Long Hill Home

by Kathryn Pincus

  She recalled the odd way that her daughters had looked at her when they got out of the car to walk into school that morning. Their faces were a mix of fear, worry and—something else. “Oh, my God,” Kelly exclaimed out loud as she realized it was disgust and embarrassment that she saw in her girls’ faces that morning.

  I have got to move forward. I need to get better, Kelly said to herself as she grabbed a pencil and her legal pad. She scribbled the words Resolutions to Get Back on Track on top of the page and underlined them for emphasis. She began scribbling furiously, realizing that with each promise to herself, she was gaining back what the monster had stolen from her. A toxic stew of anger, fear, bitterness and self-loathing had filled every facet of her life since the attack. Sam’s frank words, coupled with the memory of her daughters’ facial expressions that morning, were the wake-up call that she needed.

  Kelly felt stronger with the mere act of writing the words. Her resolutions unfolded:

  1. Eat at least three meals a day.

  2. Shower, wash hair and blow-dry it.

  3. Make beds and keep house reasonably tidy.

  4. Plan a vacation for Christmas (unless there is a trial, and then plan it for Spring Break).

  5. Call or talk face-to-face with at least one friend every day.

  6. Schedule time alone with Dan weekly.

  Kelly sat and chewed on her right thumbnail while she contemplated her list. She went back to resolution number 4 and edited it.

  4. Plan a vacation to ski or snorkel for Christmas (and if there is a trial, get it rescheduled or get it reassigned—you are going on this vacation!!!).

  She added another edit to resolution number 6.

  6. Schedule a weekly date with Dan and try to get back to sexual intimacy.

  Writing the words sexual intimacy still gave her a knot in her stomach. But Kelly yearned for a connection with Dan, and bit her lip with resolve to not let that bastard Barnard ruin the closeness she had shared with her husband. She underlined that one twice.

  After tapping the paper a few times, and reading her revised list over, Kelly realized that she was not finished.

  7. Make sleeping eight hours a priority—take pills if necessary.

  8. Be more patient and fun with the girls.

  9. Exercise????

  The last resolution drifted alone and in a very noncommittal fashion, with no words to compel Kelly to action and no requirements regarding type or frequency. Before her attack, Kelly’s daily run was essential to her good health of mind and body. It revved her up and stoked her energy and confidence for whatever adversity she faced in her day, while it also cleared her head and fatigued her body, helping her to rest and relax.

  After reading her list, Kelly realized that resolutions 6 and 9 had a lot in common. She yearned for them both, felt terribly unhealthy and unsettled without them, and yet terror seized her as she visualized embarking on either activity. After sitting and mulling over her list one more time, Kelly put an asterisk next to resolutions 6 and 9 to remind her to concentrate particularly on those. Then she realized her final resolution related to those important tasks.

  10. See the counselor/therapist who specializes in my issues.

  A moment later, she walked to her kitchen and opened the recipe box. She found the business card of the woman who had been described to her as a Rape Crisis Counselor and an Interventionist. But when Kelly gingerly flipped the business card over in her fingers it just read, “Sally M. Jeter, MD, Ph.D.”

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAD: SEPTEMBER 29, 2011

  CHAD WAS STARING at the bottom of the cot above him, his hands clasped behind his head as he lay flat on his back. A guard had informed him that his attorney was coming to see him, even though Stuart had already been there that morning. He had been waiting almost two hours since the guard told him this, and he began to get anxious. He desperately needed news about his release. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to imagine his reunion with his mother. He pictured a white stucco home with a red tile roof and a wraparound porch filled with comfortable rocking chairs. Behind the house a fiery sunset burnished tall jagged mountains. A screen door opened and shut as his mother ran toward him. Her arms would be extended as she ran toward him, because she needed to embrace him as soon as possible. She ran easily, as if on air, with her head up and a wide smile on her face. Just as she was about to wrap him in her arms, Chad heard the loud clanging of his cell door. His eyes opened to the familiar off-white concrete and brick illuminated by his prison’s fluorescent lighting.

  “Hey, kid,” the guard called to Chad. “Up and at’ em, your lawyer is here.”

