I doubted I’d have ever cut her off completely. How could I? She was half of me. “I’ve been seeing you on the news a lot recently.”
He took a sip, eyes on mine over the rim of his glass. “Sometimes a media circus is the right call. It might put a bit of a spotlight on you, too. I should have mentioned that beforehand.”
I waved an airy hand, swallowing a mouthful of Fireball. The second serving didn’t shock my system nearly as much as the first. “Nobody looks at me twice when Caroline’s around. I’m not worried.”
He shot me a look that plainly meant he felt otherwise. “They’re going to be looking at you. Make no mistake about it. You’re almost as much a part of this as she is.”
I rolled my eyes. “Tell that to her, why don’t you. She made it pretty clear not to let the door hit me in the ass on the way out. Said she’d order you not to talk to me anymore.”
An eyebrow dipped lower on his forehead as his mouth twitched. “Did she? Well, I didn’t receive any such order, so it may have been an idle threat.” That showed how much he knew Caroline. Her threats were never idle. She meant every word she ever said. “I can assure you that she doesn’t have the power to order me about, especially not when I have to have complete access to you.” He paused, looking into the Fireball whirlpool in the glass he kept swirling. “You do need to be aware of your part in all this. It’s serious, and you need to treat it as such. If you want her acquitted, there are certain things you’ll need to do. Interviews, press conferences. Not to mention testifying. It won’t be easy, and it’ll be a long year, give or take, possibly even longer. The moment you lied to Detective Slater is the moment you chose this path. You made certain choices, and they have certain consequences. If you try to recant your earlier statement, it’ll look bad on both you and Caroline, and it’ll seriously damage her case. I don’t want to scare you by saying all this so bluntly, but you need to be made aware. This isn’t going to come down to a relatively simple day on the witness stand, where the only thing to contend with is a prosecutor.”
I didn’t know if I could handle all that. I had none of Caroline’s black magic or carved glass insides. I was too soft, a coward, the moron unable to connect dots. At least I could admit that shameful truth to myself; admitting you had a problem was the first step.
Testifying alone would have been enough to make me start crumbling. She may have been strong for me her whole life, but when the tables were reversed, could I do it for her? The Fireball bubbling in the pit of my empty stomach gave an obstinate yes! but my realistic left brain disagreed.
“Did you tell her all this when you spoke with her at Breakthrough?”
“Yes.”
Her apologetic email made a little more sense, then. Massaging me back into place with sorrys and surprise presents given in the spirit of a holiday she didn’t believe in. Ordering me to back off and then changing her mind. Dr. Jekyll and Mrs. PMS. And then I thought about something she’d told me years earlier, that nobody’s all good or all bad; those who claim otherwise are liars or delusional. Everyone’s got light and dark. Like me, how I wanted to punch her square in her perfect nose and then grab her hand and yank her out of Breakthrough Recovery Center.
“And was she surprised?”
“It didn’t seem like it, but she’s got a decent poker face, I gather. She didn’t look thrilled.”
Because she probably thought I couldn’t handle it. A greasy wave of weakness spilled through my veins, rendering me unable to look him in the eye. I looked at the cat instead, the way his fluffy spine rose and fell as he slept. “Do you think I can do it? I’m not the best public speaker. Or very charismatic.”
“If I thought you couldn’t do it,” he said carefully, taking his time over each word, “I wouldn’t have even considered using your statement in Caroline’s defense. The prosecutor wouldn’t be likely to call you after reading what you’d said in your statement, and a weak witness for the defense is worse than no witness at all.”
“How many murder cases have you tried?”
“I’ve represented twelve clients who’d been charged with murder. Only three of those cases went to trial.”
“And how did those trials go?”
“I lost one.”
Not spectacular odds, I thought, chewing my bottom lip.
“The other nine pled out to much lesser charges, manslaughter being the worst.” He snorted, taking in my expression. “Who do you think I am, Johnny Cochran? You must watch too much TV. That’s a solid track record. The partners in my firm are happy, so I am, too.”
