“You sure did,” Lynne says with a smile for Barb.
“It looks great,” I say. Lynne doesn’t answer. I give up and eat in silence while Dad starts talking about a bunch of everyday things, as if this is just a normal day. He doesn’t seem to realize that his voice is too loud and cheerful to be convincing. I don’t care. It’s better than silence, which is apparently what I’m going to get from Lynne.
I try to talk to her after dinner is over and the chores are done, but she cuts me off, goes to her room, and closes the door.
There’s nothing I can do but wait until she’s ready to tell me what’s bothering her.
Chapter Twenty-One
This might sound strange, but there’s one thing I’m dreading even more than the trial and that’s school. No matter how often I try to tell myself that it will be okay, my stomach hurts at the thought of having to go there and face everyone I know.
How many of them will believe I’m guilty? I hope my friends will stand behind me, but what about the hundreds of kids I know from being in classes together over the years?
There’s almost no time to prepare myself, either. The September semester starts just four days after I get home from Burnaby. I spend a lot of that time sleeping and avoiding talking to anyone who calls. Except for a few conversations with Dori, I’ve spoken to no one outside the house.
I tell Dad I don’t think I can do it. He listens, but later he and Andrea sit me down and give me a very unhelpful speech about facing your problems. It’s clear they’re not going to budge on the subject.
I’m still getting the silent treatment from Lynne most of the time. That hasn’t changed when I sit down at the breakfast table that Tuesday morning. After giving me an icy glance, she pretends to be super-interested in her breakfast.
There are grapefruit halves and cinnamon toast piled on plates, but the thought of eating makes me nauseous. I make a cup of tea and sip it while Barb, hyped up for the first day of school, chatters about her new outfit.
“My friend Polly said I better not wear the same thing as her,” she giggles at one point. “Polly likes Duane, you know. He has freckles. Last year she tried to kiss him!”
This goes on until I can’t take it any longer. I tell Barb, “Will you please stop talking for a minute! You’re making my head hurt.”
The silence is instant. So is my remorse. “I’m sorry,” I say quickly, “I’m just nervous about school today.”
Barb takes her plate and moves around the table to sit beside Lynne. She seats herself sideways on the chair so she’s turned away from me.
“Very nice,” says Lynne, like she’s never been impatient with Barb in her whole life.
I feel as though I can’t quite breathe. Maybe some fresh air will help. I pick up my cup and go down the hallway toward the front door. Except, voices in the living room stop me. Dad and Andrea, speaking quietly, are talking about me.
“I don’t know why you always insist on taking her side,” Andrea is saying.
“Be reasonable,” my Dad tells her. “This is really hard for Lexie. I just think we could cut her some slack if she wants to wait a week or so.”
“If she wants to wait,” Andrea says with a sharp laugh. “I’m surprised she hasn’t manufactured some phony illness to get out of it. You can be sure that if you give her the choice, she’ll jump on it. But, you’re just giving in to her. As usual.”
As usual? I can’t believe my ears!
“I’m sick of arguing with you about the girls,” Andrea goes on. “It’s no wonder they have no respect for me — you never back me up.”
“I back you up all the time,” Dad says. His voice is very calm and quiet, the way it gets when he’s really angry.
“In front of them, maybe,” she says. “What good is that when we argue about them the rest of the time?”
I’m stunned. From the day my father married her, I’ve always thought he agreed with Andrea on, well, just about everything. Now I find out that he actually sticks up for us — a lot by the sound of it.
“Don’t worry, Andrea, I’m not going to fight about this,” Dad says. “Lexie has been through a lot lately. If she doesn’t feel she can face school right now, I’m not forcing her to go.”
“Then you might as well just tell her to stay home,” Andrea snaps. “There’s no way she’ll go if she doesn’t have to and you know it. I’m telling you, you’re giving her the wrong message.”
I back up slowly, and then hurry to my room. Sitting on the edge of my bed I try to calm the feelings jumping around in me. I’m happy — so happy, that my dad defended me. And I’m almost weak with relief to know that he’s not going to make me go to school after all.
Of course, I have to look surprised when he tells me — so I take some deep breaths, finish my tea, and then go back to the kitchen and nibble on a piece of toast while I wait for him to tell me the good news.
It’s only a few moments before he and Andrea come into the room. They sit together across the table and then out it comes.
“Andrea and I have decided that we may have been a little harsh when you asked about missing some school,” Dad says. Andrea forces a thin-lipped smile, as if she agrees. “So, we’re going to leave it up to you — for now, anyway. If you really don’t think you can deal with school right now, then we won’t force you to go.”
I’m about to tell him “thanks” when the expression on Andrea’s face stops me. She looks like a cat, about to pounce, and I know she can hardly wait to get my dad alone so she can point out that she was right. In a flash, I decide that’s not going to happen.
“Thanks, Dad,” I say, “but I think I can handle it. And anyway, I might as well get it over with now. It’s not going to be easier later on.”
