“Do what’s best for Fitz,” I say and then realize I’m out of shock. I’m ready for the plan, as I finally see clearly what’s been within me all along. What’s within my father. “We have to be better. Starting today.”
Ethan is weeping, and I make a drink, then leave him for Fitz.
“Where’s Grammie?” Fitz asks from the table. “Can I have jelly toast for dinner?”
“Sure, buddy.” I head to the fridge and pull out every jelly I can find. I slop them all onto a piece of toast. “Check this out.”
He laughs. “That looks delicious!” After taking a big bite, he grins as he chews. “You’re the best.”
“No, I’m not,” I say and kiss him on the head. “You are the very best of me.”
“I like your dress. It’s snazzy.” He gazes up at me, as if I’m beautiful and the kind of mother he always wanted, but actually, I’m the only one he’s ever known.
My eyes burn with tears. “Can I have a hug?”
Crouching down, I kiss his soft hair one last time as we fill our arms with each other. I have a terrible longing for something I never had and was never able to be to him.
“I love you,” I whisper and show him it’s true by grabbing my purse and leaving.
I find my father getting ready in the spare bedroom. He has on his old tuxedo, which only fits thanks to the suspenders holding his pants up over his gut.
I set down a glass of scotch, likely the last drink he’ll ever have in this house. “Cheers, Dad.”
“I knew this was going to work out. It always does,” he says, slurring and smelling like three decades’ worth of fermented booze. “We’ll be running Poe before too long. Right where we belong.”
The Lyft arrives, and I send Dad out to meet the car. He wobbles, but as we both know, being drunk doesn’t preclude him from falling into the back seat.
Ethan is now at the kitchen table with Fitz, making his second jelly sandwich. “I have to go, guys.”
I kiss them both but can’t linger. I can’t feel the feathery softness of Fitz’s hair. I can’t see the half grin or hear the giggle. I can’t feel the scruff on Ethan’s chin or see the way he gazes at me. A way I’ve never deserved.
So I leave because I love them, and if I don’t, then the rot will break their foundation too.
In the back of the Lyft, I hand Dad his roadie gin and tonic in a big plastic cup, sipping my own.
The driver plays classical music, and Dad begins to wave a hand, as if he’s conducting.
As I drink, I remember what I imagined for this night. It was never that the Genius Grant would be at a fancy vineyard in South County. Terrance would have refused. His words deserved better than the famous and rich sipping mediocre white wine.
I pictured it at a WaterFire Festival, where thousands of people pour into downtown, crowd the shadowy brick sidewalks to watch our river dotted with metal baskets of fire. It was easy to hear Terrance’s booming voice echoing throughout the city about changes in how we view criminals and victims. The ways we could heal them both.
Maybe Terrance saw my broken parts and the pain of my past bubbling to the surface. That restorative justice could help someone like me. Someone like Alicia. And while we can never, ever go back, we can move forward.
No, he wouldn’t want to be at this vineyard tonight. Nor would he want the words Dez has twisted into his legacy.
Dez has her own healing to do. I can help with that too.
The driver follows signs toward Overgrown Rhode Vineyard, and soon, there are tiki torches lighting our way.
“This look right?” The driver has a lilt to her voice, as if we’re going to an Eyes Wide Shut party. I guess we are, in a manner of speaking.
“As right as it can look,” I say.
She grunts and then turns, following more torches until we arrive at the gate. There’s a man in a tuxedo standing with a clipboard and flashlight who appears to be checking IDs. The driver rolls down the back window.
“I’m a guest of Dez Castle’s,” I lie. “Kara.”
“Ms. Nguyen has already arrived with Ms. Castle,” he says. “We’ve been cautioned not to let you in, Ms. Worthington-Smith.”
“Do they know who I am?” Dad yells. “I founded this place. These people wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for me.”
The guy checking IDs reaches for his walkie-talkie, and the driver doesn’t say a word, instead putting the car in reverse. She pulls around the cars behind us and starts down the road. She’s going slow as Dad continues to rant.