“I’d have expected Victoria Rasmussen to hire a high-on-the-food-chain shark of an attorney,” I pointed out, waiting for the crack in his armor of confidence, or at least a gasp of surprise I’d figured it out, but I got neither, only his trademark infuriating smile.
“Ah, but her brother-in-law has quite a bit of faith in me. Can I make a suggestion the name front for this little guy?” He tilted his head toward the cat.
“If you want.”
“Nicholas. It’s only fitting. He showed up on Christmas Eve. And Saint Nicholas is a bit of a mouthful for such a small cat.”
“Works for me.” A fork of jealousy stabbed me in the gut, churning my intestines around the tines like spaghetti as I watched his clear camaraderie with Nicholas, the way his fingers instinctively twisted through mounds of fur and incited louder purrs. “I’ve haven’t taken care of an animal before. Don’t know the first thing about them. Caroline hates them, so I’ve never gotten any practice.”
He rolled his sleeves up to the insides of his elbows and reached for the bottle of Fireball. “I’m never fully comfortable around people who hate animals.”
***
The next morning, I awoke to a knock, but nobody stood outside the front door when I’d straggled across the living room and answered it, just an envelope shoved through the doorjamb which fluttered to the ground. I stooped to grab it before water bled through and slit it open.
I closed my palm around the key inside and read the card.
The red one was the only message it bore, in the unmistakable hand of my sister.
After hunting down a pair of mismatched shoes, I made my way through the condo complex and out to the streets which smelled heavily of rain. I didn’t have to look long to find it, a frighteningly sporty car the same cherry red as the lipstick Caroline sometimes wore snug against the curb. I approached as if it were a wild animal because that’s what it looked like, a feral crimson jungle cat with huge headlights for eyes, sandwiched between comparably sad looking Toyotas. The kind of car men salivated over. I couldn’t salivate since my mouth felt like it had been stuffed with cotton, and a feeling of something similar to trepidation washed over me, as though an invisible someone had snuck up behind me as I stood there stupidly still and slammed an egg on my head.
I ran my hand across the Challenger insignia, inserted the key, and pulled the door open. An air freshener shaped like a ball of fire hung from the rearview mirror, permeating the cabin with the strong scent of cinnamon. Not something you want clogging your nostrils after drinking more than the recommended dose of Fireball the previous night.
I flicked the air freshener, watched it swing back and forth. She gave me a car for Christmas, and all I’d given her was silence.
***
Kat,
Your new friend Nicholas has made me dream up a children’s book title—A Kitty for Kat. I hope he doesn’t have fleas or ticks or mites or any other horrible thing stray animals catch. Take him to the vet and check him for worms, then make sure he doesn’t scratch our sofas or claw his way up the drapes, and I may be able to make my peace with him. He looked very prissy, judging from the picture you sent. Did you make him that collar? Only you would give a cat a nazar. Looks like he’s already got the evil eye, if you ask me.
You’re welcome for the car, but that goes without saying. I doubt the police will ever let the Buick out of impound, and we can’t have you taking
the bus for too long—do you know what kind of weirdos hang out on buses? The one freak on the bus always wound up sitting right next to me, that’s the kind of luck I had, and I’m sure it’s no different for you. FYI, it’s rude to ask people how much a gift cost, or how they’ve paid for it. It’s a necessity, isn’t it? A used necessity, if knowing that will calm your frazzled nerves.
Don’t apologize for being angry. Apologies are signs of weakness. Never apologize, never give reasons. Only losers do that.
C.
Didn’t that make Caroline a loser, then? She’d apologized to me in an earlier email, hadn’t she? Though I was long used to her mild hypocrisy and Caroline Logic, how men routinely tried their hands at playing inside the ivory walls of her chess match, never knowing that slippery habit she had of changing rules every other day. Those games were always rigged, she made sure of that.
