It was Seth himself who convinced Hilary that she didn’t need to shadow him every moment. Eric and Pam had driven over for a visit. Lily had been beside herself, telling how she and her mom had reservations for a Braids and Bows event at American Girl Place in Water Tower Place the next day.
“Braids and Bows,” Hilary said. “Do you have one of those dolls, Lily?”
“No. But Mom says I can get one tomorrow. I’m going to get Ivy. She’ll be the first one in my collection.”
“For years I’ve been hearing about that place,” Hilary said in all innocence. “But you have to have a girl. I couldn’t have gotten Seth within miles of that place.”
“I’m a girl!” Lily exclaimed. “You should go with us!”
“Oh, I couldn’t do that,” Hilary backpedaled. She glanced at Pam, who had said nothing. “Your mom has it all planned for just the two of you.”
“You should go with them, Mom,” Seth said. “I’m tired of you shadowing me. You don’t mind if she goes with you, do you, Pam?”
“Seth.”
“You don’t need to worry. I’m going to handle this. I’m not going to off myself.”
If anyone noticed a strain between the two, no one mentioned it. “It starts at eleven a.m. tomorrow.” Pam’s eyes were dark as pitch. “You don’t mind meeting us downtown, do you?”
“Absolutely not,” Hilary said with more conviction than she felt.
The doll store, or, as Hilary decided later, the doll city, had all sorts of activities to keep little girls busy with their dolls: Making memory boxes. Attending high tea. Learning how to make “Dazzling Doll ’Dos” for fancy occasions. As Lily’s small fingers fumbled with what the doll stylist called “a ponytail veil hairdo,” Hilary tried her best to disappear into the crowd. But Lily always managed to find her. “Do you like the yellow flowers or the pink crown?” Lily would ask.
“They’re both pretty,” Hilary would defer, not wanting to step on anyone’s toes.
“You have to tell me which one you like,” Lily said. “Otherwise I won’t put a decoration in her hair.”
“I like the yellow flowers,” Pam said.
“But I want to know what Hilary thinks,” Lily pressed.
“Yellow flowers,” Hilary said too fast. “Definitely yellow flowers.”
Next, when Pam gave Lily the choice between a horseback-riding outfit and a skiing outfit with a cast and a matching crutch, she asked, “Do you like to ski, Hilary?”
“I do,” Hilary said.
Lily said, “Then that’s the outfit Ivy wants, too.”
After Ivy got fixed up with a final touch-and-spray from the salon stylist and Lily was handed a goodie bag, Hilary made some offhanded remark as they waited in line, something about how Pam spent more money on Lily’s doll than some mothers spend on clothes for their children for the entire first year.
“I don’t know why money is such a big issue with you,” Pam snapped. “Are you looking for ways to criticize me, Hilary? I don’t need your opinion. I can spend whatever I like on my daughter.”
Two days ago Pam’s haughty comment would have started Hilary’s confidence falling down around her. Her words would have left Hilary questioning herself, broken, her spirit nothing but a pile of rubble.
This morning, Hilary’s face wasn’t flaming. She oozed with self-control, something that felt so foreign! She simply refused to be rattled by Pam. She refused to be hurt by this woman or to let Pam inflict pain. Ordinarily Hilary would have given in and let Pam have the last word. But after the boat ride, the talk with the captain, the days Hilary had spent with Seth, today wasn’t any ordinary day. She had important duties.
“I’ve had a lovely morning with you and your daughter,” Hilary said. Feeling the protection of God’s insurmountable love, she had no need to get defensive. “Lily was the sweetest thing to include me. If I’ve offended you in any way, I hope you know I didn’t mean it.”
Just as John Mulligan had known to select Wicker Park as the place to tell Hilary the momentous news of Laura, the lawyer became a lifeline to the three of them as they moved through the next week of a complex and intricate legal maze. John had suggested Seth turn himself in and request a meeting with the District Attorney, a move that Mulligan said he hoped would impress the judge with not only Seth’s compliance to the law but also his willingness to be accountable for his actions should manslaughter charges be filed.
