In the Wake of Wanting (56 page)

My phone rings softly next to me as I work on the final few paragraphs of the article. It’s two in the morning, and Coley had finished her work and gone to bed hours ago. Seeing that it’s Danny calling, I answer it.

“Hey,” I say to him, wondering what news he has for me. I’d left him a message earlier, just asking for anything he wanted to contribute to the article.

“Did I wake you?”

“No, I’m just finishing up. You always work this late?”

“When I’m waiting on important results, I do,” he says. “I managed to put a rush on the processing of Pryana’s rape kit. I didn’t want to tell you guys because they couldn’t guarantee me when they’d have it completed.”

“And?”

“We have DNA evidence now. It’s Asher in her case, too.”

“Is this an attorney-client-privilege thing that I shouldn’t know about and put in this article?” I ask him.

“She signed off that the results could be released to you for the purpose of this investigation. I’ve already left her a message to call me, but I also told her that I would be talking to you.”

“Well, she approves the story before it runs. I just wanted to make sure it wouldn’t be a shock if she read about it from my submission before you spoke with her.”

“She should be fine.”

“So what’s the max sentence we’re looking at so far?”

“We have to prove he’s guilty first in a court of law.”

“Obviously I have full confidence in you. How long can he be put away?”

“We’re looking at a fifteen-year minimum… and a life-sentence maximum. That’s if he gets the harshest penalties and if the jury believes we have enough evidence in the cases of Lucy and Kamiesha.”

“Fifteen years is bullshit. He’s still a young man in fifteen years.”

“I don’t disagree at all. Hopefully the judge and jury will agree with us,” Danny says. “Anyway. I hope this helps with your story.”

“It certainly does. It doesn’t help with my
sleep
, but it helps with the story immensely.”

“Sleep’s what you do in retirement,” he tells me. “You have plenty of time for that.”

“Well, thank you. Go… do more work or something.”

“On it,” he says, ending the call.

Never having thought I’d have these DNA results, I go back through the article and decide it needs to be reorganized and partially rewritten to accommodate the important addition.
Sleep’s what I’ll do in retirement.

Or maybe in Palau.

chapter twenty-five

Sitting up straight across from us in the jet, Joel signs something quickly to Coley. I don’t catch any part of it, but her response is a simple nod. He reaches for his tie and unknots it, pulling it through his collar. I can tell he’s trying to be nonchalant about it. I’m guessing he dressed up when he heard my parents were coming with us to Nyall’s hospital and thought it appropriate, but felt uncomfortable when he saw that my mother was in jeans and even my father had forgone any sort of neckwear today.

“Your professors are okay with this?” Mom asks from the row in front of us, peeking back. I’d told them about Palau just before takeoff, and they were both surprised to hear of the sudden travel plans.

“Yes,” Coley and I both respond. Coley then signs to Joel what my mother just asked.

“Palau?” Joel asks aloud. I unbuckle my seatbelt while Coley converses with him, then move to the row my parents are in.

“I wrote up a brief description of what happened,” I explain to Mom and Dad. “The crime that was committed. What we went through on campus yesterday. I think everyone saw the madness of what our lives were like over the weekend. No one questioned the need for us both to escape for a little bit while we attempted to let it blow over. They said as long as we keep up with our work, it’s fine. They were very sympathetic–especially Coley’s professors. They clearly see her as more of a victim than me; most people do.” I nod my head. “I get it, but… I’m not proud of this.”

“You wrote the note for both of you?” I nod my head to answer my father’s question. “May I read it?”

I pull up the email on my phone and hand it to him, then watch his expressions as he peruses the text. He smiles at me when he’s finished and hands the phone to my mother for her to read it.

“They see her as the victim because that’s what you’ve described in this letter, Jackson,” he says. “You barely mention your own anguish.”

“It seems paltry when compared to hers.”

“It shouldn’t be a competition, though.”

“I’m honestly having a hard time describing how this whole thing affects me, though. Am I embarrassed? I mean… no. Ashamed? No. It’s the first time I’ve been unable to communicate what I feel. And having a bunch of strangers telling me I should be proud of it–having girls hit on me because of it–it’s… it’s confusing.”

“Complicated,” he states.

“It was an invasion of privacy. Of trust. But after having security experts and a federal agent sweep my apartment, I feel pretty secure in there now. I sure as hell don’t feel comfortable, but I feel safe. I don’t think she does, so I’m doing things to try to make it feel as private as possible until the new place is ready. Keeping the blinds closed. Making sure she’s watching when I set the alarms or letting her do it herself. But I am naturally inclined to trust people, and I think she’s the opposite. She was brought up to question people.”

“Didn’t we teach you to do that?” Dad asks.

“You always did it for me,” I admit, feeling a bit lacking in self-sufficiency at the moment. I shake away the insecurity. “I think it would be different if I had been fully…
exposed
. Or if it had been full-on intercourse. Sorry, Mom,” I say, feeling my skin break out in blotchiness. “I almost feel fortunate for myself that we’d gone to the bedroom for the rest of it. That people didn’t see more of me. If I’d been fully… naked? I would be mortified right now. And in that, I feel empathy for what she’s going through. That’s where the note came from. But I don’t feel so bad for myself because it could have been so much worse.

“I feel horrible for her. I want to get her out of town. I want to show everyone that we’re dating for her benefit; not mine. I don’t care what people think about me… but I don’t want people calling her a slut or men objectifying her. I’d love for people to know the Coley that I know.”

