Corrupted (24 page)

“I
don't
understand!” Bennie blurted out, her throat catching.

“Aw, babe, don't cry.”

“I'm not,” Bennie said, tears brimming in her eyes. “You don't have to do this, not now. Just think it over.”

“I thought about it. I'm doing the right thing for everybody.”

“Not for me!” Bennie cried, raising her voice.

“It is. I know it is.” Declan's resolve seemed to strengthen. “These boys are my responsibility. This is my family. It's my house and I have to get it in order.”

“But I can help—”

“I don't need help. If you want to help me, then let me do what I need to do. Let me go.”

“I can't!”

“Yes you can. You can do anything. You're strong—”

“Declan, I'm not that strong, I'm begging you—”

“Don't, please. You know I'm right. I have to hang up. Take care of yourself.”

“Declan, no, I love you!” Bennie cried out, desperate.

“Good-bye, sweetheart. Forgive me. I love you, too.” Declan hung up, and the call went dead.

Bennie pressed
REDIAL
, frantic. She listened to her call ring, wiping her eyes. There had to be a way she could convince him. She had told him she loved him, and he loved her back. She couldn't let him go now. She couldn't let him go, ever. The call went to voicemail, but she hung up and pressed
REDIAL
again, a frantic urge she couldn't control and didn't try. Her whole life had been about arguing back, convincing, persuading when there was no hope of success, and she wasn't about to stop now. She couldn't take no for an answer, not to a question that mattered the most.

The phone rang and rang in her ear, then it went to voicemail again.

She hung up and pressed
REDIAL
, with tears in her eyes.

 

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

The next few days were a blur in which Bennie went through the motions but felt lost in her own world, disconnected from everyone around her. She woke up Christmas morning, forcing herself not to call Declan anymore or check the phone for texts or emails from him. She took off her bracelet and put it in the bottom drawer of her jewelry box, so she wouldn't have to look at it again. She put the cashmere scarf she'd bought him on the top shelf of the closet and spent the rest of Christmas finishing Yvonne's complaint. She went to the office the day after Christmas, met Yvonne and the other two plaintiffs, and hammered out detailed affidavits on her laptop. She spent the weekend finalizing the affidavits and by Monday morning had the complaints and the affidavits ready, then she had them hand-delivered to GHT and waited for the bomb to explode.

The associates came back from Miami, and Bennie listened to their funny vacation stories, trying to be a part of the action, but apart from it, inside. It struck her that none of them knew about Declan, Jason, or anything that had happened in her life, which had been turned upside down and then right-side up again, so that it looked exactly the way it always had, but was, in fact, utterly changed.

The rest of the month went much the same way, with the world getting back to business after the holidays, the clients calling with questions, the old cases becoming active again, and new cases coming in. Bennie got a hefty settlement for Yvonne and the others, and in any other frame of mind, she would've been deliriously happy. But she was muting her emotions, distancing herself from her own heart, so she felt only as if she had checked a box, completed a task on the Things-to-Do list entitled Getting Back to Normal.

Bennie noticed that in time she thought about Declan less and less, and she stopped checking her phone for texts. Lou would ask her about Sergeant Right, but she put him off and he stopped. She got an official notice from the Superior Court on Jason's case scheduling oral argument, which meant she was still Attorney of Record and Matthew hadn't hired another lawyer yet. She called him several times to ask what was going on, but he didn't answer or return her calls.

The time for oral argument came and went, then she got another notice from the Superior Court, dismissing Jason's appeal for lack of prosecution. She read it again and again, heartbroken. Matthew must never have hired another lawyer. It didn't make sense, but she couldn't figure out what happened. She'd tried to put the case out of her mind, but she didn't succeed. She couldn't forget Jason. She couldn't stand not knowing whether he was still in River Street, moved to the new facility, or back in middle school. She called River Street, but didn't get an answer, so she assumed it had been closed completely. She called the new facility, PA Childcare, but they wouldn't give her any information over the phone, one way or the other.

