“Are you even listening to me?” I heard Melanie say.
“Sorry. I spaced out there for a second,” I said.
“I was just asking about Polly and Finch?”
“What about them?”
“How’s Finch doing? With the breakup?” she said, lowering her voice.
“They broke up? I hadn’t heard,” I said, feeling a stab of maternal guilt for being the last to know.
“Yeah. Honestly, though, I think Finch could do so much better than Polly. I’ve said that from the beginning. Everyone thinks so,” Melanie said.
Marveling that Polly’s inferiority to Finch could still be Melanie’s conclusion given recent events, I said, “I don’t know, Mel. I bet she broke up with him….I’d break up with a boy for doing what he did to another girl. It was so mean.”
“Please stop torturing yourself, honey. Kids make mistakes. Especially boys. Remember that psychiatrist who told us that the frontal lobe of a boy’s brain isn’t developed until, like, age twenty-five?…They use bad judgment without a fully developed frontal lobe.”
I shrugged, then reiterated the point I’d made to Kirk. To me, this wasn’t about judgment so much as morals.
“C’mon, Nina! You need to be an advocate for your own child!”
“What about Lyla? Shouldn’t we be advocates for all children?”
“Let Tom worry about Lyla. Let him be her advocate. You need to be Finch’s. You should always side with your kid. Always.”
“Without regard to his actions?” I asked. “No matter what?”
“No. Matter. What,” she said, crossing her arms.
“What if Beau killed someone?” I said, testing the theory.
“Well, then, we’d hire the very best defense lawyers. O. J. Simpson–type lawyers. And if we lost, I would visit him in jail every single day until I died.” She took a deep breath. “Beau will always be my flesh and blood. I couldn’t stop loving him. Ever.”
“Of course. I get that,” I said, feeling a wave of defensiveness. I mean, I, too, would love Finch no matter what. I could even see where she was coming from with respect to hiring the best attorneys and being hopeful that he might get a lighter sentence. After all, that is our legal system—which I do believe in.
But I also knew in my heart that I wouldn’t cover for my son if he committed a terrible crime. Any crime. I wouldn’t lie for him. I wouldn’t obstruct justice for him. I would stand by him, but I would also want him to confess and truly repent and bear responsibility for his actions. I would want him to earn and deserve his forgiveness.
I tried to summarize the distinction to Melanie, but she wasn’t having it, digging deeper with her next statement. “Well, I would do anything it took to protect Beau from pain. Anything.”
Our eyes locked as the truth slowly sank in—the fact that I just didn’t feel the same. I thought of a sermon I’d once heard at Teddy’s church, a long time ago. Pastor Sundermeier had said something along the lines of “Justice isn’t only about what a person deserves, but also about what a person needs.” It was a crucial piece of the puzzle that Melanie and Kirk seemed to be missing.
“Well, for what it’s worth, Kirk agrees with you,” I said.
She nodded, looking vindicated. “Of course he does. He has excellent instincts when it comes to these things.”
I thought about the fifteen thousand dollars, knowing that although Melanie probably would have approved of his ploy, she likely would also have scoffed at the amount, as she never minded overpaying, one of her mantras being Just throw money at the problem.
“Not always,” I said. “Sometimes he’s a little too…results driven. He always gets what he wants.”
“Yeah,” she said with a little laugh. “That’s sort of why you married him, isn’t it?”
She was referring to our “story”—the one Kirk loved to tell. How he had pursued me throughout our sophomore year at Vanderbilt, asking me out a half dozen times before I finally said yes. Of course he believed I was merely playing hard to get, which had raised my stock in his eyes. And I never told him the truth—that I’d been too scarred by the traumatic events of my freshman year to even consider dating anyone for a long time.
Looking back, though, maybe Melanie had a point. I did admire my husband’s tenacity, and it probably did have something to do with why we ended up together. If I’m being honest, I have to admit I also liked how much my friends liked him. How well he fit in with everyone. He took my mind off bad things. He made me feel safe. Like nothing bad would happen to me on his watch.
“I guess so,” I murmured as Melanie and I drank wine and I contemplated my own intentions.
Why did I so badly want to meet with Lyla, and talk to Tom again? Was it really just about Finch learning from his mistakes and my doing the right thing? Or was I seeking some sort of absolution—maybe even vindication for my younger self? I wasn’t sure, but I suddenly and desperately wanted to be alone.
“Oh, my goodness,” I said, forcing a fake yawn. “I’m so tired.”
“Yeah. Me, too,” she said. “I should go…”
I quickly stood, knowing how often I should go resulted in an additional hour of conversation.
“Hang in there, honey,” she said, giving me a big hug. “Get some rest. And leave this to Kirk. Trust me, it will all be over soon.”
As soon as Melanie walked out the door, I couldn’t get to my phone fast enough. Amid the usual mass mail, two emails jumped out at me. The first was from Walter Quarterman, the second from Tom Volpe. My heart raced as I opened Walter’s first and read the short message informing Kirk and me that Finch’s “closed hearing” before the Honor Council was scheduled for this coming Tuesday at 9:00 A.M. He apologized for the delay but explained that two faculty members on the council had been away at a conference. He added that we were welcome to come to school that day but would not be permitted in the room during the questioning.
“Okay,” I said aloud to myself, relieved to see the date finalized. Four more days.
I took a deep breath, then opened the second email.
From: Thomas Volpe
To: Nina Browning
Subject: Hello
Hi Nina, I think you’re right. It is a good idea for the four of us to sit down together. Does this weekend work? Tomorrow around 11? You are welcome to come to our house. I’d prefer that to yours. Our address is in the directory.
Feeling intensely anxious, but also grateful and hopeful, I composed a reply:
From: Nina Browning
To: Thomas Volpe
Subject: Thank you
Tom, I greatly appreciate your decision. Tomorrow morning absolutely works. We will see you at your place at 11 A.M. Thank you again so much.
I hit send just as Kirk’s name lit up on my phone. I answered as he barked into my ear. “That asshole took the cash and is still letting this go to trial! So much for a gentleman’s agreement.”
“A gentleman’s agreement?” I said, so aghast by this ridiculous spin that I further rationalized not telling him that Tom had returned the money. I knew two wrongs didn’t make a right, but he didn’t deserve the truth. He deserved to feel screwed.
“A settlement. Yes.”
“It wasn’t a gentleman’s agreement. Or a settlement. It was a bribe. You tried to pay him off to keep quiet. And it backfired,” I said.
“Try not to sound so happy about it,” he said.
“I’m not happy about this,” I said. “I’m not happy about anything right now.”
“Well,” Kirk said. “That makes two of us.”
* * *