by Mara White
A woman named Gloria, last night’s recipient of my uneaten bologna sandwich and milk, squeezes my elbow and whispers ‘luck’ to me as I Ieave. It’s not like we’ve exchanged numbers but the extra sandwich at least provided me with a shallow sense of security that she might object to my being physically assaulted, even if only as a means to extra snacks. Both Oscar’s and my fears turned out to be unfounded as the holding tank has been nearly empty and the few women inside clearly didn’t have socializing on the agenda. My cashmere sweater garnered a few dirty looks upon arrival but my silence has been returned with silence.
A sleepless night in jail is a long stretch to be alone with my thoughts, a catalyst for a self-induced dark night of the soul. It’s nothing but time and space to think about what I’ve done wrong and what I could have done differently. Those are the first round of thoughts that plagued this particular guilty repentant. The second wave contained desperate thoughts of atonement, elaborate plans of how to undo my wrongs and make amends to all of those who’ve been hurt by my actions. Once I hashed out all of those plans, salvation came in the acceptance of my fate. This is what I’ve done. I was meant to do those things. It’s okay that I’m here. I am true to myself.
Amor fati.
My mind has exhausted the culpability rollercoaster. I’ve obtained my solace in knowing that I love my husband and my children as well as my lover. I know that they love me.
I haven’t reached enlightenment by the time my docket number is called but I’ve come close to calming my torturous thoughts and staved off being completely eaten alive by guilt.
I half expect to see Robert presenting himself as my defense attorney but I know better and I’m relieved to see that he’s hired someone I don’t immediately recognize. The pen by the courtroom is an enormous step up from the holding tank, and I find myself fantasizing about spending tonight here if the judge denies bail. I honestly have no idea how severe my crime is or what the punishment could look like. I’m just banking on Robert’s abilities to make sure that I walk out of the courtroom alongside him today. I wince at the thought of reporters flocking to exploit my indiscretions. I don’t care about my own reputation, it’s Robert and the girls that I want to protect.
Before the case is called I’m given a few minutes alone with my defense attorney. The interview booth I’m ushered into appropriately feels like a confessional. The attorney introduces himself as Mr. Randolph. He’s older, maybe mid-sixties and is wearing a sharp, steel-gray suit. He’s definitely not of the court appointed league, which tells me that Robert has hired him and will probably be present in the courtroom. Oscar’s words about being arraigned with Jaylee flash in my head and I’m instantly terrified of Jaylee and Robert coming face to face.
“Will Jaylee Inoa be in the courtroom with me?” I let it out unable to contain my fears.
“He’s being arraigned from hospital, I believe,” says Mr. Randolph, his eyebrow arching up ever so slightly.
I wish it wasn’t the first thing that came out of my mouth. I’m sure he’s an acquaintance of Robert’s and now I’ve given him the wrong impression. Or at least not the impression I wanted to give. He asks me what seem like a lot of non-relative questions about my ties to the community but then explains that it’s only precautionary in case the judge were to decide against setting bail. He tells me that I’ve really got nothing to worry about, that I should be home in my own bed tonight. With Robert. Where I should have stayed last night. It’s been less than 24 hours since I made the decision that is about to alter my life dramatically. I’ll only be home in my own bed if Robert allows me to return there. The fact that Robert showed up at the precinct leads me to believe that he’s more concerned with supporting me than he is with punishing me, at least for right now. His loyalty is humbling.
Robert is indeed sitting in the courtroom and we briefly make eye contact as I go to stand before the judge. There is no malice in his face, only concern. Words and papers are exchanged rather quickly between the judge and the two attorneys. The terms and numbers mean almost nothing to me as I strain to decipher my current circumstance. I wish I’d paid more attention years ago when I helped Robert to study for his law school exams. I’m sweating and trembling not so much out of fear but out of humiliation. I clasp my hands behind my back and look up at the judge trying to show him that I accept my penance with my body language.
The judge sets bail at ten thousand dollars. Double the amount that got me into this mess. I have no idea whether this is standard or in someway reflective of my crime. I turn to look at Robert and he remains unreadable. My attorney looks indifferent as well. I do realize that it means I’m going home.
Three hours later, I’m released from handcuffs and I rush into Robert’s waiting arms. He squeezes me tightly and rubs my back reassuringly. The early spring sun is doing it’s best to shine as Robert and I descend the courtroom steps. My hand is tightly clasped in his. There’s an Escalade with tinted windows waiting for us, only a driver, no paparazzi.
“I’m using a driver from work. There was some public interest but the reporters mostly showed up uptown,” Robert says by way of explanation for the car.
Once inside Robert encircles me with his arms and pulls me against his chest. He kisses my head and brings his chin to rest there.
“Are you hungry?” he asks.
“I am. I couldn’t stomach the food. I need coffee.”
Robert gives the driver an address and we pull away, almost too easily, from last night’s nightmare. There’s so much left unspoken between us right now. It’s as if the idea of fighting about it or hashing out the details is too exhausting to even consider. I lean back in my seat and Robert massages my hand in his.
“Are you okay, honey? I mean – did anything happen to you?”
“You mean in jail or last night?”
