“Well, maybe she didn’t want you getting anywhere with her. You ever think of that?”
“Father lets you get away with too much, that’s what I say.” Nick pulls his package of cigarettes from his pocket. “All girls should be like Lydia LeVine. Sweet, timid little things.”
“You won’t hear any argument from me.”
Nick’s eyes slide closed. “Lydia.” Hearing the way he speaks her name—wistful and heartbroken—melts away my anger. “It just still seems so unreal that she’s gone.”
“I know.”
Nick holds up the package of cigarettes. “Want to keep me company?”
“Sure.”
I nudge Sidekick off my lap, wrap the throw around my shoulders, and follow my brother onto the front porch. Astor Street is quiet at this hour, with just the occasional car rumbling by. Nick settles alongside me on the front porch step and takes a long drag of his cigarette.
I watch Sidekick sniff about the yard in a haphazard way. “If you still care so much about Lydia, why are you even bothering with Alana? She doesn’t live here. Nothing’s going to happen.”
“Maybe it’s just nice having someone who’s interested in me.” He flicks his cigarette, and ash dances away in the night. “Lydia sure wasn’t.”
“Are you so sure that Alana is interested in you? Seems to me, all she cares about is getting a good story.”
Nick’s shrug is sharp. Dismissive. “I can’t believe you didn’t know who Mariano was. Normally, you’re the smart one in the family.”
My teeth grind together, but I have nothing to say in my defense. The evidence was all there—who Mariano’s family is, what my father’s client list really looks like—and I just hadn’t let myself think too deeply on it. Hadn’t wanted to question for fear of what the answers might be.
Nick laughs—the loud and unaware laugh that comes from too much gin. “Didn’t you ever wonder where all our booze came from?”
“The wine cellar, of course.”
“And who do you think supplies our wine cellar, sister?”
“I don’t drink any of it, so I guess I hadn’t thought that far.” It seems just as stupid now as it did when I said it to Father, but I tell Nick anyway. “I thought the men Father defended were mostly innocent.” Nick smirks, and I ignore him. “Or that if they were guilty, it was of breaking a law that didn’t really matter. I never thought they might be really bad guys.”
“That’s part of being a defense attorney, Piper. ‘In all criminal prosecutions, the accused shall enjoy the right to a speedy and public trial.’ The sixth amendment isn’t just for good guys.” Nick pauses for another puff. “And if you have to provide a defense for a man who’s guilty, as a way of upholding the founding principles of our country, what’s the shame in making decent money at it?”
“There’s a difference between decent money and, well, this.” I gesture to our house.
“You’re still thinking about it wrong. Don’t think of it as ‘my daddy defends the mafia.’ Instead, think of how our father works to protect one of the greatest rights we have as American citizens.”
Nick will be a very good lawyer.
“And he’s being paid ridiculously well for the verdicts he gets.”
“Stop being so hung up on the money.”
“Would Father still defend them if they were poor?”
“Absolutely.”
Nick doesn’t even flinch when he says it. And it’s unsettling to see how it takes him no effort, how it costs him nothing, to lie.
“What would Mother have said about all this?”
Nick takes a final inhale of his cigarette before putting it out on the stoop. “I don’t know. But it’s not fair of us to speculate. To put words in the mouth of someone who can’t speak for herself.” Nick clasps a hand on my shoulder as he stands. “’Night, sister. Sleep well.”
“Good night, Nick.”
But when I don’t hear the door open, I turn and find him with his hand on the doorknob and his gaze on the quiet street. “You won’t stay outside too long, will you?”
“No.”
“It’s just that what happened to Lydia could’ve easily happened to you.”
Maybe it was even supposed to happen to me. I pull the blanket tighter around my shoulders, as if my shivering has anything to do with the nighttime chill. “Not if it was Matthew.”
“We both know it wasn’t.” Nick’s voice has turned dark. “He loved Lydia. Alana says the same thing, that Matthew loved Lydia. She’s working hard to find him. She’s even traveled to places she thinks he might’ve gone.”
“Why does she want him found so badly, if she thinks he’s not guilty?”
“How else will we find the man responsible? Really, you should listen to her and work with her. You have the same goal.”
I think of the predatory way she looked at me when we met, that day when it came out that Matthew had left town. No, I think Alana is all about herself on the issue of Matthew—her fame, her big break.