JULIET
You can’t do this to me!
TERRANCE
You don’t get everything you want, Jules. It doesn’t all just work out for you.
JULIET grabs the paper and shoves TERRANCE hard in the chest. He stumbles back toward the dumpster and bumps REBA, who screams. He’s startled, and JULIET hits him again in the chest with the contract crumpled in her fist.
JULIET
I’ve worked hard for this! My whole goddamn life, and you’re trying to ruin it for me.
TERRANCE deflects her hitting, and she stumbles, landing on her knees.
JULIET
Don’t you touch me, Terrance. Damn it, I’m bleeding, you asshole.
She uses his contract to dab her knees.
JULIET
This is what I think of your new contract. I’ll wipe my blood with it. Piece of garbage, like you.
TERRANCE
Listen, you fell down because you were hitting me. God, you’re so ridiculous. Let me help you.
As he approaches JULIET, LOUIS WORTHINGTON appears behind him.
LOUIS
What the hell is going on? Don’t you touch her!
TERRANCE
Lou, whoa, where did you come from? This is too much. She fell, and she’s out of control.
JULIET
You shoved me, you jerk. It’s not enough you’re ruining my career. I’m bleeding because of you!
REBA is trying to help JULIET get up as LOUIS gets in TERRANCE’s face.
LOUIS
(yelling)
Did you attack my daughter?
TERRANCE
Absolutely not. She fell.
JULIET throws her wallet at TERRANCE, and it hits him in the chest.
TERRANCE
Ouch, what are you doing?
JULIET
He pushed me, Dad! He’s trying to ruin everything for me!
She launches herself at TERRANCE, and LOUIS pulls her off. She stumbles backward and falls again, this time onto the ground near a stack of broken bricks.
TERRANCE
Please, let’s talk about this, Lou.
LOUIS stalks toward TERRANCE, who starts slowly going backward with his hands up.
TERRANCE
You’ve got this all wrong.
LOUIS
Oh, no, I think I’ve gotten it really right.
JULIET rushes at TERRANCE with a piece of brick in her hand. She throws it at him with a scream, and it strikes him in the back of the head. He falls forward and strikes his forehead hard on the pavement.
JULIET
NO! Oh my God, NO.
She clutches the blood-splattered paper in her hand and falls onto her knees over his body. LOUIS pulls her up and away from TERRANCE quickly. As she’s sobbing, he shoves her toward the alley door and leaves her there sobbing. REBA hobbles over and sits next to her.
LOUIS scans around the alley until his angry gaze lands in the direction of the camera.
LOUIS
Come on. It’s better this way. We have to keep moving. Stop crying. We’ll be okay, Jules. It’ll all work out for the best.
Chapter 37
The video goes black, and there is silence from the crowd. I can feel all eyes on me, but I look down at my father, the broken glass in my hand against his throat as he slouches in the wine-barrel throne.
There are tears in his eyes as he stares up at me. He glances at the broken bottle. “Do it,” he whispers, and the microphone picks up the ache and sorrow in his voice. “Please. I want it all to be over.”
“You’re not getting out that easy,” I say and face the side of the stage, with my phone camera back on my face. “Dez and Kara, I apologize for going after you. For trying to convince the world you committed my crimes. To Alicia and the whole family of Santiago, I apologize. I was the one driving the car that day. I am to blame for his death.”
I hear gasps, and Dez is still motioning the police to come forward.
“Dad, you need to apologize,” I say. “We have to admit all the wrong we’ve done. That’s the first step.”
He lunges toward me and the broken bottle, grabbing me by the shoulders. “Everything I did was for my family. I earned this life by working hard. You’ll have to stab me before I apologize for anything I’ve done.”
I drop the piece of glass and let it shatter. I raise my hands in the air toward the approaching officers. “Then let justice be done. At last.”
FINAL DOCUMENTATION
THE STATE OF RHODE ISLAND VS. JULIET WORTHINGTON-SMITH
JURY VIDEO TRANSCRIPT LIST:
• Private video Poe Foundation
• Personal vlogs
• Police interrogation of Louis Worthington
• Illegally obtained Nest camera footage
• Security footage from the Wrong Side of Hope Bar
Sentencing for JULIET WORTHINGTON-SMITH:
MURDER OF TERRANCE CASTLE, second degree: GUILTY
10 years jail time
Sentencing for LOUIS WORTHINGTON
MURDER OF SANTIAGO OVALLE, criminal negligence: GUILTY
OBSTRUCTION OF JUSTICE IN CASE OF TERRANCE CASTLE: GUILTY
15 years jail time
Statement before sentencing by JULIET WORTHINGTON-SMITH:
I accidently killed Santiago Ovalle. I apologize to his mother, father, his cousin Franco, and whole family. While I was a child, too, that does not change what happened.
I killed Terrance Castle. I apologize to his wife and his family and the many people who loved him.
My father, Louis Worthington, was there, and he saw what I did, what rot was living inside me. He protected me by doing what he thought was best. All the blame is mine.