“Jail. I know most of last night’s details from the precinct.”
“Jail is awful, but nothing you can’t survive for a night. It’s more your own head that’s your enemy in there.”
“The girls are with Carmen. They think you’re at your mother’s until tomorrow. I wasn’t sure how much to tell them.”
“Thanks.”
“Jaylee’s fine. I mean, physically he’s going to be okay. There are multiple charges, Kate. He shot at a cop, missed, but still, really serious. He took a bullet. He’s at the hospital. Janinie’s with him.”
“Did you check in on them?” I ask incredulously. It almost sounds like he’s taken the case. Why the hell would he be concerned with Jaylee’s well being?
“I was there. I, I couldn’t say no to Janinie. She’s so young and she was really scared. She begged me to be there while he was questioned last night. They didn’t – they don’t have anybody.”
“Are you representing him?” Why else would Robert agree to be there during questioning?
“No, no, of course not. I just felt – I don’t know – I had to do something. This is a tragedy on a lot of levels. I love you, Katie. I don’t want to lose you.”
His declaration sends chills up and down my spine, but with it a wave of nausea. Guilt induced nausea.
“So now you’re taking care of Jaylee too.” Stop being a martyr Robert. It’s bad enough that you’re being so kind to me.
“That wasn’t my motivation. I felt like I had to understand for myself how caught up in this mess we actually are. Did you have any idea who his father is?”
“I’m so sorry, Robert.” The tears make their grand entrance. I held them back all night and I no longer have the strength to do so. I hate that Robert has to console me when it should be the other way around.
“Pull over here, would you?” Robert directs the driver to stop in front of a cafe.
I let it all out while he’s inside – choking and hiccupping on my sobs. The driver says nothing but passes a box of tissues over the seat to me. Everyone is being so nice to me and instead of making me feel good – it makes me feel like shit. I’m not worthy of
their sympathy. I fucked up.
Robert returns to the car with a large coffee for me and an entire bag filled with breakfast food.
“I wasn’t sure what you were up for so I got a little bit of everything.”
Inside the bag are bagels, pastries, yogurt and juice. It all seems so decadent after the terrible rations of the holding tank.
“Just take us back uptown, no rush, drive locally,” Robert says to the driver.
Robert reaches into his coat pocket and produces my wedding and engagement rings. My gut clenches in shame. I know where he must have gotten them from.
“Wear these for me, Katie.”
“Jaylee gave them to you?” He’s giving me back, officially, once and for all.
“I guess I’m an idiot for not noticing they were gone. Jaylee told me that he wanted to play fair in the hospital, no secrets and no lies. When I agreed he handed me these. I was pretty taken aback to say the least.”
I slip my rings back on and the weight of them feels so solid, so grounding. I’m speechless and I feel the tears gathering again, threatening to spill over. It feels like a moment and I want to tell him how much I love him, how much I appreciate everything he’s done. God knows I don’t deserve any of it.
“There are probably some reporters lingering uptown. This way there won’t be any speculation about our marriage.”
Oh. The rings aren’t symbolic of our enduring love. They’re a prop. This isn’t emotional for Robert, it’s practical.
“You know I haven’t been with him since I told you it was over. No contact, nothing.”
“I know,” he says and squeezes my hand.
“Did Jaylee tell you?” I don’t want Robert to think that these last six months have been a lie. God forbid he get the impression that all we’ve been working on – trying to rebuild the trust – was a front on my part. I’ve denied myself contact with Jaylee despite feeling the desire to see him with every fiber of my being.
“No, Kate, I’ve had you tracked,” Robert replies matter-of-factly with all the confidence in the world.
“You what?” My husband’s been keeping professional tabs on me. He doesn’t trust me at all.
“Fool me once, Kate, shame on you. Fool me twice . . . I’m done playing around. I’m not sharing what’s rightfully mine.”
Robert releases my hand and grips my thigh tightly and possessively.
“Is that what our relationship is based on now? Instead of mutual trust and respect, now we’re down to spying and keeping?”
“I didn’t change the rules, Kate, you did. Remember that.”
When we pull onto our street I see the news vans and the reporters waiting.
“Shit!” Robert mutters under his breath. “I’ll come around to your side and let you out. Don’t say anything to them and keep your head down as you walk toward the house.”
I know he’s only trying to protect me but it pisses me off. This isn’t his case. I’m not his client. I’m not his property either. I feel violated that he’s been having me followed all this time. I jump down from the Escalade myself without waiting for him and walk briskly toward the house shielding my face with my bag of breakfast. I’m not showing a united front for the sake of the press if we’re not truly living one.
“Mrs. Champion, will you and your husband be posting Inoa’s bail?” one of the reporters asks.
His bail. Shit, I hadn’t even thought of that. Otherwise he goes to Riker’s. I know that much from television shows. My heart sinks because I can’t bear the image of my beautiful Jaylee in jail. Strong, confident, golden eyed . . .
“Yes!” I turn around and hurl my answer at the reporter before I even consider what the implications are. I watch Robert’s eyebrows shoot up and his mouth fall open. I march toward the house and Robert follows close behind me. I can feel the anger radiating off of him.