So one Sunday afternoon, Bennie found herself driving back up north, keeping her emotions at bay. She was determined not to feel a single feeling today, but only to gather information. She drove to PA Childcare in Pittston, though it wasn't easy to find, unsigned and surrounded by dark brown woods, covered with snow and ice. She pulled into the long, winding driveway, which led down into a new parking lot, then got out of the car.

The building was brand-new and modern, a sprawling low-profile edifice with a flat roof and an exterior of large brown bricks below, but tan bricks above. Behind it was a paved yard bordered by shiny new cyclone fencing and atop it, barbed concertina wire that glinted in the sun. She walked to the glass box of an entrance, set under a brick overhang, and entered a harshly bright anteroom with a tan tile floor and eggshell-white walls that smelled of fresh paint. There was a window with a smoked glass barricade, scored with a large hole in the center, and behind it she recognized Stan Dulaney, the young guard.

“Hey, old friend!” Bennie called out, and Stan turned, breaking into a smile and coming over to the window.

“Hi, how you been, counselor? What do you think of the new place?” Stan gestured around him in a proprietary way. “A damn sight better than River Street, eh?”

“It sure is. I'm sure it's better for you, and for the kids.”

“I saw they took you off the visitors' list. What's up with that?” Stan frowned.

“I hope Jason got another lawyer.” Bennie didn't elaborate. “Did he?”

“Not that I know of.” Stan shrugged.

“I just came up to check on him. Is he still here?”

“Lefkavick? Sure. Where else would he be?”

Bennie's heart sank. “Can I see him?” she asked, hoping against hope.

“No, sorry.” Stan shook his head, his lower lip puckering. “Wish I could. You know that.”

“I know. Tell me, how is he? How's he doing?”

“He's okay, I guess.” Stan glanced behind him, then leaned closer to the glass. “Totally bald now. Got no eyebrows. It's not a good look, to be honest, like a hard-boiled egg. He wears that cap you gave him, but it doesn't help.”

Bennie sighed inwardly. “Do they tease him?”

“What do you think?”

“Did he ever see a doctor?”

“Not that I know of.”

“How about a psychiatrist? Dr. Vita?”

“I don't know, sorry.” Stan shrugged. “Don't worry. He's only got, like, two weeks left. All he has to do is keep his nose clean. If he doesn't reoffend, he's home free.”

“Right.” Bennie tried not to feel the tightness in her chest.

“We just got a kid back, he reoffended and he got a five-year sentence for aggravated assault. He's not getting out of the system until he's eighteen.”

“Jason's not that kind of kid.” Bennie hesitated. “How about Richie Grusini, who came in with Jason? Is he still here?”

“Yes, he went home but he's back. Got in another fight at school. Ninety-day sentence this time.” Stan shook his head. “The uncle sees him all the time. He brings the twin boys every Sunday. Cute kids.” Stan checked behind him, again. “We got new rules here, really strict. I don't think they'd like me giving you this information.”

“Understood. Take care of yourself.”

“You, too,” Stan said, turning away from the window.

Bennie stood still a moment, alone in the entrance hall, unable to leave the building just yet. She tried to imagine Jason somewhere inside, behind the locked doors and the painted cinder-block walls, all by himself. She wished she could burst through the doors, knock down the walls, and claw her way to him, then grab him, drive off with him, and set him free. But she couldn't, and she didn't. She had to let him go.

She left the building and walked to her car, shoving her hands in her pockets, her head down. She hoped the tension in her chest would dissipate and she climbed into her car, started the ignition, and left the grounds, making her way over the snowy back roads. She drove on autopilot, without really focusing, her heart aching and her breathing shallow. She had driven these roads before, and it was almost as if her car were driving itself. Or at least, that was what she told herself when she turned onto the back road that led to Declan's.

Bennie reached his house and slowed to a stop on the street, leaving the engine running. She didn't know why she was here, but she couldn't
not
come. Snow lay everywhere in a pristine blanket, marked only by deer tracks, and nobody was outside. Smoke curled from the chimney on his roof, but she couldn't tell if there were lights on inside. His truck was parked next to the barn, so he had to be home, and she felt an ache in her chest, the sensation undeniable.

