It was an hour of peace, of normalcy. But the asylum wouldn’t last.
As the boys clinked their silverware, finishing their Chocolate Lava Cake dessert, and Sean sipped a cappuccino, he saw Emily’s shoulders slump. A quiet gasp. What—
Then he saw them. A group of eight leaving Central’s private room. The four men wore suits, shirts open at the collar. Their companions, women in their late twenties, cute and tipsy, stepping carefully in their tall heels. They tottered around the diners as they left the place. Sean found himself standing, staring at the last couple, a black man and his date. Sean and the man locked eyes, neither moving. The man’s companions seemed to notice Sean. One of the men doubled back and touched his friend’s arm, guiding him out.
A flashbulb lit up the room. A waiter quickly shooed away the man with the camera—a photog who’d caught the stare down between Sean Serrat and Malik Montgomery.
CHAPTER 49
“It’s already on CNN’s website,” Emily said. She gripped the humming laptop with a single hand and carried it to Sean, who was seated at the kitchen counter scrolling through the hundreds of work e-mails on his phone. With the boys upstairs in bed, the house was quiet save the sound of rain whipping against the windows.
Sean glanced at the laptop’s screen and read the headline: SHOWDOWN BETWEEN ACCUSED KILLER AND VICTIM’S FATHER. He had to hand it to the photog. The guy not only trailed them to the restaurant unnoticed, but the shot was perfect. Sean’s tense jaw, cold stare; Malik’s glare back. The photograph was deceiving because that was not how Sean remembered the scene. To him, Malik had just looked surprised, maybe embarrassed and regretful, but no menace in his face. And Sean, too, did not recall feeling the icy hatred depicted in the photo. He and Emily in fact shared doubts about Malik’s guilt. They were just taken aback seeing him there, living his life. Sean could imagine Blake Hellstrom sitting his client down and giving an exasperated lecture. You can’t be seen out having some grand old time when there’s a young girl who will never have another night out. And what were you thinking glowering at her father that way? Malik would protest: We were in a private room. I had no idea her family would be there. I didn’t glower at him. And, until trial, Malik would never again be seen in public living the life Abby would not have, much less having fun. Maybe the Serrats should follow suit.
“I told you not to read this stuff,” Sean said.
“I don’t know how you can just avoid all the news and ignore what they’re saying about our family,” Emily challenged. “Just bury your head in the sand.”
Sean didn’t take the bait. This fight had no winner. Emily was right, though. In some weird form of denial or avoidance, he’d shunned all news. He understood that Abby’s murder had sparked (another) national discussion about race and justice. And to some extent, having reporters focused on her case could help uncover the truth. But he just couldn’t stomach watching the media try to fill a twenty-four-hour news cycle by stretching out the twenty minutes of information they had. He turned back to his phone, but could feel Emily’s eyes on him.
“Did the files on the senator arrive yet?” Emily asked.
“I’m still making my way through work e-mails. I’m starting to feel guilty. I get asked several times a day to help with a business pitch or to read someone’s brief, and I just ignore them.”
“Anyone who asks you to do anything right now is an ass,” Emily said. “They can wait. And if they can’t, to hell with them.” With that, she marched out of the kitchen, leaving the laptop on the counter.