BooksBarbecue
Back When We Were Bright and Beautiful Save as PDF
Chapters (72)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. Epigraph
  4. Part One
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. Part Two
  25. 20
  26. 21
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. 27
  33. 28
  34. 29
  35. 30
  36. 31
  37. 32
  38. 33
  39. 34
  40. 35
  41. 36
  42. Part Three
  43. 37
  44. 38
  45. 39
  46. 40
  47. 41
  48. 42
  49. 43
  50. 44
  51. 45
  52. 46
  53. 47
  54. 48
  55. 49
  56. 50
  57. 51
  58. 52
  59. 53
  60. 54
  61. 55
  62. 56
  63. 57
  64. 58
  65. 59
  66. 60
  67. Epilogue
  68. Author’s Note
  69. Acknowledgments
  70. About the Author
  71. Also by Jillian Medoff
  72. About the Publisher

I take her hand. Can I trust her? I want to believe I can, to allow myself to feel her remorse, but I’m not sure. My relationship with Lawrence has crippled me in so many ways, some irrevocably. I doubt my own instincts. I don’t trust myself to know what’s right or wrong, true or false. Don’t women like Eleanor always forgive themselves? There’s always a reason, context, extenuating circumstances. In this manner, she and Lawrence are not dissimilar. In fact, if we’re weighing the scales, aren’t her crimes worse? After all, Eleanor is the mother. She’s the mother. We look to our mothers to protect us from the world, from outsiders, sometimes from our own fathers.

“I’m tired,” I tell her. “I need to lie down.”

“Cassie, we’re not done yet. We need to see this through to the end.”

I was right, I realize. She wants something from me. “Which means what?”

“Come to court.”

“I won’t testify.”

“No, of course not. I’m only asking that you show up and sit with your family.”

Eleanor’s face is gentle. I see softness, a warmth that used to be missing. I don’t know if I can trust this. I want to, though.

“You really believe my being there will help Billy?”

“I do, Cassie.” She smiles. “A united front,” she adds.

Your son is a criminal, Eleanor. Even if I could help him, I don’t know if I should.

“Maybe,” I tell her. “I’ll think about it.”

58

THE TRIAL RESUMES MONDAY AT TEN. OVER THE WEEKEND, the media exploded with the latest twist. Lawrence and I are being compared to Woody and Soon-Yi, with headlines like: “Dirty Dad and Darling Daughter; Princeton Rapist’s Family Secret; Runner Rapist Can’t Flee the Shocking Truth.” This morning, we drive from the hotel in separate cars. Having agreed to Eleanor’s request, I travel with her, Nate, Billy, and the Bowtie in his Bentley. Lawrence rides alone in his Mercedes. Eleanor is concerned about appearances, but even she has her limits.

As we make our way up the courthouse steps, reporters call out to me and Lawrence: Are you together? When did your affair start? Is Billy a rapist?

It’s hell trying to focus. My only salvation is anger—burning-hot, acid, laced with venom—so I glide demurely into the building, wearing a hand-tailored Calvin Klein suit, silky blouse, and kitten heels, pretending I can’t hear. Lawrence is ahead of me, weaving through the crowds, the same way he wove through traffic. Watching him I force myself to remember and remember. Unfortunately, it’s the memories I want to forget that have the most staying power.