The Trouble With Goodbye

by Sarra Cannon

  “She told the truth?”

  “She told the court that my father had lied and that he had been the one who hit her.”

  My eyes widen. “She wasn’t scared what he would do to her for telling the truth?”

  Knox turns and his eyes are sad and haunted. “Not at that point,” he says. “My father was dead.”

  I swallow and draw in a breath. “What happened to him?”

  He stares down at his feet. “He hit one of the twins,” he says. He looks up at me. “And Dawn shot him.”

  Chapter Forty-Three

  I’m in shock. I had no idea he’d been through so much.

  “What happened to her?”

  “She was eventually convicted of voluntary manslaughter,” he says. “His abusive behavior became the centerpiece of the trial. The jury believed she was abused, but they couldn’t overlook the fact that she’d planned the whole thing in such detail. When he left for work earlier that morning, she sent the kids to her sister’s and moved his favorite recliner right in front of the door, where she could have a clean shot. Then she started drinking vodka and popping Xanax until he walked in the door at six that evening. She shot him five times before he even made it across the threshold. A neighbor heard the shots and called the cops, but by the time the paramedics arrived, he was already dead.”

  “What about the twins?”

  “They went to live with her sister’s family,” he says. “I try to go up and see them when I can, but they were so young when this all went down, they don’t really remember me or our father.”

  I stare ahead, my face blank. I can’t even imagine how hard this all must have been on Knox. To go from a life where he was happy with his mom to having to deal with an abusive father, being thrown in jail for something he didn’t even do, and then finally to have his father murdered and his step-mother thrown in jail? It’s just too much.

  I lean against him and kiss the bare skin on his arm just below where his tshirt sleeve hits. His muscle is tight and I feel it ripple beneath my hand. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” he says. “I’ve had years to deal with it all. I honestly thought I’d left it all behind me when I moved here. Knowing it could mess things up for you makes me angry all over again.”

  I close my eyes and pull him closer to me. I’m caught between two paths, and I have no idea what to do. “If I come forward and tell the truth about what happened to me, there’s a better chance he’ll actually go to jail for what he did,” I say. “But adding my name to the trial could push it back months. Maybe years. I have no idea. In the meantime, the press is going to be looking for juicy stories to splatter all over the front pages and if you and I spend any time together at all, they’re going to find out about your past.”

  He rests his chin on top of my head. Our arms are wrapped around each other.

  “If I stay quiet or even deny it outright and decide to let it go, we can move on with our lives.”

  “But Molly Johnson might lose her case against him and he’ll be free to keep doing this to other women.”

  “Yes,” I say, my voice a whisper.

  He holds me tight for a long time before we part. “What do you want to do? I’m going to support whatever decision you make,” he says. “I love you no matter what.”

  “I want you,” I say. I bury my face in his chest. “But at the same time, I don’t know if I can stand up there and lie about this. If I say nothing happened that night, I’m betraying myself in a way. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to get over that.”

  “Then you have to speak up,” he says. He puts his hand under my chin and lifts my eyes to him. “You have to let your voice be heard.”

  “I don’t want to lose you,” I say, my lip trembling.

  “You won’t,” he says. “I’ll wait for you, as long as it takes. We’ll get through this.”

  Tears well up in my eyes and he frowns.

  “What? Is there something else?”

  “Sit down,” I say, pulling him to the couch.

  He sits next to me, his hand in mine, and I tell him about Preston.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  "It makes sense," he says when I'm through explaining the Wrights' plan for me. "Either way, if you decide to speak out against Burke or not, it can only make you look better in the eyes of the press if you have Preston's family there beside you."

  I put my head in my hands. "I was sort of hoping you'd tell me I was crazy for even considering it."

  I feel lost. Hopeless.

  Knox places his hand on my knee and kisses the top of my head. "I just hate that my shitty past is going to make things harder for you," he says. "I wish I could go back and change it, but I can't. And they're right, the press will jump all over you the same way they did with Molly. I don't want to burden you with that."

  "I don't know what to do."

  "You don't have to make a decision right now, do you?" he asks.

  I stand and shake my head. "Yeah, actually I do."

  His eyes question me.

  "My family has called a press conference for tomorrow on the steps of the courthouse," I say. "I'm to give my official statement to the press."

  "Tell them you aren't ready." He stands and paces. "They can't force you to talk. Just tell them you need more time."

  I shake my head. "There is no more time," I say. "I got a call from Molly's attorney. He said there is still a chance right now to add me as a second victim. He said something about having to drop the initial case and reinstate the charges, now with these additional charges added on. It was a lot of legal jargon I didn't really understand, but if I'm going to come forward with the truth, I'm running out of time. And if I'm going to deny it, I'd rather just get it over with."

  We stand there in silence, the truth of our situation becoming clearer by the second.