Dad and Andrea look just about as surprised as I feel. But that’s not all. Dad starts swelling with pride. I mean it — his chest is literally expanding and there’s a goofy smile on his face.
Even Andrea is shocked into niceness. “Well, my goodness!” she says. “That’s very responsible of you, Lexie.”
“Thanks,” I say, wondering how much I’m going to regret this later.
“If you’d rather avoid the bus — at least in the mornings,” Andrea continues, “I can drop you off.”
“Uh, I’ll see how it goes,” I say. “Thanks for the offer, though.”
And the truth is, the bus ride is okay. No one seems to be paying much attention to me. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.
Chapter Twenty-Two
I should have known better.
It starts almost as soon as I get to school. At first it’s whispers. Faces close together, hands over mouths, curious eyes turned toward me. Conversations that trail off as I get near and then buzz back to life as I pass by.
I act like I don’t notice. I hold my head up and push through the wave of stares and words. I tell myself they’ll lose interest soon enough. After all, there are new classes to find, friends to reconnect with — all the busy, first-day-of-school things to distract them.
But it doesn’t happen that way. The whispers grow louder. By noon there are comments that can only be deliberate, and meant for me to hear.
Jumbles of words and phrases come to me, sent by angry, judging mouths. The word “murderer” makes its way through more than once. I want to run through the halls and out the door. I would have, too, if it wasn’t for Dori.
“I wonder how dumb these morons will feel when the truth comes out,” she says loudly, more than once. Her eyes flash and her face is defiant, challenging anyone who has the nerve to come and say something directly. No one does. Even so, it’s gotten to me.
“I don’t think I can do this,” I tell her.
“You have to. If you go home and hide, it will look bad — like you’re guilty and can’t face
anyone. You’ve got to tough it out, Lex.”
I know she’s right. Oddly, I find myself thinking about some of the things they used to say in meetings at New Valley.
This is where I am today, I tell myself, It takes time to get better. I’m not sure why, but repeating those lines to myself seems to help a little.
Somehow, I get through the day. And I keep telling myself that it will get easier, but Wednesday is worse. There is growing aggression in the looks and comments that come my way. I can’t even describe what it’s like to have that much anger and hatred directed at you for something you know you didn’t do.
My stomach rebels at the thought of dinner that night and I’m barely able to force down a few tiny bites. Lynne shocks me when she says she’ll do my chores if I want to lie down.
I’m in my bedroom when she appears in the doorway.
“I’m sorry,” she says without looking at me, “for the way I’ve been acting.”
“It’s okay,” I say, “but why have you been so angry with me? You don’t think I had anything to do with —”
“No. Of course not.” She pauses, then comes in and sits on the edge of the bed. “It’s just that a lot of kids are giving me a hard time about it. And I don’t know why you had to go back out with Devlin in the first place.”
“I thought he was getting better,” I say. It sounds weak and lame and I feel foolish even saying it.
“Well, he wasn’t. And our whole family is paying for it.”
“I’m sorry, Lynne. I really am.”
Then, before we can talk about it any more, Dad comes to the doorway. “Your lawyer just called, Lexie. They’ve arrested Devlin.”
“Yes!” Lynne yells. She gives me a hug.
I smile at her, but it’s hard to feel elated. It’s not like a happy ending by any means.
I plead a headache, and, once alone, lie down with the light out and blind drawn. Devlin, arrested, locked up. I don’t suppose he’ll find the whole withdrawal scene quite the same in jail as he did at New Valley. There will be no support staff, no comfy bed or soft pillow, no meds to help him through it, no consideration for his misery. Not that I have much sympathy for whatever he might suffer.
I wonder when, and under what circumstances, I’ll see him again. Will it be when we get to court? But maybe I won’t have to go now. Karan told me that once they get Devlin and hear what he has to say, they could drop the charges against me. Apparently, that will depend on what other evidence they have.
I’m not one bit worried about that. Since the whole case against me is a misunderstanding, I can’t imagine they’ll push it once he tells them the truth.
So, I should be relieved, but all I feel is empty and tired. I want this to be over with. I want my life back.
I want Suzie Quian to have her life back.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Devlin has given the police a statement,” Karan tells me. “Unfortunately, it implicates you in the crime.”
It’s the next afternoon and I’m at Karan’s office with Dad. He’s asked us to come in to discuss things, but this isn’t at all what I was expecting to hear.
“Implicates me?” I echo. “You mean he said I was involved? On purpose?”
Karan flips through some papers on his desk. “According to Devlin, the robbery was actually your idea. And he says it was your suggestion that he use you as a pretend hostage.”
“Well, that’s ridiculous,” Dad says, which is a good thing, because I can’t seem to make my mouth work. “Surely they don’t believe him.”
“They want two convictions,” Karan tells us. “And they figure his testimony will help them get that.”
“But why?” I cry, finally finding my voice. “Why would he say those things?”