  Chad sprang to his feet and followed the guard out of his cell and down the hall. To his relief, the scary guy Paco was not in his cell, and Chad’s procession to the room where his lawyer waited was uneventful.

  “Chad,” Stuart said as he sprang up from the chair he had been sitting in to shake Chad’s hand. “It’s good to see you. I have really good news.”

  “My case has been dismissed?” Chad blurted out.

  “We never even got that far, Chad. It was the darnedest thing. This morning, the police arrested another suspect for this crime. They have all sorts of evidence that points to him. They are just waiting for test results on this guy’s DNA.”

  “What do you mean?” Chad was shocked and relieved but afraid to believe it was real. “Are you sure? Who is this guy?”

  “He’s a big shot trial attorney, ironically. His name is Jack Barnard. I got some information out of the AG’s office—some in the course of regular discovery in my defense of your charges, but some of it I guess would be considered off-the-record. But it sounds pretty airtight.”

  “Well, what does that mean for me?” Chad asked. “How long does it take to get DNA results?”

  “The AG’s office said the DNA results should be ready in a day or two. They have expedited the testing. Of course, this guy Barnard is denying everything, but the DNA results should be the clincher. If you’re a religious man, Chad, you better pray that Barnard’s DNA matches the DNA found on the victim.” Stuart continued speaking, putting his hand on Chad’s left shoulder as he spoke. “It’s a good thing this guy left some semen behind.”

  Chad blushed at the word. He had never had sex. He had seen the pictures in his father’s magazines, and he had brought himself to climax while looking at those pictures, but he had never gotten close enough to a girl to even kiss her.

  “So, what now?” Chad asked.

  “Well, we wait a day or two for the DNA results, and then, if everything goes as we hope, you are out of here and back to your life.” Stuart said.

  Chad felt a knot in his stomach as he thought about his life. His father was dead, he did not know where his mother was, and he had no one.

  “But the other thing I came about was to tell you that a lady from the Delaware Division of Family Services is here. She said technically, because you turned eighteen, you have aged out of their services, but this is a bit unusual, so they’re going to help you anyway.”

  “What are they going to do for me?” Chad asked, exasperated.

  “Well, first of all, they’ve made funeral arrangements. They tracked down the priest of the church where your parents—mostly your mom, it sounds like—attended services. They got a plot at that church’s cemetery and arranged everything. All costs are being tallied and we’ll sort that out later. It seems your father did not have a will or any life insurance.”

  “There’s a surprise,” Chad said sarcastically. “Why should he think of me or my mother?”

  “Well,” Stuart continued, “the good news is, your father owned that house and property free and clear. The house is a tear-down, but the property next to the Brandywine down there is now considered prime real estate and it will fetch a really good sum.”

  Chad smiled at the phrase tear-down. He happily pictured the forlorn farmhouse with the chipping paint and the sagging porch being knocked into pieces by bulldo
zers and cleared away in truck beds, leaving a clean slate of possibilities.

  “What do you mean by ‘good sum’? Who gets that money?”

  “Hopefully you can track your mother down and get her involved in this process. Under the law, the money will go to her, and then of course to you. The lady from DFS said that a realtor thought you could get up to $800,000 for that property. Then, any debt your parents owed would have to be satisfied by those proceeds, but so far it seems your father was big on paying cash for everything. So, it is probably just funeral-related expenses you’re looking at, which will run around ten grand, and any taxes and fees related to the sale of the home.”

  “Wow,” Chad said. “I never would have guessed that place was worth much. It turns out the old man left us something after all. I’m sure he would have managed to piss it away if he had the chance.”

  “Well,” Stuart continued, “this will all take a while to sort out. We need to get you out of here. Then we need to sort through the financial stuff.”

  “And,” Chad interrupted him mid-sentence, “I need to find my mom.”

  “Yes,” Stuart said. “I’ll let you know if I find anything useful on that subject.”

  “I am going to find her even if no one else can,” Chad said.

  “That may be, Chad. I believe you are capable of many things. But for now, I just need you to hang in there and keep safe. You are going to be walking out of here real soon, I am confident of that.”

