him salivating at the publicity. He’s become so puffed up, I don’t know how he buttons his too-shiny suits.
I’m almost there when Kevin turns around as if he senses me. He looks so pathetic when he sees me, I worry I can’t give him all the strength he so desperately needs.
He’s lost so much weight that his one good suit is now at least two sizes too big.
“Well, finally,” Cookie says, thrilled to be exasperated at something. But then she leans over to button my coat. “You’re going to catch a cold.” No matter that we’re a couple yards from the door.
“You guys didn’t have to wait out here.”
“Mom thought we should all go in together,” Kevin says, taking my hand.
It seems silly, as if a few Murphys walking together down a largely empty hallway is going to make one bit of a difference, but as we make our way through the dingy alcove, it does feel safer in our little pack, a united front.
Cookie asks me about Chase and I tell her that he gained an ounce overnight. I don’t think I’ve ever loved her more than right then as her face lights up and she says, “That’s our boy.”
Brice lets Cookie and Frank lead the way as we file through the maze of the old building. Once they’re out of earshot, he whispers to Kevin. “You’ll plead not guilty, just like we talked about. I thought the DA might put a deal on the table before it came to this, but she wants to go through with all the theatrics, draw it out.” Cookie and Frank are too far ahead to hear this conversation, but Matt can.
“My brother ain’t a snitch, man.” He spits the words in Brice’s direction. He looks like he’s about to say more, to make a scene, but Annie grabs him by the elbow and pushes him toward his mother.
“Don’t listen to him,” I say.
Kevin stops short in the entrance—filling three rows of benches on one side are his buddies from the Twenty-Second. I can tell he didn’t know they would be here. It’s a bizarre kind of surprise party. Instead of screaming, “Surprise!” they all turn to look at him, communicate their solidarity through solemn nods and serious expressions. They know it could have been any one of them in Kevin’s shoes. Some of them stare at me. Some look shyly away. They’re standing by him now, but what happens if Kevin testifies against Cameron? Will they all abandon my husband? I know the answer and so does he.
There’s another case being heard. Brice told us to expect to wait, so we find an empty bench and sit watching, waiting as it finishes. The judge is delivering a stern lecture to a sullen teenager about getting his life together and how he needs to support all of his “baby mamas” because that isn’t the taxpayers’ job. It’s impossible to focus. I can’t stop thinking about Chase in the NICU, wondering what he’s doing, whether he’s awake, whether he misses me. My arms are so empty without him in them. A dark laugh threatens to escape as it hits me that I’d rather be back in the NICU, that terrible place of purgatory and sick babies, than here in this courtroom. But at least something is finally happening. Of all the difficult parts of the last few months, the not knowing has been the hardest. I can’t be a proper mother to my little boy in this constant state of limbo. Maybe it’ll all be over soon, whatever the end looks like. I’ve prepared myself to deal with any outcome. I just need clarity. I need to know what comes next.
We Are Not Like Them Page 27