  "My family wants me to deny everything. They think that if I don't file charges and go through a trial, I'll be able to just move on. And if I show the press I'm happily settled here in Fairhope with my Preston by my side, the public will lose interest in the story and the press will feel obligated to move on rather than provoke a wealthy family like the Wrights."

  I rattle off the reasons, thinking out loud.

  "But if I tell the truth and decide to move forward with official charges, my family believes it will at least take some of the heat off of us if the Wrights are there to throw their power and influence behind me. Of course, that means I have to be with Preston at least throughout this trial, and you and I won't be able to see each other again."

  Knox runs a trembling hand through his hair.

  "Or," I turn to him, "I could just say fuck it and let them say what they will about us. About my choices."

  He comes to me, his eyes stormy. "I don't ever want to be a source of pain for you," he says. "I love you too much to ask you to do that for me. Think about what that would mean for you. Preston's dad is right. The press will look at you like you're the kind of girl who does reckless things and makes poor choices."

  I lean my head against his chest. This is an impossible choice, and I can't see clearly enough to know which way is right. If I say goodbye to him now, when we've just found each other, will I lose him forever?

  "Which are you leaning toward?"

  I close my eyes. "I don't want to lose you," I say. "Denying everything will get the press off my back sooner and maybe will bring us together faster."

  He shakes his head. "But then you've publicly denied he ever did anything to you," he says.

  And I love him for understanding. I love him for not being angry at me for considering all options.

  He stops pacing and looks at me with such sorrow. "I'm not going to see you again for a while, am I?"

  I shake my head, a tear escaping down my cheek.

  There are no more words that need to be said between us. No matter what I choose to do tomorrow, this will be our last night together for a very long time. With the emotions of the possible trial
and press involvement and the time apart, not even being able to talk, we both know our future is now completely up in the air.

  He kisses me, hard and desperate. Together, we fall to our knees, clinging tight to what we have here and now.

  I pull his shirt from his body, my fingers digging into his skin. I am desperate for him, but he takes my hands in his. He slows me down.

  "I want to make this last," he says.

  He turns me around so that my back is pressed against him. He runs his fingertips up my arms and a chill shudders through me. I lean my head to the side and he kisses my neck as his hands explore.

  I lift my hand to his neck, then turn back to face him. Our kisses are slow. I take my time tasting him, exploring his tongue with my own. I pull his bottom lip into my mouth, teasing it with my teeth and he groans.

  "I love the way you bite your lower lip when you're thinking or worried," I say.

  He smiles. "I do that?"

  "Mm-hmm." I kiss him again and we go deeper. I run my hand through his hair. His hand caresses the side of my breast and I lean into him, wanting him.

  Every piece of me, body and soul, yearns for him.

  He makes love to me then, and we savor each moment, knowing it may be our last.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  In the morning, I run.

  I throw on an old pair of running shorts I find in the back of one of my drawers and take off just as the sun peeks over the horizon. Saying goodbye to Knox was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do, and I’m still not sure I’ve made the right choice.

  I need to clear my head before I can face those cameras today.

  And since there’s no rope swing and no Knox, I run.

  I follow my old path. The one that leads through the woods behind my house, down along the creek, toward the park. I used to run this path every single morning before class when I was in high school.

  The whole run takes about an hour, but this morning I wish it was longer.

  I wish I could run forever and avoid this press conference all together.

  As my feet hit the familiar wooded path, I concentrate on my breathing, pushing everything else from my mind. I force my shoulders to relax. It’s been so long since I ran, but my legs are strong. I am going to need that strength today. Some instinct deep inside takes over. With every foot-fall, I open my lungs a little deeper, letting the air really flow into me. Even this early in the morning, the humidity is thick and the air is hot. It clings to me like a veil, covering me from head to toe.

  I am in mourning.

  As I run, I mourn for the life that could have been. The joy that was stolen from me when I was just truly learning to discover it on my own. I mourn for the other girls who might be going through the exact same thing right now, their voices strangled by fear or duty or the disbelief of others.

  My heart slams against my ribs and less than a mile in, my legs are burning, begging me to stop. But I can’t. I need this.

  Instead of slowing down, I run faster.

  In Boston, I’d only run a little for the first few weeks of my Freshman year. Once my classes really got going, I didn’t have a lot of free time. I tried going to the gym and running on the treadmill with a book in front of me, but it wasn’t the same. I eventually gave up on it, only avoiding the freshman fifteen because of all the walking I had to do from one class to another.

  Until this moment, I hadn’t realized just how much I’d missed it. The release. The burn.

  I push harder. Faster.

  But I can’t outrun the past. Or the future.

  Unable to breathe, I slow to a stop and bend over, resting my hands on my knees and gasping. Tears of frustration and loss flow down my cheeks.

  And I let them fall.

  The quiet woods shelter me as I break down. I stand up straight and place my hands on my hips, turning in a circle as sobs rock my body.