  Chad swallowed the lump in his throat, thinking of the scary man lurking in the recreation room, the cafeteria, and the shower room.

  CHAPTER 28

  KELLY: OCTOBER 1, 2011

  KELLY TRIED TO picture Maria Hernandez as she drove west from the city. Sam told Kelly not to meet with the witness, but Kelly saw no impropriety in talking to Maria’s boyfriend’s immigration lawyer. Besides, she reasoned, she was not going to discuss the case at all. She hadn’t informed Sam, because she did not want him to tell her not to. She had to do something.

  The apartment buildings, supermarkets and gas stations of the city were replaced by rolling green hills and thick woodlands punctuated by an occasional farmhouse, barn or small country store. In recent years, parts of Hockessin had been developed with new roads and cul-de-sacs lined with tidy lawns and tremendous brick houses that Dan sarcastically referred to as McMansions. Chain stores and restaurants followed, and eventually even a strip mall.

  But Kelly noticed with sadness the impossibly small and dilapidated dwellings on the outskirts of Hockessin that were home to Latin American immigrants. Many came to the area for seasonal farm work, and then they remained after getting jobs in landscaping, housecleaning, construction and food services. These were the circumstances of people who worked very hard and yet, due to their precarious status in this country, could not buy their own home and invest in it with certainty. With a sigh, Kelly thought again of Maria Hernandez.

  The Offices of Sara M. Nuñez, Esquire occupied the bottom floor of a small two-story grey building in a parking lot framed by fields. A man and a woman sat in a waiting area, and a toddler with curly black hair played with a toy truck on the floor. Kelly walked over to the reception desk only to find it empty. “Hello?” she asked tentatively, to no one in particular.

  “Hello?” A stocky woman with long shiny black hair and bright red lipstick stuck her head out of a door. “I don’t have a receptionist on Saturday mornings.” She walked over to the reception area to speak with Kelly. “I am Sara Nuñez.”

  “Yes. Hi, I’m Kelly Malloy. You probably recognize that name. I am not here to talk about that matter at all, I am just here about Juan’s citizenship.”

  Nuñez looked uncomfortable and spoke quickly. “I am terribly sorry, but this family here has very pressing matters, so I can only give you two minutes of my time. I do represent Juan in his application for citizenship. That’s why he called me about, uhm, these recent developments.”

  Kelly cut her off brusquely, “I’m not here to talk about that.”

  “Well, I can tell you that Maria Hernandez is terrified that her discovery here will lead to her immediate deportation. She has to worry even more now, with the baby. And, her husband is very close to getting his citizenship. She is distrustful of police and anyone having to do with law enforcement, so this has been very hard on her.”

  “Oh, I am so sorry,” Kelly said. “I really just wanted to help her.”

  “Help her? How?” Nuñez’ cynicism at Kelly’s remark came through loud and clear.

  “Well, my firm, Sherling and Vine, has an excellent immigration law specialist in Philadelphia. He is really good, and also I think he is connected.”

  “Connected?” Nuñez asked with her cynical tone again.

  “Oh, I didn’t mean anything improper,” Kelly felt a blush creep up her neck. “I mean, immigration is his specialty, it’s all he does. He always knows who to talk to at INS--or CIS—whatever it is called, and he presents his clients in the light most favorable to a speedy and desirable outcome. He’ll take Juan’s case on a pro bono basis,” Kelly felt herself becoming self-conscious. Nuñez had not greeted her with a handshake, and she did not invite her into her office. Kelly realized what she must look like to Nuñez: a well-off, well-connected white woman driving in here with her expensive car and designer briefcase, and acting as if there was a quick fix for the complex and terrifying circumstances of a complete stranger.

  After a long silence, Nuñez said, “Well, I am certainly not a specialist. I help clients referred by the LACC in a wide range of matters, not just immigration. And as you can see, I do not have the resources of a big firm. Why don’t you email me the name of that partner of yours and I’ll talk to Maria.”

  “Uhm, ok,” Kelly said awkwardly. “Should I call you, then, or just wait to hear from you?”

