A Place For Us

by Liza Gyllenhaal

  As usual, Brook stayed to help clean up. Since joining the group, she’d tried to make herself as useful as possible after the meetings: loading the dishwasher, packing up the leftovers, bagging the trash. She’d hoped her actions would show that she wasn’t aloof, that she didn’t mind literally getting her hands dirty, that she was just like them. When Julie’s kitchen was back in working order, Brook used the powder room in the hallway. She could hear guests leaving, voices in the hall. And then two particular voices, right outside the bathroom door:

  “Maybe I should have said something to her,” Lynn said.

  “Like what?” Julie asked. “Like ‘Do you want to talk about what happened?’ It was so damned clear she didn’t.”

  “Yeah, she does tend to talk a mile a minute when she’s nervous.”

  “If she was nervous,” Julie replied. “It seemed to me that she was totally oblivious to the fact that she was the elephant in the room.”

  “It would have done her good to talk, I think.”

  “Oh, she talked, all right,” Julie said. “About everything under the sun except the one thing on everyone’s mind.”

  Brook leaned her forehead against the door. She closed her eyes. Tight. She couldn’t let herself cry. She waited until the women had moved on. She took some deep breaths and opened the door. She retrieved her coat from the hall closet, and then found her hostess in the foyer, where Lynn was taking her leave.

  “Thanks so much for a great evening,” Brook said, walking up to Julie and her sister-in-law. “It was just super to see everyone again.”

  • • •

  “You were right about that bread,” Lynn said as she walked beside Brook down the path to the turnaround where they’d parked their cars. “It was very good.”

  “Yes, I think it’s the best . . . ,” Brook began to say. She’d gotten through the worst of the evening, so it was ridiculous to lose it now. Childish really. And in front of Lynn of all people.

  “Oh!” Lynn said, stopping next to Brook and leaning in toward her. “Are you crying?”

  “Damn!” Brook said, her shoulders shaking. “And I don’t even have a Kleenex.”

  “I have some in my glove compartment,” Lynn said, taking Brook’s elbow. “Come on.”

  Maybe it was Lynn’s touch. Or the gentle surprise in her tone. But by the time Brook slid into the passenger seat of her sister-in-law’s Prius, she was sobbing. All at once, the growing sense of loneliness and estrangement that had been building in Brook for too many weeks now—gave way.

  “Hey . . . ,” Lynn said, handing over another wad of tissue. “Are you okay?”

  “No, I’m not okay,” Brook said between ragged breaths. “Isn’t it . . . kind of . . . obvious?”

  “It is now. But earlier? No. I’d say you were your usual totally upbeat and cheery self.”

  “That’s just . . . how I cope.”

  “What? By pretending everything’s great when it’s really all shit?”

  “Yes. That’s what I do. That’s how . . . I get through.”

  “Why?”

  “Because . . . I always have. I’ve always tried to . . . put a good face on things.”

  “Even when you know things are pretty terrible?”

  “Especially then,” Brook said. “Especially now. How else was I supposed to handle the situation tonight?”

  “A little honesty might have helped.”

  “Honesty? About what? That Michael and I are dealing with the most shaming and terrifying thing imaginable? That I’ve never been more frightened in my life?”

  “Yes, Brook!” Lynn said. “That’s exactly what I mean. I kept waiting for you to call me—to ask for my help. Or advice. Or anything. Instead, you act like you don’t need anyone. Like you have it totally together. Like everything’s just super-duper great!”

  “You could have called me.”

  “That’s true. I could have, but I have my pride. Too much of it, I know. But I figured it was up to you to make the first move.”

  “I’m sorry,” Brook said. “I’m sorry for what happened between us. I know I’ve made a lot of mistakes with you. And other people in town. I know I’ve tried too hard to fit in—to be liked.”

  “So? Stop trying. Just be—just relax and be who you really are. Be the person who just told me that she’s never felt more frightened in her life. There’s nothing wrong with letting people see that you’re in trouble—with admitting you could use some help.”

  • • •

  “The public exposure’s bad enough,” Brook said a little later. Lynn had turned on the engine and turned up the heat, but Brook remained huddled in her coat. She felt as though she’d cried herself out, but she felt more depleted than relieved. “It’s what this whole thing is doing to us personally—that’s the really hard thing.”

  “I don’t mean to pry, but you and Michael—you’re okay, right?”

  “It’s been tough. We can’t seem to agree on how to handle things. We’re meeting with a new law firm next week to talk about the civil suit. I have a feeling we’re going to be advised to seek a settlement right away. And I don’t know. I feel terrible about what Phoebe went through. A part of me really does understand Troy’s anger and resentment. I think maybe we should just give him the money and call it a day. Get the damned thing behind us and try to move on.”

  “And Michael wants to fight it.”

  “He keeps saying that Troy’s just after a big payout, but I think there’s more to it than that. But he keeps so much locked up inside! What do you know about what happened between him and Troy when they were boys?”

  “He’s never talked to you about it?”

  “Not really. Just that they stopped being friends at one point—and Troy really resents him for it.”