She thought about going in to see him, and how easy it would be. All she had to do was turn off the engine, get out of the car, and knock on his door. The twins would probably be there, too, but she would find a way to explain her presence. If she went in, she would get to see Declan. She would get to hold him again. She could whisper in his ear, hear him laugh, talk to him. She imagined them stealing a kiss, maybe even sneaking upstairs to his bedroom.

It could happen. She could make it happen. But she knew she wouldn't. Because she couldn't be alone with Declan and hide the truth.

That she was pregnant with their child.

Bennie hit the gas. She loved him.

So she let him go.

 

PART TWO

Philadelphia, January 2015

I see it all perfectly; there are two possible situations—one can either do this or that. My honest opinion and my friendly advice is this: do it or do not do it—you will regret both.

—Søren Kierkegaard

 

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Bennie faced the front of Arraignment Court, fighting for emotional control. Declan was entering the courtroom, somber as he supported a distraught Doreen, who had aged more than he had. Identical teenage boys with dark hair and long bangs were with them, their expression stricken, and they had to be the twins, Richie's brothers Mike and Albert. Behind the group was a pretty, petite blonde in her thirties. Bennie wondered if she was with Declan, his girlfriend, or even his wife.

The sight of them sent her into a mental tailspin, corkscrewing backwards through time. She flashed on an image of Declan's face, his confident smile. His arms, his body. The two of them, their heads together, talking in bed all night. She heard the sound of his deep, rich laugh. The terse rhythm of his sentences. She felt the brush of his razor stubble.

The entire courtroom seem to recede for a moment, and the gray-white walls, the modern black pews, the floor-to-ceiling bulletproof glass that separated the bar of court from the gallery, all of her surroundings fell away from her. Bail Commissioner Holloway, in his suit and tie, shuffled papers on his desk at the dais, and yet another defendant appeared on the closed-circuit-TV screen, but all of them went out of focus. The assistant district attorney stood up and said something, then the female public defender replied, their amplified discussion piped through the courtroom, but Bennie could barely hear their voices, lost in her own world.

We're snakebit.

Bennie hadn't seen Declan for thirteen years, and she was astounded that her feelings were that fresh, the wound still new, and the memory of him sharp enough to leave a bleeding edge. She never would have believed it if she hadn't experienced it, but there was a physical reaction. Her cheeks were on fire, her mouth went dry. It didn't feel like love: it felt like panic. She thought she'd sent those emotions packing, but evidently they'd been lying in wait, perfectly preserved in a part of her mind she never accessed, like a room nobody opened anymore.

Her heart was pounding, but she tried to get her act together. Bail Commissioner Holloway was speaking on the closed-circuit-TV screen; Bennie heard Declan and the others whispering among themselves, but Bennie couldn't understand the words. Declan had to have recognized her; she was the only other person in the gallery and she was six feet tall, with a messy blonde topknot.

Her mind raced. She had to have understood at some level that Declan could reappear tonight, but she hadn't let herself think about that. He would be totally unprepared to see her because he couldn't have known that Jason would call her. Or maybe he did know, maybe he was prepared, she had no way to tell. Either way, he had to be hating her now, for representing Jason in Richie's murder.

Bail Commissioner Holloway banged his gavel, then the monitor screen went to static gray before the next defendant would appear. The courtroom fell abruptly silent, and Bennie could hear Declan and the others settling into a pew in the middle of the courtroom, on the right, as far as possible from her. They were still whispering, though she didn't know why, then she realized they didn't want her to hear, because there was no one else in the room.

Bennie checked her watch, 7:45
A.M.
She shifted position on the hard pew, trying to get her head in the game. The purpose of an arraignment was to formally charge the accused with a crime, as well as to set bail. Murder wasn't generally bailable in Philadelphia, so Bennie wasn't expecting to win, but Jason deserved her best try. She owed him nothing less and she couldn't blow a second chance to help him.