THROUGH THE FOG OF MY HEADACHE, I HEAR MY PHONE ring, impossibly loud. When I reach for it, sharp pain riddles my chest. The ringing stops. Then starts again. It’s Lawrence. He’s already left a series of voicemails. “I had no choice. Cass, call me, please. Let’s figure this out.” He honestly thinks there’s a way back.

I won’t lie, the pull to believe Lawrence is real. It would be easy to give in, to put this behind us. But I’m angry too. If it’s his word against mine, I know who people will believe. Soon the anger will fade, and I’ll get weepy and sentimental, but if the universe could grant me one wish, I would stay rooted in place, strong and defiant. Please, I think. Don’t let me weaken. I’m split between the me who’s here, inside my skin, and the me who’s outside, watching. For the first time, however, one of us is asking for help.

My apartment is musty. I haven’t been here since before the trial started, a lifetime ago. In the kitchen, I crack a window and light a joint. Wake and bake, an old favorite. I still have a life, I remind myself. I still have school, my friend Eddie, Little Italy breakfast burritos. A future. The idea makes me laugh. How did Haggerty put it? You call this real life?

Lawrence keeps hounding me. More texts. More voicemails. Texts from Nate. A call from Haggerty but no message. Nothing from Billy. Or Eleanor. Christ, she must hate me.

A bang on my door startles me. It can’t be Lawrence, so it has to be Haggerty. Who else could slip past the doorman? I send him a text: go away

His reply is immediate: let’s talk

He keeps banging until I give in. But when I open the door, I see Eleanor.

“Oh my God,” I say. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh my God is right.” She hands me a brightly colored bag. “Double espresso. And biscotti.” But she’s flustered. “I’m not sure where . . . I should’ve called . . . I didn’t know . . .” She clears her throat. “After Lawrence’s testimony, I didn’t go home. I couldn’t. I stayed at the hotel, in Princeton . . . I was up all night . . . thinking . . .” She exhales. “I just had to see you. But I shouldn’t have shown up, unannounced. I apologize.”

Immediately, I’m suspicious. She wants something. “Eleanor, you’re my mother,” I say. “You’re allowed to show up whenever you want.”

“I haven’t been much of a mother, I’m afraid.” Eleanor’s bangs hang over her eyes, which are bloodshot and filmy. Seeing her this way makes me feel superior, which is ironic since I’m the one with nothing.