“Mrs. Champion, one more question!”
“Mr. Champion, is it true you’ll be representing your wife’s lover?”
Now it’s Robert’s turn to lose his composure. He spins to confront the reporter, his arm lifted, his index finger pointing accusatively.
“No!” he yells in the direction of the reporter who asked. This is how they capture him in the paper, finger cocked, a quizzical expression on his face. Thankfully the bag shields me and the only pictures published are ones of my back.
Robert slams the door and locks all of the deadbolts as if the reporters were going to follow us right into our own home.
“His bail?” Robert towers over me his face leering and full of hate. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing, Kate? What the hell are you trying to prove? Do you no longer have any regard for your family?”
“I’ll use my own money.” I don’t feel like arguing with him. I just want to shower and sleep. “I’ll use my own money and you don’t have to say or do anything. Just stay out of my way on this, Robert.”
“It’s not over between you two, is it?” Robert asks, the sleepless night finally showing on his handsome face. He falls back into his favorite chair, coat and shoes still on, a distant look on his face. “In fact, maybe this is just the beginning.”
“No Robert, it’s the end. I told you it’s been over for a while. This is the last thing I’ll do. I promise.”
“You’re the one writing this story, Kate. You just have to decide if it’s a story where love triumphs and perseveres. Or is it going to be a tragedy where love ends in broken hearts and destruction? Only you know the outcome.”
He’s right, but the scary thing is, I have no idea which love story Robert is talking about.
CHAPTER 17
My entire body is buzzing and my limbs are on fire. Even the turmoil of the last twenty-four hours hasn’t sated my desire to see Jaylee, to hear his voice and to feel his touch. All of the anticipation that built in me the night before last is still reverberating throughout my body. I risked everything just to be able to see him and instead I got nothing. No glimpse, no breath, nothing.
My mind wanders to the hospital and the thought of him lying alone, in pain. Before I have time to rationalize, to mentally tell myself ‘no,’ my body is acting. Silently pulling back the covers, grabbing my discarded clothing, tiptoeing out of the bedroom. Robert is sleeping soundly, no doubt as worn out as I am from the whole ordeal. Sneaking away from him has become a recurring practice.
In the foyer, I pull my calf-high black leather boots on over my jeans and scribble a quick note to Robert, which I tape to the hallway mirror. I tell him that I’ve gone to see Janinie. It’s obviously a lie. I don’t for a second expect him to believe it, but somehow Janinie has become a buffer between us. The innocent lamb that we can both tend to while we ignore the lumbering elephant. I grab the keys to the Range Rover but then stop and think better of it. I’ll walk. I want to be as inconspicuous as possible.
On the short stretch to the hospital, my heart pounds recklessly in my chest, and the sound is so unsettling that I start to inhale in short, uneven gasps. I’m a junkie and the near miss of getting my fix before the arrest has me desperate with need. It’s escalated my sensory memory of him and I can almost taste him. His scent is branded deep within and the memory of it envelops me. He is everywhere, in my head and my heart and most insistently, in my body. The only way to make it stop is to feed it. My body and mind are unappeasable and drag my conscious behind them like a child in full tantrum. I need this drug like I’ve never needed anything.
Sweat forms in my cleavage and along my upper lip despite the fact that the night air is cold enough for my exhale to linger before me in short, uneven puffs. I’m not sure I’ll even be allowed to see him. He’s under arrest, after all, and I’m definitely not his lawyer. He’s likely to have a police officer keeping guard and might even be in a special wing of the hospital reserved for such things. I have no idea what my plan is. I’m just following my own body like a starving animal on a scent trail.
Kicking myself for not thinking of it sooner, I tak
e my phone out to text Oscar. Jaylee added him to my contacts after he went through my phone and systematically deleted all of my male contacts – including my father, Robert’s brothers, and my colleagues. An act so childish it should have made me angry, but instead I found his possessiveness endeared him to me even more. He added Oscar’s number presumably because he’s one of the only men who he can trust. A pang of guilt hits my gut thinking that I may have torn an irreparable divide between them. Oscar is, or was, obviously, Jaylee’s confidant and best friend and I forced him to bend to my demands because I can’t control myself. I knew it could fracture their bond. Oscar even warned me. I prepare myself for both anger and rejection.
Oscar pings right back.
Kate, Jay’s on the 4th fl rm 408. Cop outside. No visits. Handcuffed to f-ing bed.
I respond
Flash, I’m going to try to see him now.
Did you bring your magic?
What magic?
Ur Husband – sorry bad joke- heard he got you sprung and repped Jay – good looking out.
I’m not answering that. The line-up of ambulances on 165th street signals my arrival and reminds me that Jaylee is here because he’s hurt. I put my glasses on, pull my hair into a low ponytail and cross my fingers in the pocket of my blazer. I’ll try to pull off reporter. They work all hours of the night.
The initial security at the entrance gives me a yawn and a pass with a hospital map and 4F scribbled on it. I sweat even more on the slowest four- floor elevator ride of my life. The doors open and I walk a few steps to a busy nurses’ station. From what I can tell, he’s being housed in a regular patient wing. He must not be considered that much of a threat.