  How could I have let this happen to me? How could I have been so incredibly stupid? I want to go back there to that night and have a chance to make different choices. To say no to ever going with Burke in the first place.

  I slam my fist against a tree, then lay my head on its bark.

  Knox is right. I have to learn to stop blaming myself for this. No matter my choices, Burke had no right to do what he did. He’s the only one to blame in this, and I have to find a way to quiet the negative voice that keeps telling me it’s all my fault.

  The real question I need to ask is what’s the best way for me to heal? How do I move forward? What do I really want?

  I draw in a long breath, a lingering sob shaking me as the breath enters my body.

  I can do this. It’s going to be okay.

  I lift the bottom of my shirt and wipe away what’s left of my tears.

  I stretch my sore legs, take a stronger breath, then keep running.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  I take my time getting ready.

  I still have no idea what I’m going to say at the press conference. As the minutes tick away, the knots in my stomach grow more intense.

  I’m torn between several possible futures, and I’m not sure I want any of them. It’s too hard. Too uphill. Am I strong enough for this? Am I really ready to face what happened to me?

  When I get out of the bathroom, there’s a navy dress laid out on my bed. Pearls. Off-white and tan heels. As if it isn’t enough that they’re planning what I should say, my mother also apparently thinks I’m not capable of choosing my own clothes.

  I run my finger along the bodice of the dress. I haven’t worn this since high school. I hate this dress. The hem is too long and makes me look like a goodie two-shoes little girl. This is how my mother still sees me and the image makes me sick to my stomach. She still refuses to acknowledge the fact that I’ve grown up. She refuses to accept that my experiences have changed me.

  I wonder if we’ll ever be able to sit down and have a real conversation or connect in any real way.

  I cross to the closet and stand looking at my clothes for a full ten minutes before I finally choose a black pencil skirt and a simple teal blouse. Instead of pearls, I wear the silver necklace my grandmother gave me before she passed away.

  Believe.

  The message is a good one for today. Not because I need them to believe my story.

  But because I need to believe in myself.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  The sun is shining high in the sky as we reach the steps of the courthouse.

  A podium is set up in the center of the stairs and reporters are casually talking, their prime spots already claimed. Several of them hold microphones or cameras. A few hold small notebooks, ready to immortalize my words in print.

  My palms sweat and my head swims.

  I’m not sure I’m ready for this.

  My mother grabs my hand and I recoil at her touch. The fact that she gets to stand up here with me and Knox doesn’t gives me an empty feeling in my stomach. What I’m doing today is important, but it’s still a show. To the people watching this on TV or reading about it in the paper, I’ll just be another face in the drama. Almost entertainment.

  The real struggle is in the day-to-day, not these sensationalized moments. I know by speaking out, I also open myself up to judgment and accusation and even resentment. But after keeping quiet for so long, I know that speaking out and telling my story is the only way I’m ever going to find a level of peace with what he did to me.

  Preston and his father come to stand by my side. Preston hugs me and I hug him back. I may not have a real future with him, but I do appreciate what he’s willing to do for me.

  Mr. Wright has a small stack of index cards in his hand and he passes them to me.

  Confused, I look down and begin reading.

  Thank you all for being here. Although I appreciate the struggle of women like Molly Johnson, I am in no way linked to the events in Boston. It’s true that I did meet Burke Redfield my freshman year at the university. We went out on two separate oc
casions, but our relationship never progressed beyond that, and I have not spent any time with him since.

  My decision to leave Boston had nothing to do with Mr. Redfield. In fact, I came home to be reunited with my high school sweetheart, Preston Wright, and the two of us are hoping to be engaged by summer’s end.

  I can’t read any more. “This is what you expect me to say today?”

  “There’s another set of cards,” Mr. Wright says. “If you feel you need to press formal charges against Burke Redfield, the Wright family will stand behind you every step of the way. Our attorney is aware of the situation and he’s ready to work with the attorneys in Boston to give you the best possible team should you decide to move forward.”

  He pauses, then shares a look with my mother.

  “I have to be honest with you, though.” He puts his hand on Preston’s shoulder. “We all really feel the best thing for you right now is to deny any involvement and move on from this once and for all. If you press charges, it’s going to be a circus around here. Your life will be consumed with this for months. Years, maybe. This trial will follow you for the rest of your life, Leigh Anne. Think about that, now. Another woman has already pressed charges against this young man. His career is already ruined by this case. He’s going to get what’s coming to him one way or the other. Do you really need to let him steal any more of your life away by taking this thing to court?”

  I swallow hard and look at the expectant faces of my parents and the Wrights. The argument makes sense. He’s right about what will happen to me if I step forward as a victim. A survivor. But the flaw in their logic is believing that if I stay silent, this will all disappear. As if this is merely one minor event in my past that can be swept under the rug and forgotten.