Law of Attraction

by Allison Leotta

  Half an hour later, she pushed out of the front doors of the U.S. Attorney’s office. She was holding a single box filled with scrunchies, Clif Bars, a package of knee-highs, her mug, and miscellaneous other stuff. A few passing people looked at her curiously. This was the grown-up version of the “walk of shame,” Anna realized, walking out of your office in the middle of the day, clutching a box of hastily packed personal effects.

  She looked at the courthouse to the left. If she wanted to keep her job, she had to go to Papering, in the basement of the courthouse. Then Anna looked at the Metro entrance, to her right. She could simply head down the escalator and catch the next train home.

  Everything Anna loved about the job was gone now. Quitting would save her a lot of grief, and unlike being fired, it wouldn’t destroy her résumé. There would be no EPO inquiry if she didn’t work here, and no subsequent referral to the D.C. Bar. She would keep her license for sure. And she wouldn’t have to work in Papering for months, praying to be cleared, while her colleagues whispered about her demotion. With her qualifications, she could easily get a job at a law firm. She could go make a ton of money, have an office with a view, eat sushi every night. Get a clean slate. Start over.

  It was tempting.

  She stood standing there for a long time, looking between the courthouse and the Metro station, wondering which way to turn.

  31

  The route from Detroit Metro Airport to Flint was a flat line through snow-blanketed farmland. The November landscape was all browns and grays: pewter sky, bare trees, the stubble of dead grass poking through snowdrifts. Near the highway, the white fields were bordered with dirty snow and pockmarked piles of sooty ice that had been plowed into heaps along the shoulder. As the city of Flint drew closer, the farmland was replaced with warehouses, strip malls, box stores, and fast-food chains. The fields became parking lots planted with rows of road-salted SUVs, the metal crops of the modern Rust Belt.

  Anna sat in the passenger seat of her sister’s GMC Yukon, her backside pleasantly toasted by the built-in seat warmer. Everyone around Flint worked in the auto industry and bought fully loaded cars at a steep discount. The SUV’s big leather seat felt luxurious compared to the plastic seats Anna had gotten used to on Washington’s subway. But she had also gotten used to the District’s elegant embassies, its pruned flower beds and reflecting pools, the stately museums and monuments. She hadn’t missed this gritty suburban sprawl.

  She had missed her sister, though.

  She gazed at Jody, who was steering the truck down the wet gray streets. Looking at Jody had once been like looking in a mirror. Although Jody was two years younger and a little taller, they had the same honey blond hair, the same high Germanic cheekbones, the same pink-cheeked smile that Anna now associated with Midwesterners. Now, however, the sisters’ different lifestyles were carving their physiques into different shapes. Anna was thin from jogging, yoga, and the constant stress of her work, while Jody was built more solidly, her muscles forged by installing instrument panels into the cabs of trucks. Jody’s palms were calloused and her nails cut short; Anna had soft hands and a French manicure from her day at the spa with Grace.

  Yet the one thing that used to differentiate them had mostly faded. Anna studied Jody’s cheek. The long scar running from her mouth to her ear was barely visible now.

  “It’s so good to see you, Jo,” Anna said.

  “You too.” Jody took her eyes off the road and grinned at Anna’s camel-hair coat. “You look good. Like a real grown-up.” Jody was wearing the same puffy red ski jacket and hiking boots she’d had in high school.

  “I’m glad I can fool someone.”

  They were approaching a small, run-down trailer park. Anna grimaced as she saw the neighborhood where they had once lived, so long ago. A battered sign announced MAPLEVIEW PARK: A MOBILE HOME COMMUNITY. The rusting trailers might be called “mobile” homes, but none had moved an inch since being parked. The trailers, and many of their occupants, were stuck there. There weren’t any trees in view either, despite the Mapleview name. It was just a flat patch of dirty snow with a strip mall on either side and a stubbly cornfield behind it.

  “They’re talking about tearing it down and building a Meijer there,” Jody said quietly.

  “Good riddance.” Anna closed her eyes and pressed her forehead against the cool glass.

