Live to Tell

by Lisa Harrington

  I searched for some kind of defence to throw back at her. I couldn’t find one. She was right.

  Julia wasn’t finished yet. “Do you think everyone’s just going to forget? Do you have any idea what people are saying about you?” Her voice was so vicious, every word so hurtful. It was like standing in front of a firing squad.

  There was the sound of a car door slamming.

  She leaned in closer and lowered her voice. “Cal may feel sorry for you now, what with this whole victim thing you do, but trust me, it’s not gonna last.”

  Then I saw it — the ring dangling from a chain around her neck. It caught the light of the hall chandelier. Like it did before when she bent over to put her shoe on at Tori’s …

  She and Nate were just coming out of the bedroom. I was trying to find Kasey. I stopped, started to back away, hoping they hadn’t seen me. Nate looked up. He seemed a little embarrassed. “Libby. Hey, uh, Julia wasn’t feeling well. She had to lie down.” Julia made a face at him and continued to button up her sheer blouse. I couldn’t drag my eyes away from the ring, my ring. He knew I saw it and a red blotchiness crept up his neck.

  I blew past them, back to the kitchen where some random person offered me a drink. I had no clue what was in it and was about to say no, then I heard Julia’s laugh right behind me. I reached for the glass. “Sure. What the hell.”

  My eyes were still glued to the ring and Julia dropped her gaze, trying to figure out what I was looking at. Smirking, she looped the ring around her pinkie and held it up. “I find things have a way of turning out the way they’re supposed to, don’t you?” Her tone sent a chill down my spine.

  The front door swung open.

  “Sorry. Mom’s card fell between the seats,” Nate explained. “Here ya go, Lib. Fresh from the oven.”

  My hands shaking, I took the Tupperware container and put it on the table. “Tell your mom thanks,” I whispered.

  “She felt really bad. Said you were probably going through hell.” He stared at the floor for a second. “I don’t know what to say, Lib. I mean I’m so sorry —”

  “Nate!” Mom came rushing into the hall looking flustered. “Emma only just told us it was you. We thought it was … It’s nice of you to come by,” she smiled, a little too wide, “but Libby’s had a really long day.”

  “Hi, Mrs. Thorne. Yeah, I guess I should have checked first …”

  “We were just leaving, Mrs. Thorne,” Julia reached for Nate’s hand. Then she looked at me. “It’s really great to see how well you’re coming along. You’ll be back to your old self in no time.”

  I faked a smile. “Well, I don’t want to hold you guys up …” It was all I could do not to push them out the door.

  After they left I sat down on the hall bench and rested my head against the wall. Hoping to keep the tears back, I closed my eyes. I felt Mom sit beside me, but she didn’t say anything. Julia’s words echoed in my head. Do you think everyone’s just going to forget? Do you have any idea what people are saying about you? A feeling of self-loathing settled over me like a thick blanket.

  Mom put her arm around my shoulder. “That can’t be very comfortable. I think it’s time for bed.”

  Nodding, I let her help me to my room. “Nate. That was a surprise,” she said.

  “His mom probably made him come. She sent brownies.”

  “It was pretty obvious you guys broke up. You could have talked to me about it, you know.”

  “It happened right before the accident. He was the one who broke it off. And now … well … it just doesn’t seem that important anymore.”

  Chapter 14

  I woke with a start, my hand clutching the edge of the mattress. It was the same dream again, about the accident: the wipers, the man’s face, the screams, but this time I could tell what the noises were — glass breaking, scraping metal. Then more of those strange, out-of-place things, like music. I’m pretty sure I heard music. And flashes of Trina. Why, though? I wasn’t in the hospital anymore. Maybe I was feeling guilty because I’d left without saying goodbye.

  The smell of coffee wafted into my room and I wrinkled up my nose.

  Lifting my head, I winced and set it back down.

  Mom peeked in the door. “Did the phone wake you?”

  “No. Who was it?” I asked, holding my breath. I was worried it was Diane with bad news from the hospital.