“We need to sneak in,” I say to the driver when my dad pauses.
“Figured.” She continues past the entrance, where the torches have stopped. A barn off the back of the vineyard comes into view. She turns off her lights and pulls to the side of the road. “Not much fence here.”
“Thanks, I’ll definitely give you five stars,” I say to her, then pull Dad’s arm. “Come on. It’s showtime.”
My heels sink into dry dirt as I watch the Lyft driver’s taillights disappear.
The silence is broken by my phone vibrating with a text from Phillip, asking if my dad is with me. He saw the video. He’s bringing Detective Ramos. And they’re bringing backup.
“We need to get going,” I say to Dad. There’s a gap where the split-wood fence doesn’t connect to the fancier stacked stone that leads to the main drive. “Let’s squeeze through here.”
I leap over a ditch with the bottom of my dress slung over my arm. Landing with a wobble, I stumble and fall onto my knees. Dad huffs and tries to squeeze through the gap.
“I need a hand, kid.” He tries to heft himself through the opening but hardly moves.
I grab his elbow, and as I start to pull, I imagine Winnie the Pooh in the Hundred Acre Wood and laugh as he’s heaved onto my side of the wall.
Dad’s already huffing, and there’s pleasure in this humiliation. Sticks crunch under my feet and snag my dress as we cross an open field on the back side of the property.
The sky is not quite dark, but it’s getting there. I consider waiting in the barn until I hear the event going in full swing. But I’ve never been good at waiting, and it’s not like Dez went around to every staff person and showed them my picture.
Plus, there would be late servers, distracted busboys, and bartenders too slammed with the onslaught of rich, bossy donors to notice us. Waiting for my moment, this moment, the moment that matters most. Whether they know it or not, the party can’t start until I arrive.
That’s what I used to say as my opening line, getting a big laugh when surrounded by employees I paid or half-drunk donors. I expected people to laugh when I wasn’t funny and give me a pass. Now that I’m on the outside, I can see the value of real laughter and true gratitude. Too little, too late.
Stepping over animal crap, I continue toward a large ditch. I help my dad to the barn, where he leans against it to catch his breath. I peer around the edge toward the front. There’s still a line of cars puttering and parking while others drop off passengers and pull away.
This should have been my night. Well, our night: Terrance and me, the board, and that bright future ahead. I’m not much for learning lessons, but perhaps the two murders on my door prove we do not all deserve the future we think we do. Some of us get what we want, and some of us get what we deserve, but rarely both.
Laughter carries over the rows of green-leafed grapevines, and I can see blazing torches releasing thin trails of smoke. “Hurry, Dad, we’re almost there.”
“Juliet, this is outrageous. What are we doing?”
We creep along the ditch until I reach the small vines that haven’t been promoted to the main vineyard. I’m still crouching, but as I near the main buildings—the café, the bar, the music pavilion, and the wine store—I’m more confident that everything will work out as it should.
There is within my spine a steely rod of anger and righteousness. I have seen it prop up my father a thousand times, and only now do I understand that wh
at he has given me is not steel but rotted wood, brittle and ready to burn.
Still I lean on this spine and take his arm to help him along. He huffs and wheezes, but I move us forward toward a justice we deserve.
Chapter 36
We make it to the stage. I touch the diamond studs at my ears and the pendant at my neck. Shoving my hand down my push-up bra, I give my small breasts one last lift. It’s showtime, girls.
As I step from behind the pavilion, I see the small bonfires scattered throughout the expansive lawn. At least a hundred people are mingling as servers dart in and out of the clusters. There are cocktail tables among the mingling crowd.
It’s not the layout I would have chosen, but it’s getting people mingling and drinking, which usually leads to competitive donations.
I studied this place as we considered launch locations. At the time, the one small bonus point for the vineyard was that it had full AV capabilities. I liked the idea of Terrance’s image—carefully curated, edited down to the most essential parts I’d chosen for the montages—blasted across the vineyard.