  “They were pretty close the whole time they were growing up,” Lynn said. “Michael spent a lot of time over at the Lansings’ house. I think he liked it that Troy had so many brothers around. He was so outnumbered by all of us girls!”

  “But didn’t Troy have a sister, too?” Brook asked. “I think Phoebe once told me that Troy had a younger sister who died pretty young.”

  “Yes, you’re right,” Lynn said. “I was so much older I don’t really remember her. But I do remember when it happened. I was at SUNY, working in Albany for the summer. No one could figure out what went wrong, but she drowned in a lake up on some mountainside property that the Lansings own. Troy and Michael found her. It really broke the family up.”

  “It must have been horrible for Troy and Michael.”

  “Yes, and I think Michael was going through a bad time himself then. My dad was really tough on him, I know. I remember trying to get Michael to talk to me about it when I came home to visit, but he just shrugged it off. He got back on his feet soon enough after that, though. He got through it. Just the way the two of you will get through this.”

  “Thanks,” Brook said, reaching over to touch Lynn’s arm. “Thanks for talking to me about all this. Thanks for listening.”

  “Hey,” Lynn said, giving her a hug. “All you have to say is that you need my help. That’s all you’ve ever needed to say.”

  Brook thanked her again and zipped up her parka. She opened the door and was stepping out when she turned back to her sister-in-law and asked:

  “What was her name, by the way? Troy’s sister?”

  “Sylvia,” Lynn said, shaking her head. “So sad, isn’t it?”

  Part Three

  20

  “I’m convinced Liam’s covering up for one of the other boys,” Brook said. She and Michael were sitting side by side at a conference room table at Schmidt, Lloyd & Freeman, facing Angela Lloyd and two of her junior male colleagues. The corner office on the thirty-third floor on Boylston Place with its floor-to-ceiling windows offered distant views of Boston Harbor. Airplanes, taking off from or banking for Logan, periodically crisscrossed a pale blue sky. Michael barely noticed any of this. Instead, he kept thinking back on the way
Angela Lloyd—smile wide, dark hair pulled back, pin-striped pants suit impeccably tailored—greeted them in the reception area as they arrived: Mr. and Mrs. Pendleton. So nice to meet you!

  But, of course, as far as this law firm was concerned, that’s who they were. That’s why they were here. Michael kept telling himself to be reasonable. To be fair. To keep his resentment in check. Nothing had been decided. This wasn’t a criticism of how he had handled the situation so far. Or what he thought was right. This wasn’t about him, okay?

  “But it’s my understanding that your son says he can’t remember what happened,” Angela said, frowning as she glanced down at the legal folders in front of her.

  “Yes, that’s what he claims,” Brook said. “But in the beginning Liam flatly denied he’d had anything to do with hurting Phoebe. I was there when he was first accused of it—and I know him so well! I can read his face. He was totally stunned that anyone would believe he could do such a thing. But then, later that night, after he spoke to the other boys on the . . .”

  Michael could tell by the noncommittal way Angela and her two colleagues were reacting to Brook’s claims that they were probably thinking, Here’s a mom who can’t face the truth about her son. Proceed with caution. The lawyer let Brook talk on for another minute or two, before discreetly interrupting:

  “Well, yes, but I’m afraid that regardless of who actually assaulted Ms. Lansing, this case is going to be primarily about your role in what happened that night. The way the Massachusetts courts see it, you and your husband are to be held responsible for the welfare of any minor in your home when underage drinking is involved.”

  “Yes,” Brook said, “I understand that. I just thought it would be helpful for you to know what kind of boy Liam really is—he’s not mean or aggressive. He’s just young—and overwhelmed. It’s been a difficult year. . . .”

  Michael saw Angela’s two colleagues exchange glances as Brook went on in her usual nervous fashion. Brook was grasping at straws, Michael decided. And she was now convinced that this new law firm was going to be the answer to all their problems. On the drive over on the Mass Turnpike that morning, she’d delivered a running commentary on her thoughts about the meeting ahead with Schmidt, Lloyd & Freeman.

  “I spent some time on their Web site,” she told him. “And, you know, it’s amazing how many lawsuits like this have been brought over the past couple of years. They have a lot of the case studies and press links up on the site. There’s a whole section on educating parents about the law, and they’ve done an incredible amount of public service work to build awareness on the issue.”

  She went on to tell him that they’d be meeting that day with a woman lawyer, one of the founding partners in the firm.

  “I like that idea, don’t you?” Brook asked him. “I don’t know, I just feel she’ll be more sympathetic somehow. That I’ll have an easier time talking to her.”

  “You’ve been having such a tough time talking to Larry and Martin Freston?” he asked. He knew he was being petty, but he couldn’t help himself. He’d agreed to go to Boston to consult with the law firm Staff had lined up because he realized that if he refused, Brook’s family would think he was being stubborn and difficult. But he hated the feeling that he was being outnumbered and outmaneuvered by them. And he’d been blindsided when—after the fact—Brook had informed him that she’d asked Larry’s and Freston’s offices to FedEx copies of their paperwork to the Boston firm. He wasn’t surprised when Larry had called him later that day:

  “You switching horses?” Larry had asked.

