"Lisa Stevenson and Randy Jones," I answered, not pausing.
"Randy Jones?" O'Neil asked, looking deeply interested. "Wasn't he in that band in the 80s? The 'Screaming Dragons'?"
"Yes," I answered stiffly.
"He overdosed when you were 3, cocaine?"
"How is this relevant?" Thompson demanded.
"Overruled, that doesn't concern this case O'Neil," the judge said, his voice thick with authority as he frowned down at O'Neil. He nodded, waving his hand in understanding before fixating his eyes on me again.
"So, tell us about the night of September 15…this party that you all went to. Was there drinking?" O'Neil questioned, his voice slick like oil.
"Yes, but I wasn't," I answered honestly. "I don't drink."
"You don't drink?" O'Neil said, disbelief clear on his expression and his voice as he tossed a bemused look at the jury, as if they were in on the joke. He looked down at some papers in his hand. "On the night of October 28, 2008, you were in a car accident with a couple of your friends. Your alcohol content level was 0.09."
"I don't drink anymore," I amended angrily. "My friend died that night, in case your notes don't say that."
"So you haven't had any alcohol since the night of this accident," O'Neil continued, ignoring the bit where I mentioned my friend's death. "Yet my client says he saw you with a red cup."
"I had the cup, yes. Riley gave me it and I dumped it all over the floor when Andrew came at me," I answered.
"Oh, sure," O'Neil said, smirking.
The rest of the trial session carried on in the same matter. O'Neil kept asking me ridiculous questions, hinting that I'd been drinking that night, trying to make me look bad. I was prepared for this, though, and I breezed through his questions and attempts at debunking my testimony. I left the stand an hour later feeling extremely exhausted and frustrated. I'd wanted to kick O'Neil in the balls when I'd walked by, but I hadn't.
The bailiff escorted me back to the same room I had been waiting in before I gave my testimony. I had to wait there another two hours until court ended for the day.
Finally, Thompson came to alert me that it was time to leave. "You did great," he told me, smiling as he held the door open so I could walk out. "Your mother is waiting out front."
"Okay. Am I done?" I asked, gesturing back to the court house. "Because if I have to go in there again, I may not have as much restraint in kicking O'Neil in the nether regions."
Thompson chuckled. "Unless they come up with more questions, you should be okay. I don't foresee that, you were very descriptive and cooperative." I nodded, thankful.
I found her near the doors, looking for me. I accompanied her down the stone steps, ignoring the few reporters that had gathered at the bottom of the steps. They fired question after question at me, but I ignored them and followed Mom straight to the car. She turned on the engine, driving us home wordlessly.
She didn't speak until we got inside the house and I'd flopped down on the couch in exhaustion. She sat down beside me, angling her body so that she was facing me.
"Harlow, if there's anything you need to tell me…" she said, hesitating as she looked at me with her big, caring green eyes. "You know you can, right?" I looked at her, really looked at her, for the first time in a while. I got the sense that she meant that, that she wanted me to open up to her and that this time…she'd listen. "You haven't been yourself the last few days. I can't tell if it's related to this trial…or what. But please know that I'm here."
I stared back at her, longing to tell her about the man with the folder and about Iain. I opened my mouth, drawing in a breath.
"It's…fine," I said finally, unable to get the proper words out. Mom looked at me skeptically.
"I can't help you if you don't talk to me," she sighed, brushing back a strand of her short hair. She'd recently cut it into a bob. It suited her.
"You can't help me, even if I talk to you," I muttered, looking out the living room window at the large snowflakes that had started to fall.
"What does that mean?"
"It means that I'm past helping," I clarified, sighing deeply.
"Is it…Iain?" Mom said his name with complete distain. I stole a glance at her, noticing her wrinkled forehead. It was as if we were discussing dissecting a frog…not the love of my life.
"There is no more…" I trailed off, searching for the right words. I knew that's not what Iain meant, but it was the easiest way to get her off my case. Maybe it was easiest if I started thinking that way, too. Mom looked surprised.
"I thought you were still together?" she asked, not bothering to hide her pleasure.
"No, not anymore," I answered, looking back out the window and glaring as I thought about the pictures, and the cooling it. Iain was right; it was necessary. As much as it pained me to be separated from him, it was in both our best interest. She was silent for a moment, still as she watched me. She sighed, reaching her hand out to brush my hair out of my face.
"It'll be okay, Harlow," she told me. "He wasn't right for you anyway."
"How do you know that?" I demanded, unable to stop myself. I looked at her with anger. "You don't know what he's like, who he is."
"All I'm saying, Harlow, is that there is something wrong with a guy that goes after his student. You're eleven years younger than he is!" Mom said defensively. She had recoiled at the harshness of my outburst.
"It wasn't like that," I shook my head, bewildered. "He didn't go after me. We just…fell for each other. I already told you that."
"Did you sleep with him?" Mom demanded, outright. I shook my head, unable to answer. I knew it was a lie, but I couldn't help but think about what Iain had said…beyond a reasonable doubt. "Well, that's good then." Mom decided. "We'll put this behind us."