“I made the choice,” Seth told John. “I’m the one who chose to drink at the party. Nobody forced me.”
“Yes,” Mulligan said, looking somber. “But we’re already dealing with those separate charges. This time it isn’t about you drinking.”
Even though Seth wasn’t scheduled to meet with the DA until after ten, Hilary, Eric, and their son arrived at the Superior Courthouse an hour early. Eric, who’d driven Hilary’s car, hadn’t been sure how hard it might be to get through the morning Chicago traffic. They had no reason to leave their seats after Eric turned off the ignition.
Hilary was in the backseat so Seth could sit up front with his dad. She knew her son. If he hadn’t been so worried and distracted, he would have bowled her over trying to call shotgun.
It was the first time the three of them had been in the car together since the vacation they’d taken to Michigan, to a little town called Lake Buffalo. Eric had thought it might be educational for Seth if they took a weeklong drive along Lake Michigan’s shore to meet people who lived in the small towns there. Each lake town touted a dairy that made the best ice cream along the Gold Coast, and they’d set out to find out who might be telling the truth and who might be exaggerating a little. Hilary had gained seven pounds that trip.
“Hey,” she said as they sat in the silent car, waiting. “Remember maple fudge ripple?”
The question was out of the blue. She didn’t expect either of them to answer. Neither of them did.
Then finally Eric said, “I still dream about that ice cream sometimes.” He pushed the radio knob and fiddled with the scanner. Seth made no comment.
The radio landed on a station that was giving a rundown of the day’s forecast. “Look for Rockford to top ninety-six this afternoon, which matches a record set back in 1953 for that city. On the North Side, we’ll be looking at sunny skies and —”
But then Seth said, “I can’t make myself feel anything.”
Eric glanced sideways at his son again. “What?”
“Everything that happened with Laura.” It was the first time he’d spoken of it since the ride home from the jail. “It’s like it happened to someone else. It isn’t real. She’s not gone.”
Hilary laid her hand on the shoulder of Seth’s suit jacket.
“It won’t come out. I can’t let myself feel anything. Because there are so many things inside of me that if I start letting it out, I might never be able to make it stop.”
“Expect gorgeous weather on the lakeshore today with scattered clouds early. It’ll be a good day to leave the office early and enjoy summertime in the Windy City.”
“You made a mistake, Son. Sometimes you do things without thinking. You just don’t realize who it’s going to hurt until later.”
Or sometimes, the thought popped into Hilary’s head, you do.
Once the weather report ended, pop music started playing on the radio, jarring and surreal. Thankfully, Eric turned it off. The three of them sat without speaking for so long that Seth’s shoulder warmed beneath her hand. There hadn’t been an obvious moment to move her hand. Hilary waited. Then, uncomfortable, she rubbed his shoulder hard and let him go.
Eric checked his watch. “What time is Mulligan meeting us here?”
“Nine thirty,” Hilary said. A flock of pigeons had invaded the courthouse lawn. Most of them were pecking at the grass or checking out the pavement with their bright yellow eyes. One waddled toward the car, its head bobbing perfectly to the gait of its legs, reminding Hilary of a toddler’s pull toy. “We should go in,” Hilary said.
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As they entered the superior court, the front foyer stood empty. Today wasn’t a scheduled court date. No bailiff stood at the courtroom. No other families stood in clusters, their faces twisted with worry. Eric’s, Hilary’s, and Seth’s voices echoed in the empty lobby as a single security officer directed them to empty their pockets for the x-ray machine and step through the metal detector.
“Manslaughter.” Ever since Mulligan had first introduced it, the lead weight of the word had been as heavy on Hilary’s tongue as a stone. In legal terms, if the DA decided to file manslaughter charges against Seth, it meant that the state’s prosecution team felt they could prove that what had happened at the campsite had been an unlawful killing of a human being without malice or premeditation, either express or implied, distinguished from murder, which requires malicious intent. Malice doesn’t have to be present for a manslaughter charge. Manslaughter is voluntary, when it happens in a sudden heat; or involuntary, when it takes place at fault in the commission of some unlawful act. The legal definition made it sound so clinical. A simple summary of a tragedy that was too complex in its reach for mere words.