Tonight, the AV is in full effect, and I drag my father up the steps on the back of the pavilion to the stage, where the projector flashes images across the transparent curtain in a swirl of shadows and shapes and colors. They’ve cut Terrance’s voice out completely, only playing soft jazz music with clips from Terrance’s events around the state interspersed with staged photos and stock images of crowds. No voice, only his carefully constructed image.
That’s what I had wanted. Now, I see it was my way of controlling Terrance—such arrogance, when I couldn’t even control myself. He kept telling me why he wasn’t the person I needed him to be. That under my thumb, he couldn’t show real restorative justice. He had the strength to admit we were off track. To turn down money and fame because he knew the work that really mattered wasn’t getting done.
I slip Sean’s thumb drive out of my purse. I emailed a copy of the video from that night to Phillip. But it’s not enough for him and the police to see it. Everyone needs the truth tonight. Those who loved Terrance deserve it most of all.
Phillip strides from the parking lot. He’s handsome in a suit and tie, but his face is tense, as if there’s a gun aimed in his direction. An equally stone-faced Detective Ramos follows, along with two officers already scanning for us.
It won’t take them long.
Spotting Dez in her silk dress, I glare at her hair, a nest of arrogance. She’s chatting with one of the big trust funders from Jamestown. Kara is in a group not far away, looking the sexy plus-one in a tuxedo jacket and formal shorts with heels. I have guilt when I see her, about all I’ve put her through. Judging her life and her relationship. Using her past trauma that she was trying to heal through Terrance’s class to accuse her of his murder.
The thought causes my eyes to burn with tears, so I focus back on the big show. We need to get into our places.
My father is slumped on the stairs of the stage, catching his breath and wiping the sweat from his blotchy face. I notice Elle is in the crowd, and Miller. She rushes over to Dez and whispers in her ear, pointing toward Detective Ramos hurrying toward them.
My dad wobbles on the step, and I hand him a wine bottle I snagged on the walk over from an annoyed waiter. We’re halfway through it already.
“Thanks, Jules,” he slurs. I hope the drink perks him up instead of tipping him into passing out. A delicate balance. “They want us onstage, kid?”
“Definitely, Dad. This is our night, and we’re going live on my vlog. It’s all working out like you wanted.” I watch him take another long drink, and then he hands the bottle to me. I wink and tip it, letting the wine wash down my throat. One way or another, I’m never drinking again after tonight.
A hippie AV guy clomps up the stairs and heads my way.
“Hi there,” I say to him. “We’ve got a special presentation.” I hand him the thumb drive. “Don’t play it until I say . . . what’s your name?”
“Sam.”
“Ah, that’s perfect.”
He frowns down at my dad. “He all right?”
“Never better,” I say. “Do you have the mics ready?”
He scratches at his thinning hair in a ponytail. “Were you at rehearsal?”
“I’m the MC,” I say. “You don’t remember?”
Shrugging, he hands me the clip-on mic. “You need two?”
“I’m all set.” I grin at him.
I return the bottle to Dad. After brushing the sticks out of my dress, I smooth my bangs and toss my hair. After pulling up my YouTube link, I connect it to my phone so I can press the red button to go live.
“I’m going to need better intro music, Sam.” I squat down beside him and open his iTunes. It has a lot of metal, but I see Billie Eilish, which was playing the last time I saw Dez. “‘Bad Guy,’ please, Sam.”
The bass thrums, and I can’t resist sneaking a peek at the crowd. The way their backs go straight as the singer’s voice begins. There’s whispering, the song builds nicely, and Dez slowly turns toward the screen, where I’m hiding.
As the singer begins the chorus, I step onto the stage. I’m too drunk to be scared. I do a little side-to-side hip dance. The crowd laughs, though those grins fall away once they realize who I am.
I hold my phone out like a selfie and hit record. “Hello out there,” I say, my voice loud and strong through the microphone. “For my final Rhode to Justice vlog, we are live at the truth!”
After panning the crowd for my vlog viewers, I do a little toe-and-heel jig across the stage. I’ve been told I’m a decent dancer. Phillip said in college I had white-girl rhythm, which is mostly shaking hips and tits.