  “No, we’re just looking over some different livestock. Trying to be prepared if things don’t go our way—and Troy goes ahead with a civil suit. Brook’s family has taken an interest.”

  “Ah,” Larry said. Then, after a pause: “You know what this firm is going to recommend, don’t you?”

  “Sure. But I won’t do it.”

  “Think about it hard, Michael. I’d hate to see this thing cause any more collateral damage.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Your marriage.”

  • • •

  “Well, listen, great,” Angela cut in quickly when Brook started to wind down. “We appreciate you filling us in on the personal details. That’s one of the reasons we wanted to meet with you both face-to-face. There’s so much about a situation like this that’s hard to gauge from the files. Though we’ve read everything your local lawyers put together for us.” Angela looked down at the folders in front of her.

  “We’re also very familiar with the firm that’s representing the Lansings,” Angela went on. “Like us, Cranston has substantial expertise and experience in this area of the law. And we’ve had the opportunity to sit across the table from them on several occasions.”

  “I was told they’re pretty tough,” Brook said.

  “Well, so are we,” Angela replied. “That’s not the problem. Look, I need to tell this to you straight. We’ve read through the transcripts of the magistrate’s hearing and all the supporting documents, and we have to advise you that Cranston has the material to put together a pretty solid case against you.”

  Angela held up her right hand, fingers spread.

  “You knowingly left four teenagers unsupervised overnight in your home where alcohol was available,” she said, ticking off the statement with her left index finger.

  “You were aware that your son had gotten into trouble drinking before this.

  “The prosecution has graphic photos of Ms. Lansing after the attack.

  “Ms. Lansing named your son. Liam’s claim he has no memory of what happened seems—as you yourself pointed out—less than convincing.

  “Plus, your lawyer had the brilliant thought to accuse an innocent virgin of being sexually active. Not a great move.”

  With each statement, Angela ticked off another finger.

  “Which of these things do you intend to deny?” she asked, spreading both hands across the tabletop and leaning forward. “I’m sorry, but I don’t see a very good outcome here.”

  Michael understood that Angela was trying to frighten them—and probably shame them, too. He’d prepared himself for that, but he knew Brook had been expecting something very different from this woman.

  “Liam didn’t do it,” Brook said softly. “That’s why I think maybe we should try to fight this. Because if we don’t, if he has to live with this thing hanging over his head for the rest of his life . . . I’m afraid it’s going to do him real harm.”

  “I understand that,” Angela replied. “But our main concern is the allegations against you as parents. That’s why the Social Host law was created—to hold you responsible. The fact that Ms. Lansing was assaulted in your home, after drinking with a group of underage boys, where there was absolutely no adult supervision. Though in some cases, the parents not being on the premises might help mitigate the situation, in this instance I’m afraid your absence—knowing what you did about your son’s problems—only further complicates the matter.”

  “So you think we should settle?” Michael asked, although the answer seemed obvious. As far as Michael was concerned, Brook’s brother-in-law had already made it clear to Angela Lloyd what he wanted to have accomplished at this meeting, and she had carried out his orders very effectively.

  “I frankly see no other choice,” Angela said. “I suggest we start gathering as much information as we can about what Cranston and Cranston is planning—who they’ve been talking to. What tricks they may have up their sleeve. Our job is to keep the public exposure—and the ultimate payout—to an absolute minimum. And the sooner we start getting our ducks in a row, the better off we’ll be when the time comes.”

  • • •

  Brook was silent on the way down in the elevator. She didn’t say anything to Michael after he’d retrieved the car from the parking garage and picked her up in front of the building. He glanced over at her as he maneuvered the car through Boston’s congested streets. She was staring
straight ahead. It wasn’t until they’d finally merged onto the turnpike that she spoke.

  “You know, it occurred to me in the middle of the meeting that I don’t know how you feel about something. Something really important.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Do you think Liam did it?”

  A part of him had been waiting for this question since the night Troy had first accused his son of assaulting Phoebe. Of course his first response was, Liam would never hurt her. He’s a good kid. But then Troy had replied: Yeah? Well, so were you, if I remember right. And Michael had felt his confidence shatter. As a boy Liam’s age, Michael himself had been a different person when he was drunk. Liam had admitted he’d been “totally out of it.” Michael knew for a fact that anything was possible in that situation.

  “I don’t know,” Michael said after a pause.

  “I don’t believe this! You do think he did it!”

  “I didn’t say that. I said I wasn’t sure. I think you have to at least keep your mind open to the possibility, Brook.”

  “No, I don’t think I do. He’s my son, and I know him better than that. He’s not perfect. He has his faults. I know he lacks confidence. He tries too hard to fit in. That’s why I’m sure he caved in to pressure from Brandon or Carey. But he did not attack Phoebe; I’m absolutely certain of that.”

  “Good,” Michael said. “I’m glad you’re so positive. He’s my son, too, and I know what it’s like to be a boy Liam’s age. Adolescence is a crazy time, and teenagers can do some crazy things.”

  “Then I don’t get it—if you believe he might have hurt Phoebe, why wouldn’t you want to settle the case?”