  They continued driving until they got to Swartz Creek, a suburb of Flint with small houses, neat yards, and several cars in every driveway. American flags hung from many porches and UAW bumper stickers adorned most vehicles. Although a lot of jobs had gone to Mexico, there were still enough left here to support this quiet suburb, at least for now.

  Jody pulled the Yukon into the driveway of a little white ranch house with a green door. After years of diligently squirreling away her money, she had accumulated enough for a down payment and bought the house this summer. Anna had seen photos online, but this was her first visit.

  “Home sweet teeny-tiny home,” Jody said cheerfully.

  “Are you kidding me? In D.C., this house would cost half a million dollars. My apartment would fit in your garage.”

  Jody laughed and helped Anna carry her things inside. Anna toured the house, oohing and aahing over the rooms, which Jody had painted herself in bright funky colors. Anna ran her hand over the multihued purple walls in the bathroom.

  “Nice work with the sponge painting.”

  “Yeah, I was a Benjamin Moore poster girl for a while there.”

  Jody made hot chocolate and the sisters curled up next to each other on the couch as the sunlight faded. Jody dished the latest news about the troubles of the auto industry and the gossip about their high school friends.

  Anna sipped her cocoa and listened for a while, then interrupted her sister. “Okay, enough about everyone else’s love life. Tell me about yours. How’s that guy you were dating? Doug. Is he a keeper?”

  “Ugh, no. What a jerk. We’re done.”

  “What happened?” Anna asked. “You said he was so cute.”

  “Yeah, when he was sober. Johnny Depp by day, Johnnie Walker at night. I’m done with dating.”

  “Oh, come on,” Anna chided. “You just have a talent for picking the bad ones. If there are ten guys asking for your number, you give it to the one with the mean streak.”

  “You should talk!” Jody laughed. “What about that guy you dated, the one who ended up defending that murderer? Talk about not being able to sort the good from the bad. I’m glad you got rid of him.”

  Anna paused for a minute, then looked down at her cocoa. She wrapped her fingers around the warm mug and took a deep breath.

  “Oh no,” Jody said. “Don’t tell me you got back together with him.”

  “No,” Anna insisted. “But—it’s complicated.”

  “What’s going on?” Jody asked suspiciously.

  Anna wasn’t sure where to begin. “Do you have a computer here?” Moments later she was surfing the Internet on Jody’s big old Dell, which was set up on a folding card table in one of the spare bedrooms. Anna pulled up a legal blog: Above the Law: A Legal Tabloid. Below the banner were chatty articles about legal gossip.

  Anna scrolled down to a recent post, titled “A Superior Sex Scandal.” Photos of Anna and Nick were inset in the text. She stood up and looked at Jody while her sister leaned in to read the article. Anna had practically memorized the piece since it came out a few days ago.

  The juiciest story of the day concerns a young blond AUSA named Anna Curtis, who has been romantically linked to defense attorney Nicholas Wagner. You might not think this is such a big deal—until you learned that they are opposing counsel on one of the biggest homicide cases in D.C. this year. Curtis is a prosecutor on the D’marco Davis case, which recently got some serious press after the defendant escaped from jail and assaulted Curtis in her home. Wagner is Davis’s lawyer. A reliable source tells us that Curtis and Wagner have been dating for an unspecified period. We tried to reach Curtis
at work, but got a cryptic voice message saying that she had been “reassigned.” Rumor has it that she may have been fired or placed on administrative leave. Wagner, who is still working at OPD, was unavailable for comment, and spokespersons from both offices did not get back to us. So we must turn to you, our good readers. If you have any information about this, e-mail us. We’ll keep you posted as the news comes in.

  Beneath the story was a section where people had posted comments with varying levels of schadenfreude. Some seemed to be from attorneys in her office.

  Curtis never deserved to be put on this case in the first place. She only had a few months in the USAO. That’s what happens when you let a rookie prosecute a murder case.

  I thought she was getting it on with the Homicide chief, not the defense attorney.

  Anna Curtis is an intelligent and hardworking attorney with high ethical standards. It is a travesty that her name is being dragged through the mud like this.

  whatever. she’s hot.

  The comments continued for three pages. Jody straightened up and looked at Anna. “Oh no, Annie,” she said, shaking her head.

