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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

A side door opens. The same judge, Charles McKay, enters the courtroom. We rise. Sit. Wait. Wait. Wait some more. Soon, the movie begins, and there’s action, dialogue, and atmospheric texture, but I’m too anxious to listen, too strung out to hear. I’ve already seen this show; it ends with our hero falling off a cliff.

When McKay lists Billy’s purported crimes, I snap to attention.

“Mr. Quinn, you are indicted on five charges, including two counts of rape, one count of attempted rape; and two counts of felony sexual assault, one count where the victim was intoxicated, and one where the victim was unconscious of the nature of the act. To these five counts, how do you plead?”

My stomach clenches as I wait for him to speak.

Suddenly, Lawrence grabs my hand and squeezes it. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, out of the blue. “Live the life you want, Cassie. I won’t hold you back. I love you, kiddo.”

My chest catches. My lungs expand. “Me too. I love you too.”

Together, we hold our breath.

Billy stands up tall, thrusts out his chin, and says, “Not”—he swallows hard—“guilty”—swallows again—“ssss . . .” There’s a delay, but it’s brief. “. . . sir,” he says, with extra emphasis.

As I exhale, I feel Lawrence do the same. Drenched in sweat; I’m spent. “Thank God that’s over,” I say with relief.

“Over?” He starts to laugh, loudly. He sounds like a maniac. “This has just begun.”

18

TIME PASSES. DAYS BLEND TOGETHER. SOON, A MONTH goes by. My prep classes are over, and while I’m no more proficient in Arabic than when I started, at least I’m done. My next hurdle is deciding where to live until school starts in September. My choices are New York with my family, New Haven alone, or Southampton, occasionally with Nate but mostly alone.

Billy has no such choices. After he was formally indicted, Princeton asked him to withdraw, and then banned him from campus until his case is settled. Although he can reapply, prevailing wisdom says he won’t be readmitted. No college wants an accused sex offender among their community—even if he’s exonerated. So how and if Billy can finish his degree remains to be seen. Moreover, medical school is likely out of the question. Again, he can apply. But the internet is all-knowing and everlasting. A quick search for “Billy Quinn” already yields too many hits for an admissions board to ignore. So, it’s not just Billy’s education that’s been derailed; it’s his whole future, along with his health and emotional well-being.