  She hesitated before answering. “Cal. He’s driving his mom to the valley to visit his gran. He didn’t want you wondering why he hadn’t come over. He’ll call you tomorrow when he gets back.”

  “Okay.”

  “Do you want some help getting up?”

  “No thanks.”

  “Diane’s picking us up in an hour.” She left, closing the door behind her.

  Right. Court. I lay there for a few minutes, feeling my heart race. How was I ever going to get through this day? But could it really be any worse than yesterday?

  It was decided we’d all travel in one car. Diane had a parking pass and offered to take us with her.

  “Try not to get too worked up about it, Libby,” Diane said over her shoulder as she backed out of our driveway. “I’m going to ask for a continuance. Then the judge will set a date for us to come back and enter a plea. You won’t be expected to say anything.”

  That didn’t really make me feel any better. If someone told me to turn my head and throw up, I’d be able to do it just by opening my mouth.

  I stared out the car window at the greyness outside. It was cold and windy. The trees had lost most of their leaves, and what lay on the ground blew around the sidewalks in little whirling circles. People hurried up and down Spring Garden Road, on their way to work, or shopping, like it was any other normal day.

  My leg was stretched across the seat, resting on Mom’s lap. She was picking at the plaster. I didn’t think she realized she was doing it. There was a pile of white crumbs accumulating on the floor of Diane’s car.

  The car stopped at a red light. A woman in the crosswalk was trying to drag a little boy across the street. He was crying, pulling her in the other direction. I wondered where it was that he so badly didn’t want to go.

  We parked behind the courthouse and made our way down the driveway around to the front. I felt unsteady and off balance. Dad held my elbow because there was a light coating of frost on every-

  thing, making it slippery to walk. There were groups of people standing on the sidewalk and we had to weave through them. I handed one crutch to Mom, grabbed the railing, and hopped my way up the granite steps. With no gloves on, my hand kept sticking to the icy wrought iron.

  A blast of heat hit me in the face as we went inside. There was a lineup in front of us moving slowly. I leaned sideways and saw a metal detector, the kind you walk through, and a whole bunch of policemen or guards in bulletproof vests.

  Diane put her briefcase in a basket then passed through the detector. A policeman checked through her stuff and handed it back to her on the other side. She turned and beckoned me through. For some reason, I expected the alarm to go off. It’d be just my luck. It didn’t, though. Mom put her purse in the basket and went next, then Dad.

  We stood around in the hallway waiting for them to open the courtroom. It was a busy place, tons of people coming and going. The air was stale and musty — the building ancient. I kept my eyes lowered, dreading being here.

  “Courtroom one is now open,” someone announced loudly. Most of the people standing in the hall shuffled down to the double doors of courtroom one. We took our seats on a hard wooden bench, with a back so straight up and down it was impossible to get comfortable. I slid to the very end and set my leg out in front of me, hoping I was out of everyone’s way. Diane sat up front at a desk in a kind of swivel office chair, facing the judge. There were other lawyers too, all in chairs like Diane’s. Mine wasn’t the only case this morning.

  “All rise!” a guard called out.

  We did.

  A woman judge came in and sa
id, “Be seated.”

  We did.

  She had an assistant sitting in front her, at our level. The judge’s desk was set up higher. The assistant handed her a sheet of paper.

  “Gerard Mooney?” the judge called out.

  A lawyer stood up. “I’m sorry, Your Honour. My client’s not here yet. I’m expecting him any minute.”

  The judge sighed and wrote something down. “We’ll get back to you later then, Mr. Morris.”

  And so it went. The assistant would hand the judge a piece of paper, and the person wouldn’t be here, or they’d want it held over to a later date, or something like that. It was all very business sounding, with a lot of “date setting.” I sort of felt bad for the lawyers. They seemed to constantly be making up excuses for their clients — it must get frustrating, but maybe they get used to it and don’t even notice.

