He was still holding my gaze. I couldn’t look away, couldn’t break eye contact. I didn’t know what to say, just shook my head, at the words all jumbling in my head, the frustrated thoughts and anger at how our lives had gone, at the things he was making me feel and say and think. I said, “My parents, my mom, she’s not speaking to me. But my dad, we might meet for coffee. I don’t want to mess that up. I don’t want them to see me go back…”
“How’s that really going to be, Toni? You and your dad sitting there, you knowing he’s still not sure if you’re guilty, him thinking about Nicole the whole time.” I sucked in my breath, my eyes stinging. Ryan was right. It would be agonizing, like the prison visits all over again. I’d been stupid, thinking things would be different because I was on parole.
Ryan was still talking. “My dad’s dead. I never got to show him I wasn’t a fuckup, that I didn’t murder your sister, but my mom’s still alive. And you can still prove it to your parents. I know we can do it.”
I was tempted. Then I thought of Suzanne, her warning. It was a long shot that we’d get Cathy to confess to anything, and we’d likely get caught doing it. I’d be back in Rockland, where Helen’s friends were no doubt waiting for me.
I shook my head, tears building behind my eyes. “I can’t do it. Just stay away from me.”
For the second time I left Ryan standing alone in the parking lot.
*
That weekend Mike hired a new waitress. I was peeling carrots in the kitchen when she came back to introduce herself. She looked about sixteen and was stick-thin and pale. Her long straight hair was dyed jet-black and she had blunt bangs, ending just above her dark-rimmed eyes. Her hands were covered in silver rings, skulls and crosses. She also had a heavy chain around her neck with a cross and was wearing black leggings and a tunic. Great, another Goth teenager thinking she’s badass just because she dressed in black.
“Hi, I’m Ashley.” She stuck out her hand.
I shook it. “Welcome on board.”
I thought that would be the last of it and turned back to my work, but she lingered, looking around the kitchen, fiddling with some spices. What was she doing? Then I caught her sneaking sideways glances at me. She knew who I was.
I set down the grater and put my hands on my hips. “Can I help you?”
“Sorry.” Her cheeks flushed. “It’s just … I saw a TV show about your case. It was for this journalism class I was taking last summer.”
So that was it. I was angry, but part of me also admired her guts. Not many people had the balls to just straight-out say crap like that. Usually they pretended like they didn’t know, but I could always tell what they were thinking
“I don’t like to talk about that.” I could be just as blunt.
“That’s okay. I mean, I can understand why you wouldn’t. You’re trying to move on with your life.” She grabbed a carrot and started grating. “I wanted to work here because I need money—I’m saving for film school. My mom doesn’t know I’ve got a job yet. She doesn’t like me doing anything I really want to do.”
Her bitter tone made it clear that she resented the hell out of her mother. But I couldn’t figure out why she was telling me all this. I stared at her, waiting.
She looked at me from the side. “I also wanted to meet you.”
What was the deal? Was she one of those kids who got off on crime? Thought it was cool or something?
“Why would you want to meet me?”
She stopped grating and faced me, her eyes intense. “I want to film you.”
Didn’t see that one coming. “What the hell for?”
“For a documentary. I want to tell your side of it. What happened back then, what your life is like now, why you came back here, stuff like that.”
“Kid, you’re insane if you think I’m going to let you film me.”
“Really?” She looked disappointed. “I thought you’d want people to understand you more, see your side of things, you know?”
“People are never going to understand me.”
“You’ve always said you’re innocent. The documentary could get you exposure, and some new witnesses or evidence might turn up. I’m really good at investigating stuff. I’ve been part of the Vancouver Film Festival every year.”
We held eyes. Was she making it up? Saying she wanted to help just so she could film me, then screw me over somehow like all the reporters had? She seemed serious, but it could be part of her angle. Either way, I didn’t want anything to do with her, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to be her little project.
I turned back to the carrots. “It’s too late to help me now—I already went to prison. Mike probably needs you up front and I’ve gotta get this finished.”
“Just think about it, okay?” She handed me the grater.
“There’s nothing to think about.”
She leaned forward, her face serious. “I’ve read the interviews with you, all the newspaper articles, everything you said, and Ryan, how in love you two were. I got it, you know? You were just angry, at your sister, your parents, but that didn’t mean you killed her.”