Exposure (48 page)

The leak came from inside the DA’s office, that’s what Mariana Davis reported when Kim checked in with her on Monday morning. “No telling who it was, but I’m not surprised. A lot of good defense attorneys get their start there. There’s an audio link already up online—probably in a lot of places by now. But here, let me read to you from the transcript—”

“Can you play the audio, you know, just put your phone to the speaker?”

“I … sure. You’re up for that?”

“I want to hear him.”

“All right. Here we go:”

“Mr. Liles, this is Anthony Winter. I’m hiding in a Vermont barn so I can finish getting things in order, but I’ll be leaving soon, heading outside into … say, zero-ish temps, until hypothermia gets me, because people need to see what this has come to. I can’t save myself, but maybe I’ll save my mom and Amelia, who don’t deserve any of this
.

“Criminal laws are applied to people who do harm, right? Okay, so explain what harm we caused. I
love
Amelia. She loves me. Pretty terrible, better lock us up
. You
though: what about the harm you caused? Seems to me
that after tonight you should be looking at manslaughter charges, if not murder. Wilkes may have loaded the gun, but you pulled the trigger
.

“You spout off about morality and examples and lessons like you’re God’s appointed apostle, and you wait for everyone to cheer you for sweeping trash like us off the streets
.

“We’ll see if they cheer you now.”

Silence, then Mariana was back on the phone. “That’s it. He may have gotten cut off. It’s hard to tell.”

At first, Kim couldn’t speak. That voice, those words, they’d come from Anthony, no question, but this was a side of her son she had only ever glimpsed, a side that could one day have seen him
be
, and
do
—a remarkable side. This was a strong, mature man, a brave, selfless one. When he was backed into a corner he didn’t cower and hold his wrists out for the handcuffs, he fought back, even though he understood that he had to sacrifice himself to do it.
This
was the man she’d raised.

34

NTHONY’S ROOM WAS SILENT ON
M
ONDAY NIGHT, SAVE FOR
the machines that were tethered by yards of wires to almost every part of his body. Kim had been there long enough now that she knew the machines’ names: cardiorespiratory monitor, pulse oximeter, IV pump, transcutaneous O
₂
/CO
₂
monitor, blood pressure monitor, electroencephalograph. Each told her nothing she couldn’t see with her eyes. Anthony had not improved. Oh, there had been a moment late in the morning when some “noise” in his EEG had gotten the nurse excited, but when it didn’t repeat at all during the day, they told her it could have been a machine hiccup, some kind of interference. They said more tests would be done on Tuesday, but that if nothing changed, they’d all need to start thinking about where he should go next. “You never know,” they said, their voices hopeful but their eyes betraying pity and doubt.

Kim understood doubt. She’d had plenty of time to indulge it since Anthony’s first arrest. After what he’d done for her, though, and for Amelia, she felt disloyal and wrong for indulging it now. Now she had to stay strong for him. Determined. She had to insist that everything possible be considered, tried, done. She had to stop seeing him the way she’d overheard the nurses describe his condition on arrival there. Visualization on his behalf, that’s what she needed to do. Only, each time she began conjuring him alert and upright in her mind, she was overcome by memories of him. His infant self, black swirls of hair against his baby-shampoo-scented scalp. Him at three, taking corners on his tricycle tipped on two wheels. His first triumphant soccer goal at five. Her father and Anthony shelving books together, her mother serving him chicken tenders in dinosaur shapes and telling Kim to relax, some processed chicken wasn’t going to kill him.

She desperately wanted the future, but she couldn’t seem to find her way out of the past.

A tentative knocking drew her attention, and she turned to see Amelia at the door. “They said I can see him as long as you don’t mind.”

Kim got up quickly and went to her. Amelia’s eyes were huge, taking in the sight of Anthony. “It’s a little frightening—”

“No,” Amelia said, shaking her head. “I’m not frightened. I … I had a dream last night.” She moved closer to the bed, saying, “He was talking to me.” Then, gently, mindful of the bandages, she took his left hand in both of hers and said to him, “I made it. You were right.”

Kim studied her, this pale, slight girl, a wisp of a thing inside Anthony’s fleece jacket. She was so calm and poised. “Right about what?” Kim asked.

Amelia, her eyes still on Anthony, said, “My dream was so vivid.…” She turned to Kim. “It wasn’t really like a dream at all. It was more like I was having a conversation with him in my sleep. Do you believe in that sort of thing? He said Liles was going to drop all the charges—”

“Has he dropped them?” Kim asked. “I haven’t heard anything.”

“My lawyer says it’s unofficial—but I’m here, aren’t I? Not in jail.”

Kim sat down in the chair she’d long since made her own. What Amelia was saying, it was awfully sweet, and Kim liked indulging her in the idea that it could be in some way real and not, say, a side effect of the anesthesia she’d been given or the pain medication she might still be on. If it could be real, wouldn’t she, his mother, the person here at his bedside hour after hour, wouldn’t she be the one he’d come to, if such a thing were possible? All her attempts at visualization, all her entreaties—if he was communicating, wouldn’t she know?