  My eyes scanned the crowd. The courtroom was practically full and certainly looked nothing like Judge Judy’s courtroom. Drab olive green curtains hung on the ceiling-tall windows. They may have once been an emerald colour a hundred years ago, and they’d come unhooked in a few places along the rod and drooped in loops. Someone would need a ladder to fix it. There was dark wood panelling on the lower halves of the walls, shiny with polish, but the white paint on the top halves was flaked and peeling. And unlike the front entrance, it was cold, like maybe the heat wasn’t working.

  I didn’t belong here. Me in my grey skirt, white blouse, and lilac cardigan. I was so overdressed compared to the rest of the room it was almost funny. Almost everyone here looked like they were fresh off the latest episode of Cops. There was a row of three kids, not much older than me, sitting two benches in front of me. I remembered seeing them standing together outside, smoking by the front steps. They all had multiple facial and ear piercings. Nana would have called them hoodlums.

  I listened as the judge recommended one year’s probation and forty hours of community service for a guy who beat up his girlfriend. I remembered seeing him too, in the hall, black hoodie pulled up over his head, hiding his face, like he was trying not to be recognized or something.

  To zone it all out, I began to count the panes of glass in the windows. But then another sheet of paper was passed up to the judge.

  “Elizabeth Thorne?”

  I couldn’t speak, couldn’t move.

  Diane stood and motioned for me to move up to the bench by the judge. I wiped my sweaty palms on my skirt as Dad passed me my crutches. He attempted to help me across the room but I shook my head. Even though I was terrified, I wanted to do it myself.

  “Is your client ready to enter a plea?” the judge asked.

  “Actually, Your Honour,” Diane answered, “I’d like to ask for a continuance. My client suffered serious injuries and is still recuperating. Also, we are still waiting on some forensic reports concerning the car.”

  I held my breath. My stomach was doing somersaults. What if she said no? But the judge seemed unfazed by Diane’s request as she pursed her lips and leafed through her date book. I guess because this morning she’d already heard like ten other similar requests.

  “I’m going to put you in at 9:30 on December eighteenth,” she finally said.

  I exhaled.

  Diane leafed through her date book as well. “Your Honour, I’m in Truro that morning, but I can be here by … 1:30.”

  “If that’s agreeable to your client,” the judge said, writing it down.

  Diane looked at me as if I had a say or something. I nodded anyway, just in case.

  “Thank you, Your Honour,” she said, sliding her files into her briefcase.

  I was handed a yellow card. The Nova Scotia crest was in the corner, with Provincial Court written above it. Underneath, a list of options. There was a check in the tiny box next to plea, and printed across the bottom, You are required to appear on December 18 at 1:30 in Courtroom No. 1. It was like the card the receptionist at the dentist’s office gives you for your next checkup, but so not.

  I went back to my seat. Mom and Dad were standing and putting their coats on. Diane herded us towards the courtroom door. She held it open and made a little bow in the direction of the judge before she left. The judge was already on to the next case and didn’t even notice.

  “There. That part’s over,” Diane said, briskly rubbing my back. I tried to smile. My ears were ringing and I leaned against Dad, suddenly exhausted. All I wanted was to get out of here and go home. I never wanted to see this place again, but the little yellow card in my hand gave me no choice.

  Chapter 15

  There was a bowl of Cheerios waiting on the table when I shuffled to the kitchen for breakfast. Mom must have heard me thumping down the hall and poured the milk on my cereal. The doorbell rang as I lifted the spoon to my mouth.

  “That’s probably Diane,” Mom said. “Dad told her about your questions.”

  I’d meant to ask Diane yesterday, but by the time we’d left court, I was pretty much a zombie and I’d forgotten.

  Diane let herself in. “Good morning everyone,” she greeted.

  “Morning,” Mom said. “Coffee?”

  “Is the Pope Catholic?” She slumped into a chair. “How are you today, Libby?”

  My mouth full of cereal, I swallowed. “Okay. Have you heard from the hospital?”

  “No, dear.” She gave my hand a pat. Relief.

  She pulled a folder out of her case and laid it on the table. “Thanks,” she said as Mom handed her a mug of coffee.

  I stared at the file.