***
“How was your Christmas?” Caroline untied the elastic from her braid and shook out waves of hair. “Better than mine, I hope, the aides still made everyone go to bed early. All I did was count sheep and wish I was anywhere but here.”
“Mine was no more exciting than yours.” I’d stayed up late with Nicholas and watched him chase the red dot from a laser light I shone over the walls, which had been far more amusing than I’d initially thought. I had no idea the ninja moves of which he was capable.
“Didn’t take the Challenger for a joyride? That’s the first thing I’d have done.”
“To be honest, it’s a little intimidating. I drove it here and felt like everyone was staring.” The growl of the engine had caught me off guard, and I’d ridden the brake the entire ride over.
She laughed, catching a golden tendril of hair and twisting it around her finger. White lights above Breakthrough’s lobby played over rows of her pearly teeth. “It’s the kind of car people stare at, especially when some hot young thing is in the driver’s seat. A blonde Megan Fox.”
Attention was the last thing I’d ever wanted. I’d have lived my whole life blending into the background if I could have gotten away with it.
You’re too pretty to be so shy, she used to tell me, and I always wondered what the use in being pretty was. It only made some people hate you, others envy you, certain men want to own you, exploit you, and in Brian’s case, knock you down a few pegs—no, I’d rather be ordinary. Boring, even. That’d be better than the alternative.
“Did Kyle tell you what I’d have to do to help you get out of this place?”
“Yeah.” She cleared her throat and stared at the floor, expression growing blank, so far away it looked as though she were on a different planet. “I wasn’t too happy to hear that.”
It means I’m your ticket out of here, I wanted to say, but the words couldn’t claw their way out of my mouth. How could she not be thrilled, ecstatic to know the lengths I’d reach to get her out?
Because she knew I couldn’t handle the pressure. I may as well have had WEAKLING stamped on my forehead.
“I’ve been saying it from the start, Kat,” she said to my non-response. “I’ve never wanted you involved. You’ve already lied for me. That was enough. I hadn’t expected you to do that to begin with. I don’t know how much more press conferences and interviews can help.”
“I’m scared,” I said, hating that trill in my voice. “I don’t know if I can do it. I’m not like you, Caroline. I hate public speaking. I’m not strong the way you are. I never say the right things like you do. Nobody thinks I’m interesting the way they think you are. Who the hell would even care what I have to say?”
“You’re plenty interesting.” She took my hand in hers, and I watched her lace her fingers through mine. They fit like they’d been designed as pairs. “I wasn’t always strong, Kat. I don’t know where you got that idea.” I felt her eyes burn into my profile, but I couldn’t look back at her. “I made myself strong because I had to be, for you. But you don’t have to be the strong one this time around. These are completely different circumstances. We’re here because I did something stupid. That’s not the same as me taking care of my little sister. You were an innocent little girl. If you don’t want to do it, then you don’t have to. This isn’t some required reading homework assignment. I’d much rather you focus on school, not some PR fiasco I brought on myself. I got myself into this mess. You don’t think I can hack my way out?”
If anyone could slither out from between cracks, it would be Caroline. “Kyle says he thinks I can handle it. That my statement to the police makes it pretty hard for me to stay out of the picture.”
“Kyle can kiss my ass. You can do whatever the hell you want. It’s nobody’s choice but yours.”
But I didn’t have to soul-search to know what choice I’d make. She was my only choice.
JANUARY
The new year brought fifty degree temperatures, clouds of birds Nicholas liked to watch from the window seat he’d claimed as his own, and a call from Kyle’s secretary requesting my appearance in his office. I’d never been summoned anywhere in such an official capacity before, and it caused one hell of a sleepless night.
The offices of Singer & Harrison were located in an upper-class area of Orange County, one that made me hyper-aware of my faded jeans and scuffed shoes. Inside, the assistants looked like actors playing roles of receptionists and secretaries, but they gave me reassuring smiles and said Kyle’s assistant would fetch me shortly.