  Anna told her about Nick’s drunken visit, Jack bringing flowers, Nick coming to the door and grabbing the bouquet. She found herself choking up as she described her efforts to explain it to Jack, and watching him drive away. Anna told Jody how Jack had kicked her off the murder case, how she had reported it all to Carla, and how she was demoted to Papering.

  “At least you weren’t fired,” Jody said, steering Anna back to the living room couch, where they sank down together.

  “No.” Anna was surprised that she almost felt sorry instead of relieved. “They don’t fire you. They reassign you to some crap job in the basement and wait for you to quit. I’m tempted.”

  That was why Anna was here. She’d taken a few sick days at work. She needed to get away, escape the whirlwind of gossip, get some perspective, and figure out what to do next.

  “Have you spoken to Jack since that morning?” Jody asked.

  “No. There’s nothing else I can say. He’s the only truly good man I know, and I humiliated him. He must hate me.”

  Jody put down her cocoa and pulled Anna close. “Oh, Annie, what a mess,” she said. When Jody pulled back, she swept her arm grandly around the living room. “Consider this your anti-spa getaway. A long weekend in Swartz Creek is guaranteed to make you feel better about your own life,” she joked. “Did I mention you’re sleeping on the couch? I don’t have an extra bed yet.”

  “Can I expect mints on my pillows at night?”

  “No, but if you look under the cushions, you can probably find some leftovers.”

  “Ew.”

  “Wait till you see the mud bath.”

  Anna felt her mouth begin to curve into a smile for the first time in days.

  • • •

  Anna spent the rest of the week immersing herself in her sister’s life. They went shopping; they met old friends at Scooter’s, the local watering hole; they went cross-country skiing. They celebrated Thanksgiving with a huge supper and a trip to the cemetery to lay flowers on their mother’s grave.

  Throughout it all, Anna thought about what she should do next; but she could neither come up with an answer nor put the question out of her head. Nighttimes were the worst. Whenever Anna closed her eyes, images of Laprea, D’marco, Nick, and Jack blended with images of the trailer park where her family had lived when she was ten.

  She spent her last night in Michigan sleeplessly on Jody’s couch, flipping around every few minutes. The clock read 4:42 a.m. when Anna finally gave up trying to sleep. She sat up on the sofa, wrapped the blanket wearily around her shoulders, and stared at Jody’s black windows.

  In the dark predawn hours, exhausted but unable to sleep, she made her decision. She would quit and get another job. She didn’t need to hang on to a job where she wasn’t wanted, just to battle other people’s nightmares. She had plenty of her own.

  But the decision didn’t bring her peace, and she still didn’t sleep.

  Her mind kept ricocheting between three terrible, shameful memories. Standing in the doorway of her apartment with Jack, flowers in his hand, when Nick walked up. Outside the courthouse after losing the first D’marco Davis case, watching Laprea walk away with him. And hiding under the table in their mobile home, the last night Anna’s father beat her mother.

  She couldn’t recall now how the argument began. Dad was drunk, of course. And he was yelling at Mom about something. It could have been anything, really. He wasn’t working anymore and the fights were getting worse and more violent. Anna climbed down off her chair and left her homework on the kitchen table as the yelling got louder. She stood next to Jody, hoping it would blow over.

  Anna remembered wishing Mom would give in, just apologize for whatever wrong Dad had imagined. Just to calm him down. Sometimes that worked. But this time, whatever Mom said just angered him more.

  Anna remembered the crack as Dad slapped Mom across the face, and the sharp gasp of her mother’s breath as she staggered backward. Mom bent over, bracing her hands on her thighs, trying to get her breath back, like she always did when Dad hit her like that. From that position, Mom’s head was at the same level as Anna’s. Anna remembered catching her mother’s eye—and the fear and shame in her mother’s expression.

  Maybe it was the shame that made Mom stand up this time and face down Dad, and do something she had never done before. She stood up and pushed him back.

  It was a disaster.

  Enraged, Dad caught Mom’s arm and twisted it—then pummeled her straight in the face. She staggered back against the countertop.