With my whole heart, I hope the families can find a way to heal what we’ve destroyed.
I’m the bad guy.
Just like my father.
Epilogue
This is not my first day of prison, but it is the first day I’m taking a step toward healing what I had to rebreak.
As the guard leads me into a conference room, I see Phillip in a circle of chairs. There are three other people there who I knew would attend, and I nod at him in gratitude for bringing them.
It’s customary to handcuff all the prisoners meeting civilians. Even though I’ve felt the cuffs plenty of times since being arrested that night at the vineyard, they still feel wrong on my wrists, as if it’s a mistake or misunderstanding. It’s similar to when I’m putting on my prison uniform, and it feels as if I’m slipping on someone else’s clothes by some terrible mistake.
“Sit here, please,” Phillip says and gestures to an empty chair near him.
The guard watches me go, and I sit down, finally facing Alicia, Franco, and a man I don’t recognize, but I know he’s Santiago’s father.
“On behalf of Santiago’s parents and his cousin,” Phillip begins, “I’m here to begin the restorative-justice practices.”
Phillip opens his new book, which has Terrance Castle as the posthumous coauthor. Dez did hand over Terrance’s legacy to Phillip. The book not only sold really well, but more than that, everyone from prison administrators to school staff to mediators in courts across the country is using restorative-justice techniques to reshape how we approach crime and punishment.
“People who have been hurt by crime deserve to have a process that will let them heal,” Phillip says to Alicia, then turns to me. “People who have committed crimes and are responsible for harm have an obligation to the people they have hurt.”
Franco’s gaze is down, but there are tears in the corners of his eyes. I hate how I’ve treated this family. Tossing an odd job at Franco or a few hundred bucks to Alicia and feeling good about myself. They weren’t in a position to refuse what I gave, even if it was next to nothing for me.
There is so much I’d like to apologize for and try to explain, but that’s not why we’re here. This is about real healing, and it starts with the victims.
; “Juliet has agreed to listen to your stories about Santiago,” Phillip says. “If you have questions about that day, to the best of her memory, she will share what happened.”
Alicia talks for a while about her last days with Santiago. Neither she nor her ex-husband looks at each other.
Franco tells a funny story, but then his grin breaks. “Aunt Alicia,” he says after a moment. “When Santi was busted by that off-duty cop up at the Black and White Market, it was my fault. I dared him. He always looked up to me and did whatever I said. If I hadn’t done that . . . those lawyers wouldn’t have said, you know, what they said about him being a bad kid.” He sniffs and wipes his nose. “I’m so sorry.”
Alicia’s face softens, and she stands up. She takes her nephew’s hand. “You loved him. What happened to my boy is not your fault. Children only make mistakes because their parents have not taught them what to do. This is not your burden to carry.”
Franco puts his arms around her and cries quietly. I want to say something, to explain my actions or my father’s possible motives. But Phillip was emphatic that my role is not to put myself in the center of their pain. It’s to sit with my guilt and understand the consequences of my actions.
I wipe a few tears and keep listening.
The father glares at me, and that’s okay. It’s not my nature to take responsibility and apologize without some excuse. But I must learn to sit with all the wrong that I’ve done or let happen. Because what’s worse, and certainly causes more harm, is to believe it’s impossible I’ve done anything wrong.
“Do you want to hear from Juliet?” Phillip asks. “Or we could wait until the next meeting, if you’d like to come back?”
Alicia lets out a long sigh. “Next time,” she says. She’s still next to Franco, and he rises, putting his arm around her shoulder as he helps her stand. He gives me a small nod, and I hope they come back, if it will help.
The guard escorts them out, and Phillip lingers as he packs up his messenger bag. He hands me a copy of his and Terrance’s book. “I got permission to leave this with you,” he says. “If you want it.”
I nod, and he places it on the chair next to me.
“I’ve reached out to Dez and Kara,” he says. “So you can begin making amends. They said they’d prefer to start with letters.”
“Sure,” I say. “I have plenty of time to write.”
“If you want me to read it before you send it, let me know.”
“Okay,” I say, thinking how the guilt’s been stronger than ever lately. As I confront what I’ve done, I’ve been immersed in terrible feelings surfacing at any moment of the day. Not drinking both helps and hurts. No longer dulling or avoiding, I’m confronting my mistakes. Hoping that soon I’ll begin to heal along with those I hurt.
“Terry’s mother may also want to come see you,” Phillip says.
I nod, though I feel a little sick. “Thank you,” I say. “Ethan said you guys went out for a coffee before he left town?”
“Yeah,” Phillip says. “I still don’t know if it’s right he walked, but I’m glad your son has a fresh start.”
No charges were ever brought against Ethan, as much as Detective Ramos tried to prove he’d played a role. In the end, it seems Ethan only turned a blind eye versus actually hiding my crime.
I cried a lot during my last conversation with Ethan. I told him I was removing his name from my approved-visitor list. I apologized for the pain I’d caused him and gave him instructions for the last time. Go to therapy. Find a sober, sweet second wife. Move to Chapel Hill to be with my sister and her wonderful family. Fill Fitz’s life with love and laughter and happy voices he won’t have to only get from a vlog family.