The words rattled in Hilary’s head like a broken strand of pearls. “Without malice.” “Involuntary.” “Commission of some unlawful act.” “At fault.” Seth’s drinking had been unlawful. But so had Laura’s. And so had about two hundred of their closest friends’. Where were those other words, the ones Hilary had been singing out like a battle cry, the ones she’d been applying to her son’s wound at frequent intervals like comfrey? “Accident.” “Mistake.” When Seth had taken Laura’s hand, when he’d led her toward the hill and said, You can do this. Don’t be afraid. And Laura had followed because Seth had pressed. It was an accident. You made a mistake. It wasn’t your fault. When you thought you were doing the right thing, could it be unlawful to make someone follow?
Mulligan had forewarned them about the meeting. It would be informal, held in the DA’s office, no imposing robes or judge’s chambers, no packed courtroom, no rows of spectators to encourage Seth, no onlookers to hiss behind their hands that someone had to be punished. It would be a conversation. The DA had the right to question Seth as long as he deemed necessary, but Seth couldn’t be held in jail without the filing of formal charges.
If the DA decided he could make a manslaughter charge stick, another arraignment would be scheduled, bail would be considered again, and, depending on what amount a judge decided, Eric and Hilary would know whether they had to hire a bail bondsman or Eric would be able to post bail using stock certificates.
When Eric had picked them up, Hilary had left the house not knowing if Seth would be returning to his own room at the end of the day. Or they might have to wait over a week to find out what might be decided. John Mulligan had prepared them for anything.
Hilary had been so afraid and angry at Seth’s first hearing, she’d been ill. But this time her heart kept its pendulum balance of determination and peace. She wasn’t alone. She was treasured, loved. Inside, she kept praying, Father. Please. I know how close you are. I know you are there for Seth. Hold what will happen in this office in the palm of your hand.
The elevator yawned open on the third floor, and when the three of them stepped out John Mulligan flanked them. “Good timing,” the lawyer said. “He’ll be ready for us in about five minutes.” Mulligan offered his big club of a hand to Seth. “Wow. Anyone ever told you that you clean up well?”
“Yeah,” Seth said. “My mom.”
Hilary nodded. She couldn’t help but be proud of the way Seth looked in his suit. He’d wet-combed his unruly hair until it lay flat. The tie he wore, the one that had taken him three tries this morning to knot beneath his chin, had been a Christmas gift from Alva. He’d worn it only once before, when he’d gone for his scholarship interview at Emhurst.
John was holding the door open to a small reception area, beckoning them to enter, when he looked hard at Hilary. “Hey,” he said. “What gives?”
“What do you mean?” Hilary honestly had no idea what he was talking about.
“You.”
“What?”
“You seem different. Like something’s changed.”
“Maybe that’s due to the fact that I’ve actually been getting sleep these past few nights.”
“Maybe that’s it. But —” He surveyed her face. “You look so peaceful, Hilary. Beautiful. Calm.”
He flustered her, saying things like that. But honesty got the best of her. “Something has changed for me, John.”
That’s all Hilary got to say before the door swung open and a male assistant said, “Daniel Vignaroli will see you now.”
They all four stood rooted to the spot, not one of them wanting to be the first to step forward. “Hey,” Mulligan said to break the ice. “After all this is over, how about we head around the corner for lunch? There’s a great little place I know of. Amazing Irish stew.”
Seth walked in first and shook the attorney’s hand. “I’m here if you want to press charges. My lawyer and I thought this would be the best thing to do. I want to take responsibility for my actions, Mr. Vignaroli.”
