by Rena Olsen
How long has this been going on? Is this what Glen does on his nights of “working late”? Am I not enough? What am I doing wrong? I stumble to the edge of the trees and vomit in the grass. How often has he come home from an evening like this and touched me? Touched me with those hands that were roaming all over other women? Kissed me with the lips he used to devour cheap lipsticked mouths?
And this whole time I thought I was better than them. Disgust fills me, but also shame that I am not giving Glen what he needs, that he has stooped to trying to find it here. I remember when I learned about Papa’s indiscretions, the pity I felt for Mama. And she just accepted it. Not me. From now on, I will do everything in my power to make sure that Glen has no reason to seek out fulfillment elsewhere. I will be everything he needs, just like he is everything I need.
After several minutes, I am able to stand again. I throw my shoulders back and walk back to where Ted waits with the car. Nothing can be done about my red-rimmed eyes, but I put on a mask of cool indifference before sliding into the backseat.
“He wasn’t hungry?” Ted looks at the basket I only now realize is still hanging from my arm. It’s probably for the best. I do not want Glen to know that I was there.
“I couldn’t find him,” I answer.
Ted nods and turns back to start the car. He doesn’t believe me, and I don’t care. It’s not his business to decide whether I tell the truth or not. His only job is to drive me home.
“Ted?”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Best not to mention this to Glen.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Now
The halls of the courthouse echo with the sounds of people going about their business. I focus on snippets of conversation as women in clicking heels stride past, discussing lunch plans, and men in suits speak in hushed tones, strategizing for their next case. Concentrating on them helps me to ignore the thoughts running through my head. Anything to keep from dwelling on what the next hour of my life will mean.
Connor leans against the wall opposite my bench, his casual stance not quite hiding the tension radiating from his body. He checks his watch every few seconds, and his fingers tap an uneven rhythm onto the pleats of his pants. Dr. Mulligan sits next to me, her legs crossed, the picture of ease. She told me in our last session that she is confident that the judge will come to a decision that will benefit everyone. My parents wanted to come, to show their support, but this is something I need to do without them. Even in their absence, I feel their support to my bones. They haven’t wavered from my side since we reunited, despite knowing more about what I have done. I am slowly learning that unconditional love does exist.
Dr. Mulligan looks over at me, her lips turning up in a smile. “How are you feeling, Clara?” I wonder if she gets a bonus every time she asks that question. Maybe I’ll have it embroidered on a pillow for her office when this is all over.
I attempt a return smile, but my lips don’t quite cooperate. “Okay,” I lie, looking away, knowing Dr. Mulligan will see through me.
A soft hand covers mine, and my eyes dart to meet her gaze. “You can do this,” she says. “The hardest part is behind you.”
Chills run across my body as I remember my testimony at Glen’s trial. The last desperate look in his eyes before I opened my mouth and sealed his fate. The indefinable emotion that crossed his face when I glanced back at him that last time. I shake my head, dispelling the images from my mind, and rub a hand across my swelling stomach.
“Sorry I’m late!” Tori’s shoes clatter down the hallway as she rushes to join us. My body sags in relief at her appearance. Tori has been an incredible support over these past months, and having her here, along with Dr. Mulligan and Connor, reminds me that I’m not alone. Confidence swells in my chest as I stand to embrace the older girl. “You doing all right?” she asks, her breath tickling my ear.
I nod. “Better now.”
As if Tori’s arrival signals the start of the meeting, the heavy wooden door at the end of the hall opens, and a smiling clerk addresses us. “Please come in. Judge Riebe will be in momentarily.”
Connor pushes off from the wall, trailing the group as we file into the large chambers. Inside, a slight woman rises from her spot in one of the chairs settled in front of a large desk. She steps forward, offering her hand.
“Diana? My name is Carmen Sanchez, and I’m the state’s attorney for your case.”
I grasp her hand, grateful that mine remains dry, the trembling barely noticeable. It has become less startling to hear people refer to me as Diana, though those closest to me still use the name I have known for so many years.
“Nice to meet you, Ms. Sanchez,” I say, my voice quiet, but clear. My other hand rests on my stomach, taking comfort from Nut, an unconscious habit I have developed. He reassures me with a kick, and I straighten my shoulders. “Thank you for agreeing to do this.”
“Of course, and please call me Carmen.” Her voice is warm and friendly, nothing like the attorneys I encountered at Glen’s trial. Carmen releases my hand and gestures to one of the high-backed chairs. “Please, have a seat.”
I glance back at Connor, who has taken up his usual stance at the back of the room, and Dr. Mulligan, who is also keeping to the background. They have come to be witnesses for me. Tori remains close at my side, taking post beside my chair as I sink into it.
Carmen perches on the other chair. “This should be pretty straightforward, but are you sure you don’t want representation, Diana? It’s your right.”
I look up at Tori, who gives me an encouraging smile, and shake my head. “No. I am ready to take whatever consequences you deem fit for my part in Glen’s business.”
This is my penance. Though I have been told by Connor, by Dr. Mulligan, by Tori, by my family, that I am a victim, that I only participated because of my relationship with Glen and the lies I had been told, I have insisted that I be held responsible for what I’ve done.
