At the Edge (11 page)

The gratitude in his eyes made me feel even sorrier for him.

“Thanks, Robyn,” he said. He leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. When I looked at him in surprise, his face turned bright red. “Oh god, I'm sorry. I ... I just ...”

“It's okay,” I said. “We're friends, aren't we, James?”

He smiled shyly at me. “Friends sounds good.”

I opened the car door and started to get out.

“Robyn?”

I turned back to him.

“About what I told you ... I felt like I owed you an explanation, you know, because of my dad and because you've been so nice to me. But—” There was that anguished look again. “You don't have to tell anyone, do you? Don't get me wrong—I'm not sorry I told you. Okay, maybe a little sorry. I don't want you to think—”

“I don't think anything, James, except that I'm sorry for what you and your family have been through.”

That earned me a rueful smile.

“I just don't want everyone at school to be talking about me again. That was supposed to be the whole point. We were supposed to come back here, and my dad was supposed to find a job and I was supposed to finish school. If I can get through this year—and I'm pretty sure I can, with your help—and pick up a few credits during the summer, I can get out of here.”

“You mean, leave again?”

“Maybe I can get into college somewhere far from here. It's not that I want to forget Greg. It's just that—”

“It's okay, James,” I said. “Your secret is safe with me. Promise. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?”

I slid out of the car and watched him pull away from the curb. It was only after he'd gone that I looked across the street and saw Nick. He was standing in the park with Orion. Danny was with them. Her silver Lexus was parked close by. Nick scowled at me, then turned and jerked on Orion's leash. The three of them walked to Danny's car, and Nick put Orion in the backseat. He got up front with Danny, and they drove away.

Terrific
, I thought. Tears welled up in my eyes. I wished Nick had a cell phone so that I could call him and tell him that what he'd seen wasn't what he probably thought he'd seen—assuming that he even cared. I wasn't sure of that anymore.

A tear dribbled down my cheek. I rubbed it away and headed upstairs. There was no one home.

I stood inside the door for a moment, wondering how things had gone so wrong between Nick and me. We'd had such a great summer. Okay, maybe the first half of it had got off to a rocky start. Nick had spent it at a group home for troubled boys, trying to find out what had happened to the brother of an old friend. I'd stayed at Morgan's summerhouse. And true, Nick and I hadn't seen much of each other during the second half. But when he'd come to Morgan's place for a couple of weekends, he had seemed to enjoy my company. He had been sweet and attentive. He'd even gotten along reasonably well with Morgan. I'd thought everything was perfect.

Now I was beginning to wonder. Maybe it hadn't been so perfect. Who knew what Nick had been up to in the city without me? He had run into his old friend Danny, who had landed him a job at her dad's company—and it strangely had never came up that she was a girl—and he and Danny had spent every night together at work. He had reconnected with her parents, and it seemed pretty clear that he was more comfortable around them than he was around my mom and dad. My father had always treated Nick well. But my mom had never been thrilled that I was seeing him. Danny's parents were obviously different. They had known Nick when he was just a kid. They had known his mother, too. They had seen firsthand what Nick's stepfather was like. They knew what he had done—to Nick and to his mom. Maybe that made all the difference. Maybe that was why they were willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. They had started in the same place as Nick and his family. They knew the worst about him, but they didn't hold it against him.

But what did that mean? Sure, Nick and I were different from each other. But were we too different to make it work? Were we too different for Nick to want to make it work? Was Morgan right—was James a better person for me?

When it came right down to it, Morgan didn't know a thing about James. The poor guy. I felt so sorry for him. He'd dealt with so much. But here he was, struggling to get his life on track and to make a future for himself. My problems seemed like nothing compared to his.

I drew in a deep breath and pulled myself up straight. I would talk to Nick in the morning before school. I would apologize for the way I had been behaving. And I would brace myself for whatever he decided to say to me.

I went into my room and sat down at the desk. I pulled my schedule out of my backpack and looked at my homework assignments. With a sigh, I switched on my computer. And then, because it was on anyway, I went online and Googled the name Gregory Paul Johnson. I didn't pull up a lot of information, just a few old news articles. The facts were all pretty much as James had described them. But there was one piece of information he hadn't mentioned. I stared at it, stunned. No wonder Gregory Johnson's name had sounded familiar.

“R

obyn, I was just going to call you,” my mother said when I reached her on her phone. She sounded upbeat, even excited. I guessed that Ted must have already joined her out west.

“How's the trip, Mom?” I said, even though that wasn't the reason I had called.

“It's been great,” my mother said. “You're going to love it out here, honey.”

“Me? What are you talking about, Mom?”

“I was going to wait until I came home to tell you. But they want an answer soon. Robyn, I've been offered a job out here.”

I was so astonished that I couldn't speak.

“Robyn? Are you still there? Did you hear what
I said?”

“You're not going to take it, are you, Mom?”

“That's what I wanted to talk to you about. It's a terrific opportunity for me. Ted arrived today. We're looking at houses.”

“Houses? You mean you are going to take it?”

“I haven't given them my answer yet. They're giving me a week to decide. But I don't see how I can pass it up. Ted is willing to relocate. And you really will love it, Robyn. This city's beautiful. The ocean is on one side and the mountains are on the other.”