The first thing Hilary noticed about the office was that it looked like it belonged to someone who might actually be human. A photo with a lineup of baseball players in throbbing red uniforms hung on the far wall. It was mixed in with the framed Doctor of Law degrees, a membership in the Trial Lawyers Hall of Fame, a Bar Register of Preeminent Lawyers, an Honorary Law and Letters Decree from the American Academy of Achievement, and a picture of two blond-haired boys hugging a sleek hound dog. “My grandsons,” Vignaroli said, following Hilary’s gaze. “The boys. Not the dog. I don’t lay any claim on that dog. He’s no relation to me.”
“Good to see you, Daniel.” Mulligan shook his hand.
“Have a seat.” Vignaroli gestured toward a sofa along the wall. “Seth. You sit right here.” He indicated a chair beside his desk. “Let’s talk about this.”
Daniel Vignaroli slid a pair of bifocals up his nose and thumbed through his notes. After he’d finished, he leaned forward and braided his fingers together. The line of questioning he pursued with Seth was more than harmless conversation. Vignaroli was pointedly gathering evidence that could be used against their son. “Tell me about this party,” he asked over steepled fingers as Hilary shot a look of concern at their lawyer. “How long ago did everyone start making plans?”
“I didn’t make any plans at first,” Seth said. “The party gets inherited every year from the class before it.”
Mulligan gave a slight nod. It’s okay, his eyes seemed to say. This is best, letting Seth talk it out. I have weighed the odds.
“So there wasn’t, say, a certain individual who came up with the plan?”
Seth shook his head.
The majority of criminal convictions, Mulligan had told Hilary over the phone, resulted from suspects who provided evidence against themselves. The lawyer had said, “There is no worse enemy of the suspect than the suspect himself.”
“Then why are we letting him do this?” she’d asked.
“Because Seth has nothing to hide.”
For the good part of an hour, Vignaroli posed questions. In answer after answer, Seth summarized the incident. He talked about the hours that had led up to the party. He recounted his conversation with Laura, outlined his relationship with most of the people there. As the DA furiously scribbled notes on a yellow legal pad, his glasses slid down his nose and he shoved them up again. He took them off once and polished them on his sleeve.
When the DA asked Seth why he had promised Laura that nothing would happen to her, Seth said, “I didn’t know she would look down.” When Vignaroli asked Seth who else had watched the events unfold, Seth said, “Emily. My girlfriend. Laura’s best friend. That’s all. Emily was down at the bottom, trying to keep her from being afraid. I didn’t think either of them should drive. I was so sure I was doing the right thing.” When Vignaroli asked Seth what he’d said when
Laura had been afraid, Seth had to think a minute. He tried hard to remember. And Hilary thought how people could remember things different ways, how sometimes facts could become fiction and fiction could become facts, and how people thought some stories could be true when they weren’t, like Seth’s essay about the Grand Canyon.
“I reached for her. I told her to move.”
“You did?” Hilary asked.
Eric gripped Hilary’s hand.
“I told her she had to hurry. The rock was breaking. I told her to move.”
“You see why I wanted you to hear this for yourself, Daniel.” John rose halfway from the couch, a finger pointing toward the last few words Vignaroli had jotted.
“Sit down, Mulligan.” The old, seasoned DA frowned on the interruption. “If I want to hear you speak about your client, it will be because I’ve scheduled a hearing before the judge in the courtroom. Or it will be because I am calling you to ask more questions. Right now, I’m listening to Seth. Do you understand?”
“He’s turning himself in, if that’s what you deem appropriate.”
“No more interruptions, Mulligan.”
John allowed his voice to fade out. But not before he’d squeezed in one last punch: “This boy never made a conscious choice to hurt anyone.”
“Manslaughter isn’t always about conscious choices, Mulligan. I’m sure you’re aware of that.”
Vignaroli read over his notes one last time. He tilted his head so he could view them with his other eye, as if they might look different to him then. Satisfied, he polished his glasses again and laid them carefully atop the pad where he’d been writing.
His Other Wife Page 20