Karan shrugged. “For a plea bargain — reduced charge. And don’t forget that Devlin is a junkie. They could have gotten him to co-operate for a few candy bars.”
“But he’s lying!”
“The point is, Lexie, we have to deal with what’s in front of us. And it doesn’t look good.”
“Because a drug addict gave a statement?” Dad asks. His voice is deep and angry.
“I’m afraid there’s more than that,” Karan says. “For one thing, the clerk in the store basically says the same thing — that you and Devlin were clearly in cahoots.”
I think back to that horrible day. “I know the woman who was working there got that idea,” I say. “He cut me when he was pressing the knife against my throat. So, of course I told him to be careful. What would you do if someone had a knife to your throat?”
Karan listens without reacting to what I’m saying. I wonder if he even believes that I’m innocent.
“Witnesses at your job, including a co-worker named Paula, all say that you walked out on your shift at work and joined him just before the robbery. But the most damaging thing is the videotape.”
“The videotape?” I say.
“The store has a surveillance camera. There’s a videotape of you and Devlin entering the store together.”
“Have you seen it?” Dad asks. He doesn’t look at me.
“I have a copy right here,” Karan says. He lifts a remote and points it at the wall. Panels open revealing a big-screen TV. Another click and images begin to play.
They’re a little blurry, but the two people coming through the doorway are definitely Devlin and me. My heart sinks as I realize how bad it looks — the two of us talking to each other. Anyone could easily think we’re discussing what we’re about to do.
“I was trying to talk him out of it,” I say weakly.
And then I watch in horror as Devlin leans down and kisses my cheek.
Karan lets it play another few minutes, while Devlin and I continue to talk and then move toward the front of the store.
“What about the part of the actual robbery?” Dad asks.
“That camera wasn’t working,” Karan says. He doesn’t sound like he thinks that was a bad thing.
“So, this is what we’re dealing with here,” Karan goes on. “The police have statements from Devlin, the store clerk, Lexie’s co-workers, and a couple of customers, and they have the videotape.”
“What do we have?” Dad asks.
“We’ve got Lexie’s word. Of course we’ll maintain that Devlin and Lexie are arguing on the videotape, but the kiss doesn’t help.”
I can hear it in his voice. We have virtually no defence. All of the evidence is against me, and the one person besides me who really knows the truth has sold me out for a lighter sentence.
“The problem is,” Karan continues, “a little girl died. Any jury in the country is going to want to see someone pay for that. But we can avoid that if we don’t go to trial, which is my recommendation.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“I mean, we offer them a guilty plea in exchange for a reduced charge. You weren’t the shooter, so I think I can get them to go for —”
“Hold it right there!” my father says. His face is flushed. “Is this what we’re paying you for? I thought you were going to defend Lexie — if that’s not the case, tell me right now and we’ll get someone else.”
Karan holds up a hand and says, “It’s my job to tell you what your options are. If you want to go to court, that’s fine, but we’re dealing with a homicide here, and you need to know what the risks are if we go to trial and lose. I’ll give Lexie the best defence possible, but there’s a lot of circumstantial evidence against her. And you can never predict what a jury will do. ”
I sit silently while he and my dad discuss it. It’s like I’m not even there but that doesn’t matter — I can’t get anything clear in my head, anyway.
I feel strangely and utterly alone.
When the decision is made t
o go ahead, to go to trial and face a jury, it barely registers.
Chapter Twenty-Four
One thing about reaching a really low place in life is you start to think about things in a new way.
I think about freedom these days. Never gave it a thought before, what it means to be free. The short time I spent inside the youth centre in Burnaby really made me aware of how much you lose when you lose your freedom.
Of course, you can’t come and go the way you normally would. Want to enjoy the sunshine, take a little walk? Go shopping, meet up with friends? Forget it.
But, the big part of it isn’t about what you can’t do, or where you can’t go. A lot of it is what you have to do. Someone else is making all your decisions. When and what you eat. What you watch on TV, how loud it is, when it’s turned off. What you wear. What time you go to bed, and what time you get up. When you shower.
All of your choices are taken away.
Thinking about having to live that way for who-knows-how-long if I get sent away is something I just can’t deal with right now. I try not to let it creep into my thoughts, but I can’t always help it.
I don’t know how I’d be able to stand it if I couldn’t see my sisters and my dad all the time. Even Andrea doesn’t seem so bad lately. Not that this has made us particularly close, but there are some small changes.
Ditto for friends, especially friends like Dori. But there’s someone else who proves to be a friend in a pretty surprising way.
It’s Karan who lets me know about it, with a phone call one afternoon.
“Had a visit from a friend of yours,” he says. “Could be important.”
I’m puzzled, and listen in surprise as he explains.
“Oscar Lee stopped by my office a while ago. Wanted to know if he could help.”
“Oscar? What could he do?”
“Testify, actually. You used to date Oscar, is that right?”
“Yes.”
“Well, he told me about an evening when he was at your place, and Devlin came over. Do you remember that happening?”
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