  Anna remembered his shouted curses as he took off his belt, the one with the big pewter buckle, and started whipping Mom with it. Anna and Jody shrieked and dove under the kitchen table to escape the flying buckle. Dad hit Mom’s head, her shoulders, her stomach; the belt curled itself around her torso like a wicked, whizzing boa constrictor with each blow. The metal buckle met skin with sharp thwacks and dull thumps. Mom crumpled to the floor and curled into a ball, covering her face with her arms.

  Anna and Jody screamed as they huddled under the table, watching the belt strike Mom over and over. Welts flared on her arms, neck, and hands. The sound of violence filled the room—their mother’s cries, their father’s yells, the girls’ shrieks, the whoosh and thwack of the belt.

  “Stop! Dad, stop!” Anna cried. He was in a frenzy. Handsome and charming when he was sober, he was monstrous now, a horrible, furious, thrashing creature.

  Anna’s fear was a metal taste in her mouth, a warm trickle down her leg, a thumping in her ears louder than her mother’s screams. Jody yelled, “He’s killing Mommy!” Anna had to do something—but the fear wouldn’t let her move. Dad raised the belt again. In her desperation—in her fear—Anna had done something. Something terrible.

  As her father brought the belt down, Anna shoved her little sister out to their mother.

  Jody stumbled into the middle of the kitchen. For an instant, she looked like she would run back under the table. Her eyes were terrified. But then the eight-year-old girl straightened up, put her arms out to shield their mother, and stood her ground.

  It all happened in a millisecond, but in her mind’s eye, Anna could still see her father’s half-conscious rage, her mother’s expression of horror, and the perfect arc of the belt—right before the metal buckle struck Jody in the face. It caught the corner of her mouth and ripped through the soft flesh of her cheek, tearing a path to her ear.

  The room was suddenly silent. A flap of Jody’s cheek hung from her face, the wet pink inner layer turned inside out. Anna could see her sister’s molars through the laceration; it looked like she wore a crazy lopsided grin. Blood poured from the wound, soaked her shirt, spattered and pooled on the floor at her feet. Jody stumbled and fell. She crawled over to their mother and put her arms around her, still protecting her from their father.

  The belt hung limply in Dad
’s hand, its momentum spent. He blinked, confused by the sudden appearance of his youngest daughter with her face ripped in two, slowly realizing what he had done. Then he opened his fist and let the belt fall to the floor. It landed in a coiled heap next to the dark red puddle of Jody’s blood. He stumbled out of the trailer home.

  It had been so long since Anna had allowed the memory to play out fully in her conscious mind. The force of it started her crying, soft little gasps that quickly built into long, gulping sobs. Anna buried her face in the arm of the couch and tried to stifle her bawling with the pillow.

  “Annie.” She felt a hand rubbing her back. “Annie, what’s wrong?”

  Anna sat up and found Jody standing over the couch, sounding very worried. Anna rarely cried in front of her sister.

  “Oh no, I woke you up.” Anna started crying even harder. She couldn’t do anything right.

  “Stop, stop, it’s okay.” Jody flicked on the light. Anna blinked in the sudden brightness. “What’s going on?”

  Anna squinted up at her sister through tear-blurred eyes. She had never talked to Jody about what happened that day sixteen years ago. She was afraid to.

  Anna suddenly understood why her memory of her mother’s last beating had been mixing with images from Laprea’s case, why the two scenes kept her from sleeping this night and so many nights before. Anna had failed Laprea—just as she’d failed her sister years ago. That’s why she wanted to quit now. That’s why she’d come home to Michigan to figure it out.

  She quieted her crying and wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her T-shirt.

  “I was remembering,” Anna said at last. “The last time Dad hit Mom.”

  Anna looked at her sister, waiting for the anger to come. But it didn’t. Instead, Jody’s face softened with . . . what? Anna realized that it was relief. To finally be talking about this.

  “Tell me about it,” Jody said softly, sitting down next to her.

  “I’m so sorry, Jo.” Anna’s voice trembled. “For what I did to you that day. For this.” Anna reached out and touched the fading scar on Jody’s cheek. “I pushed you, out into the belt. That scar . . . the stitches . . . those stupid kids calling you Frankenstein—it was my fault.”