And in ten years, after my time has been served, maybe Fitz will want to see me. I plan to work hard enough in here over those ten years to deserve his forgiveness.
“I hope the book tour goes well,” I say to Phillip. I’m not on social media, obviously, but I still google people. Ethan started an Instagram page, and he regularly posts photos and videos of Fitz.
“Thank you.” He clears his throat, as if he’s delaying what comes next. I wonder if I should apologize again. “I’m sorry about your dad,” he says finally.
Prison did not agree with my father’s liver. He died within two weeks of his sentencing. Only Debbie and Ethan were at the funeral. I didn’t apply to go. “It’s for the best.”
We sit next to each other in silence. “Let me know what you think about the chapter on forgiveness,” Phillip says.
“I will work on it.” I reach for his book with Terrance’s face on the cover and begin to cry.
He pulls out one of his handkerchiefs. “I’ll see you soon, okay?”
“I hope so.” Reaching out my handcuffed wrists, I take the soft cloth and wipe the tears from my face before handing it back to him. “Thank you. For everything.”
I don’t look back as the guard leads me out of the room. I shuffle down the long hallway and pass other women prisoners in uniforms matching mine. As I’m escorted to my bunk, I see women reading in their beds, others heading toward the common area or bathroom. The guard leaves me at my small room shared with no one right now. Our sides are identically sparse, except for one photo taped to my bed.
I asked Ethan to bring it on his final visit. I sent the picture to him from my phone the day I made Fitz the paper newsie hat on our walk. Watching over me in prison is the image of my son with his long legs dangling over the rock wall. In that silly hat, he grins, as if he’s proud that I’m his mom. The pure joy in his gaze says I deserve a son like him. Even if it’s not true.
Tears roll down my cheeks as I curl on top of the thin mattress. For the first time since I can remember, I’m not afraid to close my eyes. The nightmares have stopped. I have healed enough—if not to live free, at least to dream.
Acknowledgments
Thank you to my Thomas & Mercer editor Jessica Tribble and developmental editor Charlotte Herscher. They read the messy (and really long) first draft of this story and gave me a clear path forward with lots of guidance.
A huge thank-you to my friend and critique partner Jaime Hendricks. She read revision after revision and gave me both feedback and support. Thank you to Christina Lien and Kristen Ricciardelli for their early reading and encouragement too.
Thank you to my agent, Victoria Sanders, as well as Bernadette Baker-Baughman and Jessica Spivey. Your support of my dreams and career is deeply appreciated. Thank you to my film agent, Hilary Zaitz Michael.
Thank you to Amazon Publishing and Thomas & Mercer for their support at every stage, especially Gracie Doyle, Sarah Shaw, Dennelle Catlett, Ashley Vanicek, and Lindsey Bragg.
Thank you to my husband, Zachary Stolz, and my son, August. Such gratitude to our families on both sides for supporting us. We are so lucky.
I’d also like to thank all the bookstores that have sold my books and invited me to sign copies and chat with their customers. With appreciation to Symposium Books (Providence, Rhode Island), Ink Fish Books (Warren, Rhode Island), Barrington Books Retold (Garden City, Rhode Island), Belmont Books (Belmont, Massachusetts), Chapters Bookstore (Miami, Oklahoma), Magic City Books (Tulsa, Oklahoma), Wesleyan R. J. Julia Bookstore (Middletown, Connecticut), Wakefield Books (Wakefield, Rhode Island), Riff Raff Bookstore & Bar (Providence, Rhode Island), Our Daily Nada (Kansas City, Missouri), Barnes & Noble (Warwick, Rhode Island), the Writer’s Center (Bethesda, Maryland), Dogwood Books & Gifts (Greenwich, Connecticut), and the Providence Athenaeum (Providence, Rhode Island). A special thank-you to the Rhode Island libraries, which continue to invite me into their wonderful locations all over our state.
One of the greatest parts of sharing my books is connecting with readers, many of them on social media. Thank you to every friend and follower. Your support, reviews, photos, and connection have meant the world. Special shout-out to #bookstagram friends Brandi (@booksandnaughtymugs), Kylie Jo (notsotwentysomething), Joe (joeandthebooks), Sonica (the_reading_b
eauty), Candice (candice_reads), Kristin (k2reader), Brad and Britney (audioshelfme), Dennis (scaredstraightreads), Briana (briana_best_reads), Gare (Gareindeedreads), Robin (Readitrobi), mom_loves_reading, and Kayla (wanderingthepages).
About the Author
Photo © 2018 Brittanny Taylor
Vanessa Lillie is originally from Miami, Oklahoma, where she spent a lot of her childhood investigating local ghost stories at the public library. After college, she worked in Washington, DC, and later moved to Providence, Rhode Island, which she, her husband, and her dinosaur-aficionado son call home. Smitten with the smallest state, she enjoys organizing book events and literary happenings around town.
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