A door at the back of the room opens, and a uniformed bailiff steps into the chambers first. “All rise for the Honorable Judge Martha Riebe.”
My knees wobble as I struggle to my feet, and a warm hand steadies me from behind. I shoot a grateful smile back at Tori before turning my attention to the newest arrival to our little party.
Judge Riebe strides to her desk, her robes billowing around her. She wastes no time in pulling out her own chair and sitting down, gesturing for us to do the same. Her short blond hair curls loosely around her face, and despite her serious expression, laugh lines radiate from the corners of her eyes and mouth. She is probably around Mama’s age, maybe just a bit older, but where Mama’s face is covered with crags and valleys that tell the story of years of stress and anxiety, Judge Riebe’s face radiates a sense of peace and contentment. Her eyes flick across the file in front of her, reviewing my case. Finally, she looks up.
“Diana McKinley?”
I nod.
“I understand that you are here because you wish to be held responsible for your part in the trafficking ring run by Mr. Glen Lawson, Junior.”
“Yes, Your Honor,” I reply, inclining my head in agreement.
“I also understand,” she continues, “that Counselor Sanchez did not wish to press charges, but you insisted.”
“Yes, Your Honor,” I repeat. “I was a large part of the organization, in charge of training the girls who were . . . sold.” I stumble over the last word.
“Did you have knowledge of what was going on?” Judge Riebe’s voice is brisk, betraying little of her reaction to my answers.
“I knew the girls were being prepared to serve men who paid a great deal of money for the honor of having them join their households. I knew them to be runaways or unwanted children, as I believed myself to be.” Inwardly I cringe as I say the words. Even though I believed it for so long, having spent time with my family, I can’t fathom how
I didn’t remember the amount of love they had for me.
“I understand you knew of Mr. Lawson’s other businesses as well.”
My stomach sinks. Though I know I deserve it, I can tell by the judge’s tone that she is disgusted by what I have done. She should be, of course, but I had hoped for at least a small amount of understanding. Judge Riebe’s mouth thins into a straight line as she meets my eyes, waiting for my answer.
“Yes, ma’am,” I say, sitting up straighter. “Though I had no part in those businesses, I knew they existed. Girls who were not placed out of my home were often rerouted to the brothel.”
“And how did you feel about the girls you’d spent years training ending up in a place like that?”
“I didn’t like it,” I answer. “But it was how things were done.”
Judge Riebe watches me for a moment before turning back to the file. “I also understand that you were integral in uncovering evidence and giving testimony that sent Glen Lawson, Junior, Mae Lawson, and several of their cohorts to prison for a very long time.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And I have character witness statements from your therapist and a support group member, whom I am assuming have come to back you up today.” She glances at Dr. Mulligan and Tori. “And also from the lead agent on the case, which is a relatively unusual occurrence.”
Connor stands to the side of the room, his gaze fixed on Judge Riebe. He doesn’t flinch under her stare, though I can see his jaw working. I had no idea he’d gone out on a limb for me like that. Of course he has been with me through all of this, but for all intents and purposes we are playing opposite sides of this game. Perhaps not as much as I’d thought.
“In fact,” Judge Riebe says, “there is nothing typical about your case. Most victims we rescue are happy to be sent back to their families to recover. But then, most victims have not also been perpetrators in these situations.”
My blood runs cold at the word “perpetrators.” Is that what I am? I suppose it is. I try the label on for size, the weight of it pushing my shoulders lower. Even a small kick from Nut cannot lift me.
“You have been involved in illegal retention and exploitation of minors, as well as an accessory to three murders.”
It takes all my strength to stay upright. The blood drains from my face as I remember what it was like in prison, which is no doubt where I am heading now. I just pray that they will allow Jane or Charlotte to take Nut when he comes. They will at least help him remember me. He will have a good life with them.
Judge Riebe looks at Carmen. “Counselor, what is your recommendation?”
“Your Honor,” Carmen says, standing up, “we believe that the best rehabilitation for Miss McKinley would not be achieved in a prison setting. We request that she be sentenced to time served in the psychiatric ward of the hospital, as well as a transitional period in a recovery home and community service.”
Lips pursed, Judge Riebe looks between Carmen and me. I cannot read her expression. Nut flutters, in a hopeful way, I think, as time stretches on. Connor shifts in his spot, and it occurs to me that the judge didn’t even ask my people to say anything. Of course, she’s read their words in the letters they wrote, and my heart swells at the thought that they must have said enough positive things to garner at least this much deliberation.
After what seems like forever, but is probably only a few minutes, Judge Riebe lets out a breath of air and her lips turn up in a small smile. “I have been following this case closely, Diana,” she says, and I jump when she uses my name. She says it with warmth, not the hostility or judgment I expected. “I have been impressed with the work of the agents, but even more impressed with you. I can’t even imagine what your life has been, and how going through this trauma has affected you, and yet instead of playing the victim, you have come forward to accept the punishment you feel you deserve.” She looks around the room, pinning each person with her gaze for only a moment. “You have managed to win the respect and admiration of many intelligent and sensible people, and I trust their judgment as well as my own. I believe you will do much more good outside the prison walls than you ever could within them.”