Security is in the back, and they move through the crowd like sharks tearing into a school of fish. “Welcome, generous donors, to the Dr. Terrance Castle legacy launch.” I let the music go a few beats. I really like it when she drops it, so I nod my head along. “Of course, things have changed since I last saw most of you over a glass of champagne. I’m gone. Dr. Castle is gone. But all is not lost. In fact, tonight, we will all be found, hallelujah!”
Phillip starts toward the stage, and I shake my finger at him. There’s fear in his eyes, and that tells me all I need to know. This is it.
“You see, Terrance was tired of being the social justice puppet with either my hand stuck up his ass or his wife, Dez’s.” I waggle a hand at the crowd and then my phone.
The crowd gasps with a few shocked snorts. Terry would have loved that joke.
“The point—friends, family, bank accounts—is today, we will remember Terrance Castle in a way his greatness deserves. My first announcement is that Phillip Hale, a protégé of Dr. Castle, will be taking over the rights to Terrance’s book and his legacy project.”
Dez moves forward, as if she’s going to snatch the mic right off my dress. She might be angry, but Phillip has all the evidence he needs to keep her quiet. The way she’s been whitewashing Terrance would ruin her reputation.
Down the road, way past the tiki torches, red and blue lights fire. More cops. Not long now.
“We have a guest of honor,” I say as Dez and her security team get closer. “The founder of the Poe Foundation, Louis Worthington. Come onstage, Dad.”
He shuffles out, blinking at the stage lights like a child in footsie pajamas. “What’s going on? Juliet?”
I guide Dad forward by the arm, holding the bottle of wine. I guide him to this strange wine-barrel chair set up on the side like Bacchanal’s throne.
“Juliet.” He pulls me close. “What the hell are you doing?”
“It’s showtime, Dad. We’re here to tell the truth tonight. That’s the real legacy of Terrance Castle. To break us. So the victims can finally begin to heal.”
Dez has made her way to the stage, and she points the three security guards toward me. I expected as much, so I grab the wine bottle out of my dad’s hand and smash it against the barrel.
“Careful,” I s
ay, pressing the jagged edge near my dad’s neck. “I’d hate to see more blood spilled.”
There are screams. Security does a little cha-cha, but no one moves.
“My apologies for the dramatics,” I say. “But everyone must see what Phillip Hale helped uncover. He’s the real legacy of Terrance Castle. If I’m granted any last requests, it’s that you let him lead the effort to honor this great man.”
I hear Phillip yell, but he doesn’t understand we are all connected: justice for Terrance means justice for Phillip, and that leads to justice for me.
“Play the video, Sam.”
VIDEO TRANSCRIPT 17
SECURITY FEED
THE WRONG SIDE OF HOPE
EXT. ALLEY—NIGHT
REBA GABLES walks into the alley and heads toward a dumpster. She digs and finds something, taking a bite. The back door to the alley swings open, and TERRANCE CASTLE and JULIET WORTHINGTON-SMITH spill outside.
JULIET
(words slurred)
You can’t do this to me.
She grabs TERRANCE by the arm. He pulls away as he lights a cigarette.
TERRANCE
Go inside. I’m tired of talking about it. What’s done is done.
JULIET
You can’t do this to me. You are ruining my chance at CEO. Ruining my future. I don’t deserve to be treated this way!
TERRANCE
You’re using me, Jules.
JULIET hits TERRANCE on the chest, and he drops his cigarette.
TERRANCE
What the hell, Jules. Get control of yourself. You’ll find someone else.
JULIET
There’s only you.
He pushes her away and pulls out a piece of paper.
TERRANCE
Do you need to read this contract again? My lawyer says I’m covered. Move on, Jules.
JULIET
That’s bullshit. You gave me your word.
TERRANCE
And you broke yours. We were supposed to work together, but you don’t listen. I’m not your puppet. I’m not a means to being CEO and redeeming your father’s name. I won’t be used anymore.
For the Best Page 24