She said, “I’m glad they let you come here—I know you’ve had a rough time. Our lawyer thinks that what you say—dropped charges—will probably happen, too. Liles is facing too much opposition, now that … now that Anthony’s message is public.”

Amelia put her fingertips on Anthony’s lips, let them just rest there, then she smoothed back a curl of his hair and looped it around her finger. “He told me you really need to get some sleep.”

Kim felt a small laugh bubble up in her. “Did he?”

“Is it all right if I stay?”

“Stay?”

“Until …” She shrugged, tears pooling in her eyes.

Kim swallowed hard. “Yes. Stay. Your parents—”

“They’ll get a hotel room. Let me go tell them. I’ll be right back.”

She left the room, Kim staring after her. If she’d have thought of Amelia seeing him in this condition, she would have imagined her collapsing, sobbing at the sight. This calm, almost serene, version of Amelia seemed as unlikely to be real as the dream she’d recounted. Kim supposed it was exhaustion, supposed that Amelia, like the rest of them, was becoming resigned to the grim probability that although his rewarming treatment had restored some function, it had not restored life.

If that was the case, she thought, her throat closing at the image of it, at the thought that he might already be gone, then at least his body, his organs, could benefit others. She held on to this idea and tried, oh God, she tried hard to distance herself from thoughts of what had to be real, what had to be done in order for that to happen.

Amelia returned, holding some kind of smartphone in her hands. “My dad says we need to see this,” she said, handing it to Kim. She leaned over Kim’s shoulder and pressed a button. The screen filled with the image of Gibson Liles, saying, “My office—and I, personally—was saddened by the news that Anthony Winter is in critical condition after suffering severe hypothermia. It is also quite apparent that Miss Amelia Wilkes has suffered from the events of recent days. I have taken it upon myself to make a thorough review of all the circumstances involving these two, as well as Mr. Winter’s mother, Kim Winter, and on reflection feel that the state would be well to drop the charges against each of them.

“As your servant, I am a mere instrument of justice. I did and do believe that the charges were warranted at the time they were made. However, as so many of you have expressed, these recent events suggest that justice has been done by a power higher than any of us here. My office wishes to state formally that all charges against Ms. Winter, her son, and Ms. Wilkes are dismissed.”

After a silent moment, Amelia said, “So, that’s it.”

Kim handed her the phone. “You expected him to admit he was wrong?”

“I expected … I don’t know.” She shook her head and went to stand close to Anthony. “Liles ruins everything and he still gets to … And Anthony might
never
get to—”

She faced Kim, tears streaming down her cheeks. “It isn’t fair.”

“Life—”

“Isn’t fair, yeah, no kidding.”

Kim stood up and hugged her. “He did this for you—for both of us, but for you especially. To give you the future you deserve. You have to look forward now.”

Amelia pulled away from Kim, wiping her eyes with the backs of her hands. “I don’t want to look forward. I don’t want to live without him.”

“I know.” Kim choked out the words.

“He knew what he was about to do, and still, do you know what he said to me? He said, ‘I’ll see you later.’ ”

“Honey, don’t do this to yourself.”
Or to me
, she thought. “We don’t know what will happen, or when. Maybe … maybe you shouldn’t stay. You should go home, rest, heal, finish out the school year. Take advantage of all the support you’ve gotten. Don’t let what he did be for nothing.”

Amelia was silent for a moment. Then she said, “My mom, she gave up on someone she loved, once. It was too hard to stick by him, she said. Things turned out okay, but she’ll never know what might have happened if she’d toughed it out. Let me stay for tonight, at least. Please?”

Kim recalled Anthony’s voice in his message to Liles.
I
love
Amelia
.

I
love
Amelia
. Such conviction; how could she deny either of them anything? He’d want Amelia to stay if she wanted to.

“All right,” Kim said, sitting down again.

She watched Anthony, his face slack, untroubled, as if showing them that his work was done and there was nothing pressing ahead of him.

I … I really have to go now.…

I love you, Mom
.

She envisioned him standing beside Amelia in the Vermont hospital.
I’ll see you later
.

You have to look forward now
, she’d told Amelia.

Touch and go.

ENCORE

Every blade of grass has its angel that bends
over it and whispers, “Grow, grow.”

—THE TALMUD

MELIA DROPPED THE LAST OF HER BOXES ONTO THE WOODEN
floor just inside the doorway. “Done,” she said. Sweat trickled down her back and along her jawline. “I had no idea it could get this hot here, even in August.”

“You’ve been working like a dog,” Jodi said. “Here.” She made the word two syllables,
hee-ah
, her attempt at a drawl. “Ah made tea the way y’all drink it down home, sweet.”