“Then let her speak for herself,” Mom says. “She has a voice. Let her use it.”

“She’s had every opportunity to,” I argue. “She asked for my help to write our professors. It was more efficient to do it that way. I haven’t done anything without her wanting me to.”

“I’m not saying that, honey. You’re misunderstanding me.”

“I think your mother is suggesting you give her a forum.”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. I noticed her scribbling in her notebook in the car on the way here. I don’t think she’s writing a grocery list. It’s how you get when you write fiction. Was she writing poetry?”

“Yeah.”

“Have you read it?”

“Only what she shows me.”

“What does she write about?”

“Things that inspire her. Things that happen in her life.” Mom looks at me, allowing me to catch up. “You think she’s writing about what happened?”

“Ask her. And ask her if what she’s writing are things other people should read. Will they help other people? Will they help her heal?”

“And then what?”

“Get her an audience. You have a blog following of empathetic people who want to help others. Who better than to see what Coley has to say?”

“I could tie it in with a non-profit here in the city. There was one she mentioned she wanted to raise funds for.”

Dad smiles. “Now you’re thinking.”

“That’s how people get to know the Coley
you
know. It’s not about taking her on a trip somewhere and leaking pictures,” Mom says. “Although I know I’m not talking you out of this trip…”

“No,” I tell her with a laugh.

“It’s not like you to run away from your problems, but if you think it’s best for both of you, then do it. Get your homework done, but have a little fun. And work on your books. Let her work on her poetry. On top of all of your school work, you’ve been dealing with circumstances no one should have to. Carrying the burden of proof to make sure Asher couldn’t hurt anyone else? Accepting that someone you trusted was behind these vile attacks? Losing the majority of your friends? And then adding the breakup with Zai to the mix, Trey. It’s an undue amount of stress on a nineteen-year-old kid.”

“I feel like I’ve aged ten years in the past few weeks.”

Mom takes my hand in hers. “I’ve been impressed with your maturity, Trey. And I’m sorry we jumped to conclusions Saturday morning.”

I smile at them both, understanding what they must have thought. Regardless of the fact that I’ve rarely made any missteps–except for partaking in a little too much alcohol one too many times when I was in high school–I know it was hard to imagine the reality of what actually happened. Having an apartment bugged with a video camera isn’t something that happens every day. It’s much more common to hear about some idiot taking an explicit video or picture that inevitably finds itself into the wrong hands.

“I blame Livvy,” I say to them, joking, but then remembering that she
did
have a situation where an explicit photo taken by Jon ended up in the wrong hands. “It’s always her fault,” I add, still grinning. “But you have to remember, I’ve always been the better child. Your favorite.”

My parents laugh. “Get back there with your guests,” Dad says. “You’ve got some sign language to learn so you can teach us. I hate not being able to talk to Joel.”

“Yeah,” I agree. “Coley sent me links this morning. I’m going to study a lot in Palau.”

“Send them to me. I want to be much better prepared next time we see him.”

“Me, too,” Mom adds. “I don’t want him to feel awkward and isolated when he’s around us.”

“I’ll do it right now,” I tell them, returning to my seat. “Coley,” I say, spelling her name in ASL. “Help me out.” I know those signs, at least. She nods her head. I speak slowly in case Joel tries to read my lips, but my request is for her to translate. “I’d love to feature some of your poetry on my blog.” I manage to communicate “I’d love,” but nothing more.

She speaks and signs at the same time. “That doesn’t really fit with your objective. Aren’t you being graded on your site for a class this semester?”

I sign as much as I can, being thoughtful of my word choices as I speak. “Yes. But I think I can pair them up with the organization for women you wanted to raise money for. That way, I stay on target with my mission statement, but branch out creatively. Another one of my goals is actually to expand content, so you’d be helping to get me some extra credit–not that it’s the reason I’m asking.

“Do you… have you written anything that might fit with that?”

She nods and bites her lip, staving off tears. “I would love to work with you.” She doesn’t say it out loud, but I understand all the hand signs.

I silently thank her, too, then link her fingers with mine. Joel gives me the red notebook I presented her last Friday, opened to a page. “Read this one,” he instructs me.

A good man treads away

But his thoughts stay

Behind with the woman he loves

But can't hold. Not today.

In the wake of wanting

He abandons parts of himself:

His heart. His desire. His future.

His future.

His future, he casts aside in his past

And for that, what has he to live for? To work toward? 

In the wake of wanting

He leaves everything and retains nothing,

And that has to be good enough for him.

For her.

For now.

Another man runs.

Can he even be called a man?

It
never looks back; never gives thought

To the women it's taken

But not once loved.

In the wake of wanting

It
leaves no discernible trace.

It's cold. Methodic. Ruthless.

It lives in the present.
It
. 
Lives
.

While the victims in its past slowly shy away

Lie awake

Cry, ashamed; pray to die.

In the wake of wanting

Through taking everything, it has even less, yet presses on.

Taking, taking. Taking more. 

“Laureate, this is startling… raw.” I don’t know a better word for it.

“I just find it so confounding how two men from such similar backgrounds can deal with one emotion–one feeling–in such vastly differing ways.
Desire
. One can have restraint and self-control, so thoughtful about every decision he makes because of the chain reaction they’ll set off to the women involved. The other moves forward with no care or caution for the human lives he tramples. How does that happen?