My throat tightens at her words, and I suppress my reaction until I’m absolutely certain she is saying what I think she’s saying.
“For your part in your husband’s business, Diana McKinley, alias Clara Lawson, you are hereby sentenced to time served, plus at least one year in a recovery home. You will be required to complete ten thousand hours of community service and check in with your probation officer at regular intervals, to be established by the officer. Furthermore, you will continue to attend therapy with Dr. Mulligan until she deems it appropriate to discharge you, and you will also continue to participate in your survivors support group. If any of these terms are not met, you are at risk for immediate revocation of probation and placement in a secure facility.”
Judge Riebe continues, but I tune out. For weeks I have been expecting to trade one form of captivity for another. I had almost resigned myself to a life behind bars, being told what to do, when to do it. Instead, I am being offered freedom. Limited freedom, to start, but with hope of more on the horizon. Hope of a better future for myself and for Nut. Hope that we can be a normal family. Whatever normal we choose to be.
When Tori’s hand falls on my shoulder and squeezes, I reach up and squeeze her fingers back. No matter what comes next, I know I won’t be alone.
Then
I am so bored. The sun is shining and all boring old Lottie wants to do is play with her stupid Barbies and make them kiss the Kens and other gross stuff. And how many times can they change clothes? I see Mommy do laundry, and I bet Barbie’s mommy gets really mad at her for making so many dirty clothes.
“Lottie, pleeeeeeease?” I use my best whining voice, because it bugs her and she will do what I want just so I will leave her alone. “Mommy won’t let me walk to the park alone!”
“No, Dee-Dee. I don’t wanna go to the park.”
“Moooooooommmmyyy!”
Mommy comes in right before Lottie can hit me. I stick my tongue out at her, but Mommy doesn’t see. I am sneaky. “What is it, Diana? I’m trying to get ready for the party tomorrow.”
I show her my best frowny face. “Mommy, it’s nice outside and I just want to go to the park for a little while, but Lottie just wants to play with her dumb old Barbies and she’s making them kiss and stuff and it’s gross.”
Mommy does a big breath and makes her lips really small. She does that when she is busy and we’re bothering her. “Charlotte—” she begins, and Lottie interrupts her.
“No, Mom! Please! Dee-Dee is old enough to go to the park without me! It’s only a few blocks!”
“Just for a little while, Charlotte. Please. It would help me out a lot.” Mommy looks at me. “And I know Diana won’t bother you for the rest of the day if you take her to the park for an hour.”
I nod my head really fast so she knows that I am serious, but probably I will bother Lottie later. She’s really fun to bother. I will just have to be sneaky. Charlotte throws down her Malibu Barbie or whatever one that is and grumbles as she gets up.
“Lottie is saying mean things!” I sing.
Mommy closes her eyes, and I know she is counting, because she says when she needs to take a break before she talks she counts to ten. I tried it once when Lottie was being mean but I got bored. “Diana, your sister is being nice and taking you to the park. Please don’t make it hard.”
I stick my lip out. Why do I get in trouble when Lottie is saying mean things? Lottie starts to put on shoes and I cheer up. “Yay! We’re going to the park! We’re going to the park!” I make up a song as I pull on my tennis shoes and skip out the door. “Come on, Lottie!”
Lottie moves really super slow like a turtle, but as soon as she comes outside she starts walking really fast. “Wait, Lottie! I can’t walk
so fast!” I have to run to catch up to her.
“I’m not speaking to you, Diana Patience McKinley. Mom said I had to walk you to the park, but she didn’t say I have to talk to you.”
No fair! I look back to see if I can run back and get Mommy to make Lottie talk to me, but we’re already out of sight of the house. “You just talked to me, though,” I say, hoping she will argue with me at least. She is smart and keeps her mouth shut. “Why is that dog outside?” I ask. “Why did those people plant yellow flowers? I like pink flowers better. They should have asked me. I am very good at flowers. Do you think that Daddy will let me plant flowers in his garden? I would choose pink ones.” I yammer in Lottie’s ear, but she doesn’t budge, and she hasn’t said another word to me by the time we make it to the park. I shrug and run to the swings. “Push me, Lottie!”
Lottie sits on a bench and crosses her arms. She is so mean. One of her friends, Jessica, is here, and she joins Lottie on the bench. They talk and soon they are pointing at me. I jump off the swing and run over.
“What are you saying, Lottie-tottie?” I ask, putting my hands on my hips. She better not be saying mean things.
“I was just telling Jessica how annoying you are and how I wish I didn’t have a little sister.”
Tears fill my eyes. I can’t believe she just said that in front of someone else. Almost like she means it! “That’s not true. Stop being mean, Lottie.”
“It is so true. You’re the worst little sister in the world.” Lottie stands up and pushes me.
“Fine!” I yell. “You don’t like me, just leave! Go back to playing with your BARBIES!”
Lottie’s face turns bright red, and I smile. Ha! Showed her. Her friends don’t know she still plays with Barbies.
“I hate you, Diana!” Lottie screams, and runs in the direction of the house. Jessica looks at me and makes a face, then runs the other way, back toward her own house.