“But I don't want to move.” I really didn't. Morgan and Billy were here. My dad was here. Nick was here.

“We can talk about it when I get back,” my mom said. She didn't sound nearly as excited. I guess I hadn't responded the way she had hoped. “If you want, you can fly out here on Friday and spend the weekend with Ted and me. You can take a look around.”

“I can't,” I said. “I have plans.” It was an out-and-out lie. I just didn't want to go out there. I didn't want to look around. I didn't want to move.

“Mom, the reason I was calling ...” I hesitated. I had promised James that I wouldn't tell anyone about him. But there were a few questions I needed answered. “You remember that boy who was shot a few years ago? Gregory Johnson?”

“Yes,” my mom said. Her tone was guarded. No surprise there. She had been the lawyer for Edward Leonard, the man who had been charged with the murder. In our house, the case hadn't been referred to as the Gregory Johnson murder trial; it had been known as the Eddy Leonard trial. My parents had been on the verge of separation then, and it was one more thing they argued about—my dad the cop and my mom the criminal defense attorney. For once, I was glad that I had my father's last name instead of my mother's. I could only imagine what James would think if he knew who I really was.

“We're doing a law unit in social studies. We have to do a project.” It was another lie, but for a good reason. I could just imagine what my mom would say if she knew that I was tutoring the boy she'd demolished on the witness stand. “I want to do my project on eyewitness evidence. You were the lawyer for the guy they arrested, weren't you?”

“Yes.” She sounded even more guarded.

“That case was all about eyewitness evidence, wasn't it?”

“Partly,” my mother said. “My client was arrested on the basis of eyewitness identification. But there were other considerations.”

“Such as?”

“Can we talk about this another time, Robyn?”

“I just want a little information, that's all, Mom.”

I heard her sigh. “There was more to it than the eyewitness account,” she said, “although that's the part that everyone seems to remember. I also introduced my client's criminal record into evidence.”

“You did? I thought defense lawyers were always trying to have that information excluded.”

“Generally they do,” she said. “But in this case, it seemed relevant. Edward Leonard—my client—had been convicted of some petty theft, some breaking and entering, but he had never been involved in car theft and had never been known to carry a weapon of any kind. I had police officers testify to this. You remember Charlie Hart, Robyn?”

He was a homicide detective and a friend of my dad's.

“He testified.”

“He was involved?”

“He was the arresting officer. Even he had to admit that the incident in question”—I wondered how James would have reacted if he'd heard his brother's murder referred to as an incident—“seemed out of character for Edward Leonard. I don't know if that case is the best example for your assignment,” she said. “I can suggest something else if you'd like.”

“No, it's okay,” I said. “Thanks, Mom.”

“Are you sure you can't come out this weekend and look around?”

“Mom, I really don't want to move.”

I heard a long sigh on my mother's end of the line.

“We'll talk when I get home,” she said.

  .    .    .

I love my mother. I really do. But I also know what she can be like. She's not the kind of person to settle. When she does something, she does it all the way. She also takes things—all things—seriously. Especially her job. When she was in law school she was always studying. She'd have a law book propped open on the kitchen counter while she was cooking. Once she started practicing, she spent long hours in her home office, preparing whatever case she was working on. That makes her a good lawyer. At least, that's what people say.

But I had never really thought much about her actual job. She defends people who are accused of breaking the law. Sometimes these people have been accused of serious crimes, like murder. Sometimes, as in the case of James's brother, they have been accused of murdering a child. When that happens, it's my mother's job to do whatever she can to defend her client against the charge. That can mean relentless questioning of a witness to point out any problems with their stories, anything that will create doubt in the minds of the jury. I had never thought much about that, either.

Until now.

It had never occurred to me that there were times, maybe plenty of times, when my mother did her job so well that innocent people ended up getting hurt, the way James had. My mom was always happy when she won her case. It had never occurred to me to consider the other side, the losing side—families and loved ones of the victims who had been hoping their nightmares would end. It had never occurred to me that some people might really have gotten away with murder—thanks to my mother.

James would hate me if he knew who I really was—who my mom was. I felt a heavy lump in my stomach. Okay, so James had changed his name. He didn't want anyone to know about his past. But it was bound to come out sooner or later who my mother was. And then what?

Should I tell him before he heard it from someone else? What would he think, especially after confiding in me what he was keeping secret from everyone else?

Part of me wanted to confess to James. The other part, a bigger part, wished I had never met him.

  .    .    .

Morgan called me soon after I had finished talking to my mother.

“I'm at the mall,” she said breathlessly. “You know, to exchange that top I bought last week.”

“Uh-huh.” I was still thinking about the bombshell my mom had dropped on me. Move? There was no way. I liked it right where I was.

“Robyn, I just saw Nick.”

“Congratulations,” I said. “Seems like everyone sees more of him than I do. Did you talk to him?”

Silence.

“Morgan?”

“The thing is,” Morgan said slowly, “he was kind of kissing another girl.”

“Kind of kissing?” I said. “What girl?”

“She was really pretty, Robyn. Tall and thin, with long blonde hair—totally dyed,” she added.

“Danny.”

I heard a gasp.

“That was Danny? She looks like a supermodel.”

Terrific.

Morgan must have realized what she'd said. “What I mean is—”

“She's gorgeous. I know. And Nick was kissing her? You're sure?”