I stared at her, flabbergast. Put what behind us, exactly? Years of her back and forth parenting? Trusting, understanding, caring mother one minute, judgemental PTA mom the next? I shook my head, watching her walk off to the kitchen.
Chapter Fourteen
I awoke to a brisk knocking at my door. I startled, my heart racing. My eyes felt crusty and gross. I wiped at them, trying to clear them out.
"Who…?" I trailed off, my voice full of exhaustion still. Although sleep had come quickly the night before, I'd restlessly tossed and turned. My dreams had been full of images I didn't want to see…Iain being forced into a police car, handcuffed. The Coopers getting away with everything. I didn't feel rested at all.
My door was pushed open, and Mom stood in the hallway with her hands on her hips. "Harlow Jones. It's nearly 9:30. What are you doing still in bed? You're late for school!" she scolded, frowning at me.
"Sorry…I…I'll get ready now," I muttered, pushing my blankets off me and standing up. She nodded, satisfied with my answer, and head back toward the kitchen, leaving me to get ready. I swung my legs over the side of my bed, rubbing at my eyes again. They were itchy and swollen.
I stretched a little before grabbing my cell phone off my night stand. For the past week, every time I woke up I felt a sinking disappointment in my chest upon checking my phone and seeing that I had no new text messages. Prior to us 'cooling it,' I'd received a good morning text every single morning, and several throughout the day and one right before bed. I swallowed hard as I looked at the screen…no new messages. I front, my heart rate increasing as I remembered my dreams from the night before.
Knock it off, Harlow, I scolded myself. Everything is fine. I stood up, making my way quickly to the bathroom for a very needed shower. I brushed my wet hair and applied my makeup with a quick, unwavering hand. The restless night of sleep I'd gotten had shown too much on my face to avoid makeup, although I'd seriously wanted to. I felt as if my limbs weighed a thousand pounds each. I was moving slow, almost sloth like. I couldn't believe that I was feeling like this after just one day in court, a couple hours on the stand.
"I'll drive you to school," Mom said, tossing a muffin at me. I caught it, but set it on the counter
.
"I'm not hungry," I muttered, looking away. Mom frowned in concern. "It's okay, I'll get something at the school for lunch…" I added. That seemed to appease her, and she shrugged, grabbing her keys from the table.
"Are you ready to go?" she asked. I nodded, slipping into my boots and coat. I picked up my bag slowly, following her out to her car. She'd turned it on prior too, so that it was nice and toasty warm when we got in. Still, my wet hair had frozen in places. I shook my head, breaking the frozen bits apart with gentle fingers. Mom looked at me again, concern clearly radiating off her as she backed out of our driveway. She was silent the entire drive to the school, and didn't say anything until she'd pulled up out front.
I glanced at her, muttering a quick Thanks under my breath, and jumped out of the car. I swung my bag on my back as I made my way down the main foyer of the school. I walked into the principal's office, ignoring the plump secretary as she disapprovingly signed me in and gave me a hall pass. I took it off her, meeting her eyes with a firm gaze of mine.
"Have a good day now, buh-bye," she said pointedly. I walked away, stealing another glance at her as I left. She was shaking her head in disdain. I really couldn't figure out why the school's secretary hated me so much. It couldn't just be that she saw my tattoos on my first day of school and hated them. That seemed to be the turning point in her behaviour to me. But regardless…I didn't care enough to really read into it. Shrugging, I pulled open the door and made my way to my second period class. I already knew Jenna wouldn't be there, she was officially doing correspondence at home, so I kept to myself for pretty much the whole day. At the end of third period, I was at my locker grabbing my math textbook. Jake found me there. He leaned against the locker beside mine and grinned at me.
"Hey," he said. "You weren't in homeroom!"
"Ya, I know. Slept in…so how did your…thing go?" I asked, shoving a book into my bag. I went to close the door, it was slightly warped, so I had to shut it with force. It slammed, drawing the attention of a couple students passing by.
"Fine," Jake shrugged. "How's Jenna doing? I was hoping I'd get to talk to her after…but…"
"She's fine. I thought you had her number?"
"No," Jake's smile was almost wistful. "We talked on Facebook a few times…but then she deleted it."
"Oh?" I frowned. I hadn't realized Jenna had deleted her Facebook. Granted, I hadn't been on it in a couple weeks. "Do you want her number?"
"I don't know if she wants me to have it." Jake shrugged. "But if you talk to her…give her mine."
"Okay…" I said, almost bewildered by his behaviour. He was acting shy.
"Cool, well. I've gotta run…" He started to walk, but paused and looked at me. "Did you want a ride to work tonight?" Jake offered.
"Thanks, but I don't work," I answered, smiling. "I'm going to Jenna's."
"Really?" Jake looked thoughtful.
I rolled my eyes. "Yes, you can give me a ride."
"Alright alright, I'll give you a ride," Jake joked, grinning at me. "See ya after school!"