My head was bent over my Kindle, but I wasn’t reading. I’d given up after scanning the same line over and over, and pretended not to notice a pair of shoes drawing nearer in my peripherals until I heard someone call my name. When I looked up, a grandmotherly woman smiled, beckoning with a wrinkled hand.
“Katya? I’m Kyle’s secretary.” I stood, and she patted my shoulder. “Come with me, honey. Do you want anything to drink?”
I shook my head, following her chunky black shoes through labyrinthine hallways with offices on one side and cubicles on the other, until she stopped and knocked sharply on one door. She didn’t wait for a response and turned the handle, ushering me inside the bright, airy confines of the kind of office I’d only seen in movies. All chrome and shiny glass surfaces, a wall-sized window spilling weak morning sunshine all over the gunmetal gray carpet, Kyle behind a desk piled with files and coffee mugs.
His eyes flicked from his computer to me as the secretary shut the door with a backward wave. “Kat. Thanks for coming on such short notice. How are you?”
I dropped into the seat opposite his desk, squinting through the brightness. “Fine, I guess. What’s going on?”
“Nothing bad, just some things to go over. Did Gemma ask if you wanted anything to drink?”
“Yeah. I don’t need anything, thanks. How come you’re the only attorney with an assistant who doesn’t look like an Abercrombie model? I thought you were higher on the totem pole.”
He cocked his head. “Gemma? I hired Gemma myself. She types ninety words per minute and brings me cookies. I don’t need eye candy at work.”
I felt my eyebrows knit together. What kind of man didn’t want eye candy period, never mind at work? To say otherwise would be hacking at the whole foundation of Mad Men, wouldn’t it?
He pushed back from his desk. “Anyway. I’m glad you’re here. There’s a lot of stuff we need to discuss.”
“Like what?”
“Like PR practice runs.”
The blood in my veins turned to ice as my heart rate sped up. “What does that even mean?”
“I need to teach you how to conduct yourself during these types of things. Do a kind of trial run slash rehearsal. I don’t want any surprises when the time comes.”
I knew it was coming, the media frenzy he’d wanted to whip up, but I’d pictured it as some far off storm brewing an ocean away, something to worry about later. It took a long time for murder cases to be tried, whatever Law & Order portrayed.
“It’s just me, Kat,” he said knowingly. “There’s no need to be nervous
.”
But I was.
He stood, heading for the coffee table near the door of his office, and pointed at the couch beside it. “You’ll sit here.”
I did as told, though my feet felt leaden as they carried me over.
He swept his arm across the room. “We’ll do this exactly the same as a press conference, but without reporters.”
I shifted on the couch, not knowing what to do with my hands. “Doesn’t that mean you should sit, too? You’re going to be there, right?”
“I’ll be there, but I’m not going to be sitting. If I have to act as emcee, I’ll look lazy if I’m sitting. You, on the other hand,” he said, inclining his head toward me, “are the sad, soft little sister of a wrongly accused woman. You need that chair to project the image.”
I didn’t need to work hard to project that image. I embodied that image. Except for the wrongly accused sister part.
“What would you start off by saying to the audience?”
“Whatever you tell me to say.”
“I’m asking what you think we’d begin with. Work with me.”
I cast about my mind, but thoughts were elusive as water slipping through my fingers. “Uh…I’d say I was there when she supposedly committed this murder. I’m her alibi.”
He made a wrong answer buzzer noise. “Nope. You say thank you for coming, blah blah blah.” He shrugged at my death glare. “Gotta start with that. Then what? No—” he snapped his fingers, forcing my gaze from the floor to his face. “No looking at the ground. Look at me, pretend I’m the audience. You start looking everywhere but the audience, they’ll start thinking you’ve got something to hide.”
But I had everything to hide.
“So I thank them for coming, and then…I say Caroline’s a wrongly accused woman?”
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