Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 134746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
She doesn’t have to say what things she means.
But if I think about August, I’m going to break.
She only shakes her head with another smile. “Actually, I’m here for me. I’m selfish enough to prevail on your support, if you wouldn’t mind. You see . . .” She looks uncomfortable. “The trial is in a few hours.”
I frown, warming my hands on my teacup. “There shouldn’t be a trial. Sorry, but you’ve basically surrendered and agreed to Marissa’s demands. It’s a civil case, not criminal. A settlement doesn’t need a court date, does it?”
“Yes, well . . .” She sighs heavily. “Marissa wants a spectacle. She wants it trotted out in front of a judge with all of us there—not you, no, but at least myself and my niece and nephew. A private settlement isn’t enough. She wants a full court circus.”
Gran scoffs. “How tacky. She wants to drive the final nail in. Make it as humiliating as possible.”
“Apparently so. I’ve tried to be graceful, considering the situation, but this really is rather tasteless.” Clara shakes her head. “Deb’s very distraught. She has enough work on her plate. August, he’s nowhere to be found—he’s turned his phone off. I haven’t seen him for days. He’s likely run off to Taos or Ketchikan or some other far-flung place to find his perfect brooding nest.”
Despite myself, I snicker.
Yeah, that’s Gruffykins, all right.
“So you see,” Clara finishes, “I’m on my own, without a friend in my corner. And if I’m about to go through with this, I would be eternally grateful for your company, Elle. That is, if you wouldn’t mind coming.”
I don’t know if I can do that.
I don’t know if I can stand there passively while this woman gives up her life’s work, all for an idea that means so much to her and me. And all to this greedy mess of a woman who’s only doing this because she needs to hurt someone to make her own pain better.
But I can’t leave Clara to face hell alone.
I stare down into my tea. My reflection looks up at me, the tea trembling like it shares the nerves I’m trying not to show.
August won’t be there, I tell myself.
I won’t have to see him and hurt quietly in the courtroom while he looks anywhere but at me.
So I smile, lifting my head.
“Sure,” I say, pushing my chair back. “Just let me get dressed.”
Twenty minutes later, and I match with Clara.
I’ve picked out a bright-blue A-skirt in almost the same shade as her drape, with a short-sleeved white silk blouse and a small blue scarf at the neck to pair with it. It’s fine for court attire—professional but bright. The wings of my eyeliner match, with their accent of pearl shimmer.
I kiss Gran on the way out after she turns down the invitation to join us, then ride with Clara to the courthouse in an Uber.
We’re quiet in the car. Our nerves speak volumes.
She looks so anxious, the sorrow hovering over her like a cloak.
It still doesn’t add up.
If she really meant that confession, she’d either be feeling guilt or regret. Maybe even shame.
She’d be carrying the weight of getting caught, of feeling awful for what she’d stolen across decades of cruel deception. And even if her emotions had the appropriate chagrin, she still wouldn’t act like she’s almost in mourning.
You only grieve something lost when it’s really yours.
That’s why this doesn’t make any freaking sense.
What am I still missing?
The car drops us at the courthouse. It’s not that busy, people streaming in and out, handling their own business or standing around with busy-looking lawyers.
I give Clara my arm to lean on for comfort as we check which courtroom we’re assigned to; then we make our way through the halls to the wood-paneled room.
There’s hardly anyone inside.
Just a few lawyers settled at tables on opposing sides. I see Marissa with her team, and Deb with the Little Key defense. Her eyes are red, but her face is cold and composed.
There’s an empty chair waiting for Clara.
A few reporters scroll their phones in the seating area, looking either anxious or disinterested.
The judge is an older man, balding and with a monk’s crown around the back of his head. The overhead lights reflect off the dark-brown skin of his skull and his narrow rimless glasses.
As we enter, the Little Key lawyers glance back at us. One lawyer catches the judge’s eye and nods. He straightens, shuffling through some pages on his desk.
“Everyone’s here?” the judge asks, his voice echoing in the solemn chamber.
I pat Clara’s hand and give her a gentle nudge. She looks petrified, but I know she’ll get through this, no matter what happens.
She’s tied with Gran as the strongest woman I’ve ever met.
“I’m here if you need me,” I whisper.
“I know. Thank you, dear.”