I watched him walk off, smiling and shaking my head. I could read people fairly well, and Jake had a thing for Jenna. It was sweet to see. I was wondering how Jenna felt about Jake when I caught Iain's eye from across the crowded hallway. He was walking down toward the parking lot exit, holding his briefcase. He had a peculiar look on his face, a slight frown and an odd set to his mouth, almost like he was displeased by something. My breath hitched. Was he displeased by the mere sight of me, or had it been Jake and I talking? I couldn't ask him, not with all the people around, and he'd turned his head the moment he saw me looking at him. He walked down the hall with determination, not stopping to smile at the students like usual. Something was up.
The bell rang, and students started walking with more purpose toward their last period classes. I hesitated, filled with the drive to follow Iain's retreating figure down the hall and into his abandoned classroom. I needed a moment with him, just a moment. Fourth period was a spare for him as well, and he used that time to catch up on his lesson plans and marking. He paused with his hand on the door. I knew it'd look suspicious if I just followed him inside, so I spoke up, my voice calm.
"Mr. Bentley…Do you have a moment? I wanted to talk to you about a university referral letter?"
He looked around at me, the surprise and tension quickly fading to amusement, then he schooled his features to indifference and nodded. "I have a few to spare." He held open the door for me, allowing me to walk in. We both tried to remain natural, but it was hard to resist the pull we had for each other. I was relieved that it was still there. The dark, taunting voice in my head had nearly convinced me it hadn't happened.
I waited until Iain had set his briefcase down on his desk and sat down, motioning to one of the empty desks in front of him.
"It's very wise of you to get referral letters from all your teachers," Iain said, his voice full of authority and approval. I could tell by the glint in his eyes that he meant it. "Have you figured out where you want to go yet?"
"I'm leaning toward the University of Ottawa," I replied breezily, leaning back in the desk chair while I remembered our weekend in Ottawa. Iain smiled, remembering it too.
"It's a good university. I believe you'd be a great fit. What are you hoping to take?"
"I hope to get an MA in English, maybe with an emphasis on women's studies." I shrugged. I still wasn't entirely sure what I wanted to do. I knew it was going to involve my love of the written language—and the further away from this town I got, the better.
"Well, I'd be happy to write a referral," Iain said, looking at me steadily. I grinned. Seeing his expression in the hallway had me worried. It was nice sitting there talking to him, even if it was about school. "You should also book an appointment with the guidance counselor, about getting started on your university application. It's a tedious process."
"Okay…" I nodded, figuring that'd be a good idea.
"It's time you got back to class though, Harlow," Iain told me, giving me one last longing look. He didn't promise to call me or text, and I somehow knew that he wouldn't.
I hurried to my final class—math—and apologized to the teacher before finding my seat. I forced myself to pay attention to his monotone voice, to almost no avail. My mind kept drifting to Iain, the trial, the photos, university, and Iain again. I accepted our latest assignment before the bell rang. I didn't even know what he'd been lecturing us on. Irritated with myself for having zoned out, I shoved the assignment paper in my bag and stood up. I darted past the students taking their time leaving the classroom and hurried to my locker to grab my jacket. Jake was waiting, leaning casually against the lockers, texting on his phone.
"Hey," I said.
"Hey," Jake said, nodding. He waited for me to grab my coat, then we headed out to the parking lot to his Jeep.
I reached into my coat pocket, pulling my phone out. Just as I thought…there were no messages from Iain. Wrinkling my nose in minor disappointment, I quickly typed out a text to Jenna. On my way over. Jake is driving me. Want anything?
I waited less than a minute for Jenna's reply. DQ Blizzard?
"Seriously? It's freezing out!" I muttered out loud, shaking my head. Jake sent me a curious look. "She wants a DQ Blizzard," I answered his unspoken question.
"Ahhh," Jake nodded, looking amused. "Okay, that's doable. But I want a coffee…"
"Me too." I yawned. My energy was spent. My body felt numb, although my mind kept whirling about everything. It was a lot of drama for one to handle. I suddenly missed Lauren with a furious pang in my heart, but I tried to shake it off without success. As if you could shake something like that off. It always welled up in me, catching me off guard. With Iain distancing himself from me, I felt vulnerable and alone, a time where I'd normally lean on Lauren.
Jake fired up his Jeep and drove us to the nearest Tim Hortons while I sat in silence, looking out the window, brooding. Jake tried to make conversation a few times
, then gave up and put on his stereo. Lorde pumped through the aftermarket speakers.
"Lorde?" I raised an eyebrow, impressed with his music choice.
"Ya," he shrugged, grinning. "She's got a great voice." I nodded in agreement as he pulled up to the Tim Hortons' drive-thru window. Jake looked to me expectantly, and I told him my order. He repeated it and his own, and handed the teller a five-dollar bill. I insisted on thrusting some coins at him for mine and he insisted on trying to refuse. "Don't be ridiculous," I snapped, tossing the coins into his cup holder. He rolled his eyes at my outburst.
"What's up with you?" he demanded. "Trouble in paradise?"
I gritted my teeth. "No, I just don't have any patience today, so don't test me."
"Whatever. Next stop, DQ," Jake shrugged. He ordered Jenna's Blizzard, refusing to accept my money. "I've got this one. I want to."
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