  “I’ll call this immigration lawyer and talk to Maria. Then your partner can communicate directly with you.” Nuñez looked at Kelly. “No offense, but everything would be easier if you would stay out of it during the pendency of this other matter.” Then she beckoned with a wave of her hand and the man and woman got up and walked toward her office door. Kelly smiled uncomfortably as the woman passed her, tugging on the hand of her toddler who still clutched the toy truck.

  A moment later, Kelly exited the building and kicked some dusty gravel from the parking lot. Her Volvo looked out of place. She wished she had borrowed Dan’s pickup truck. She felt humiliated by Nuñez’s reaction to what must have appeared to be naiveté on her part, but she also admired the way Sara Nuñez had cared so deeply about her clients. Although she was a fellow attorney, Nuñez had sounded as if she were protecting her own family member.

  “Hey, Kel!” Sam’s excitement filled up Kelly’s car as she drove back to Wilmington. “I have something important to talk about. Are you driving?”

  “Yeah, but it’s ok. I have you on speaker.”

  “At Jack Barnard’s preliminary hearing and arraignment, we will have more than enough evidence to detain him until trial.”

  “Oh, my God, Sam! What are you saying?” Kelly pulled her car over to the shoulder of the road to concentrate.

  “It’s good, Kel.” Sam let out a little laugh that Kelly recognized as a sign of relief. “The DNA evidence is in, and it is positively your man, Jack Barnard. Kel, you nailed it!”

  Kelly felt her body shudder as she sat parked on the side of the road. Fear? Repulsion? Relief? It moved like electricity through her, and rose up in goose bumps on her arms. He was the monster! She knew when she saw his hand in the courthouse, but that moment was one of terror. Now she knew for certain, and now he was in custody. For the first time since her attack, Kelly felt vindicated, and hopeful.

  “So, what now, Sam? What do we do?” Kelly exhaled, trying to calm herself.

  “I’m going to kick ass at this preliminary hearing. First your testimony, and then eyewitnesses, police reports and then, BAM! We’ll show them a DNA match that cannot be quest
ioned.” Kelly could tell from Sam’s tone that he was enjoying himself.

  “My testimony? Do you still need that with the DNA evidence?” Kelly felt the dread return as she pictured herself describing in detail the humiliating and intimate details of her attack in front of a jury, counsel, onlookers and members of the press, as well as the monster himself, Jack Barnard.

  “It will be okay, Kel. I will come by to prep you at eight o’clock on Monday morning, so we can all take this weekend off from this case. After I see you on Monday I have meetings with our other witnesses.”

  “Oh God, Sam. Try to leave Maria Hernandez out of it if possible... I can’t be responsible for her deportation. She just had a baby!” Kelly noticed that her knuckles were white from clutching the steering wheel.

  “Kel, where are you? The connection is breaking up.”

  “Oh, I’m just out running errands in Hockessin.”

  “Oh, yeah, that’s a bad spot for cell phones. Listen, Kel, I’ll do what I can do. Our number one priority is to make sure this prosecution is sound, and that Jack Barnard is held pending trial and then convicted. It is a high burden at trial, Kel: we have to prove his guilt beyond a reasonable doubt, so I don’t want to make any promises about Maria Hernandez.”

  “Okay, Sam. I’ll see you Monday at eight. I’ll get Dan to take the girls to school.”

  “Goodbye, Kel. See you Monday.”

  As Kelly heard Sam end the call, she wiped a stray tear with the back of her left hand while she turned the key in her car’s ignition with the other. Her thoughts turned to Dan. “I’ll get Dan to take the girls to school,” she thought, as if Dan was merely some instrument at her beck and call. Just that morning, before the sun came up, Kelly had rolled over to find that Dan was not in bed next to her. After checking the bathroom, Kelly had crept downstairs and found him sleeping on the sofa in the family room, with the television light flickering and the sound of ESPN turned down to a soft murmur. He slept on his side, with his legs bent in order to fit his long frame on the couch. A recent copy of Architectural Digest lay on the rug beneath him and a wide chasm of loneliness stretched between them.