  As if reading my mind, she shoved the file towards me. “You can look through it. That’s why I brought it.”

  “Really?” I slid it a little closer.

  She blew on her coffee. “Your dad told me you wanted to read up on the accident. You thought it might make you remember something.”

  I leaned back slightly, as she was unknowingly blowing the coffee smell directly at me. “I figured it couldn’t hurt, right?” I asked tentatively.

  Neither one of them answered, then Diane’s cellphone rang. She spoke to someone for a minute then snapped her phone shut. “I’m going to suggest we spend our time today going over what we know. I’m still waiting on the report from the accident investigator, so we’ll have to go ahead without that, but I’ve put together some statements I thought you could read through.”

  I pushed aside my Cheerios and picked up the folder. It was black. Was that supposed to mean something? “Black, huh?”

  “All my files are black,” Diane said.

  “Oh.” Phew.

  “It’s more slimming.”

  I couldn’t help smiling, just a little. “Dad told me no one saw the accident,” I said, slowly lifting the cover.

  “It was foggy and rainy that night. Once the car went into the ditch, it wasn’t visible from the road.”

  “But the fire? Didn’t someone see the fire?”

  Diane shook her head. “Apparently the car was only smoking at first. Cal said it wasn’t in flames until after he called 911.”

  “Is there a police report from the scene or something that I could see?”

  “Um, sure … It should be on the top.”

  I picked up the first page. Not it. I lifted a few more. “I don’t see it.”

  “Really? I must have left it at the office,” she said, adding more sugar to her coffee.

  “Well, did it say when the accident happened?”

  “They estimate the time to be around midnight, based on what Cal told them.”

  I thought about that for a minute … back to the hospital visit from the detectives. They said I left the party around 11:30. So what happened between 11:30 and midnight? There was a giant gap in my memory.

  “Do you have Cal’s statement?” I asked.

  Diane frowned and thumbed through the pages. “I think so … Here it is.”

  My finger raced along the words. He said he was invited to the party by his sister, Julia. He arrived around 8:30. He was on pain medica
tion and only had two rum-and-Cokes, then switched to straight Coke. I lifted my head and stared past Mom to the kitchen window. I remembered that.

  He passed me the milky-looking drink.

  “Where’s yours?”

  “I’m a rum-Coke guy.” He held up a glass with something dark in it. “But this one’s straight Coke.”

  “Oh?”

  “Off the booze, for tonight anyway. I’m on heavy-duty meds. Disk thing. Football.” He said it proudly, like he’d just returned home from the battlefield with a war injury or something.

  I drew a deep, steadying breath and read on. He admitted to giving me a few drinks but said that I never appeared drunk. He said we left because I wanted to go get something to eat. I was dropping him back at the party when I lost control of the car and we crashed. He was knocked unconscious and when he woke up, he saw smoke and smelled gas. He pulled me from the car and called 911.

  “Cal was unconscious?”

  “Yes. It was lucky he came to when he did. If it had been much longer …”

  I pictured myself lying half-dead on the ground and shivered. “How long was he out?”

  “If I remember correctly, he made the 911 call at 12:28.”

  The accident was around midnight, so that meant he was unconscious for almost a half hour. I glanced back down at the paper, shaking my head. Nothing sounded familiar — nothing.

  “People saw me leave the party? Saw me leave at 11:30?” I asked. Diane pulled a collection of sheets from the pile. “Yes. The police took statements from a bunch of kids — kids who saw you there, and saw you leave the house with Cal.”

  I looked at the list of names, each one followed by a few sentences. Brian, Tori, Sidney, Jeff, Kyle, Sarah, and some other names I didn’t recognize.

  “And then we have a few who actually saw you in the car, driving away,” she continued, handing me another piece of paper.

  Julia, Becca, Kate, and Georgina. These names I recognized — Julia and her minions.

  Diane leaned over. “This Julia, Cal’s sister, she said you were speeding when you drove away from Tori’s house. And these other girls, they corroborate her story.” She sighed and placed the sheet on top of the pile.