The Whole Golden World (22 page)

32

M
organ lay on her bed, eyes on the dirty-white ceiling, her earbuds plugged into an old iPod, with her Elgar concerto on repeat.

To think she used to feel trapped in the house, in the community.

No, this here was trapped. The door off her room, phone and computer taken by the police, under constant watch by Dinah who had hired an extra temp and was managing the Den primarily by phone so she could play warden.

She turned over onto her stomach and pressed her face into the pillow, emitting a silent scream into its fluff.

She hadn't meant to get him in trouble. Hell, she'd been so very careful.

But she just couldn't leave things as they were, with his last actions toward her being to bark at her to get her shoes, how he practically threw her out of his car in the mall parking lot. He'd driven off and left her standing there alone in a dark and remote corner of the lot, not even seeing if she got into her car safely.

He'd been so curt and bossy with her, but he'd also said he loved her. She could no longer stand the limbo and texted him that she was desperate to talk to him, that it was of utmost urgency.

They met in the same mall parking lot, where she hopped into his car, this time sliding down in the seat without being asked. They rode in silence to a park-and-ride lot next to the highway, which was deserted except for them. By then the cold car had warmed up. He left it running, unbuckled his seat belt, and turned to her.

“Okay, what's so urgent? You better not be pregnant.”

“No! I told you I'm on the pill. No, what was urgent was . . .” She hated how high her voice sounded then, and she tried to pitch it into a lower register, to sound mature and worthy of him. “I need to know how you feel about me. Whether you truly love me, or whether I'm an inconvenient burden to you.”

His expression softened. “I'm under a lot of pressure . . .”

“I know you are. I know it's hard. It's not easy for me, either, to sit there in your class and do my homework like all is normal. To know you go home every night and . . . Anyway, the point is that if I'm in the way, just say so and we'll forget it. I'll get over it,” she said, cursing her quavering voice. “I'll carry on somehow, but I can't take the limbo. I can't take the harsh attitude and then five minutes later ‘I love you' and then five minutes after that you throw me out of your house.”

Morgan drew in a deep, deep breath, all the way to her toes. “Do you love me?”

He looked her in the eye, his expression calm. “Yes,” he whispered, barely audible over the rush of warm air from the car's heating vent.

He leaned in to her, and she opened her lips to the softest, gentlest kiss he'd yet given her. His hand came to her face and stroked her hair gently back.

“You're so beautiful,” he whispered, stroking her chin with his hand.

“Even with my scar?”

“I don't even see it,” he said.

He kissed her again, then began leaving a trail of gentle kisses down her neck to her collarbone.

She hadn't wanted to do it in his car. It seemed too cramped for one thing, and also there was still daylight in the sky.

He began unbuttoning her shirt and part of her wanted to protest, to tell him no, not here, let's make plans, but they were running out of places to see each other, and they'd just had such a lovely moment . . .

By the time her shirt was off and bra unhooked, he was kissing the tops of her breasts, and she was carried away by a rising tide to float far above everything else. Until the banging on the window, and the shouting, and her own pathetic yelping.

Morgan burrowed her head under her pillow, wishing she could unremember the cop dragging him from the car and flinging him up against its side, the other officer handing her the shirt back, leading her from the car and wrapping a blanket around her as if she had gone into shock.

TJ had hollered something like, “It's not what you think!” but then Morgan couldn't hear anymore because they stuffed him inside the squad car, and a second car was there she suddenly noticed, and they stuck her in back of that one like she'd been arrested, too, asking her all along if she were hurt, what had happened to her.

She'd sat in vacant, idiotic shock until she got inside the police station. A kindly woman officer—or at least she acted kindly, to get what she wanted—asked Morgan questions while she drank weak coffee with powdered creamer. At first, Morgan said nothing at all.

Finally, she realized she might as well just tell them. After all, they'd been caught together, and if she didn't tell them the truth, then they'd probably assume he'd raped her or something.

So she just told the nice lady cop that yes, they were lovers. Morgan answered all her questions, told the whole story as the lady with her red hair in a bun jotted in a notepad and nodded with an air of serene understanding. Morgan had felt so giddy and relieved at being able to tell it all out loud that, by the time the officer had left to go find her mother to come get her, she was believing it had all happened for the best. His wife would surely leave him now, she'd muddle through the last few months of high school, and then they could figure out what to do next.

After she talked to her mother, the redheaded officer came back, and Morgan wanted to know what would happen to him.

“He's been arrested and will be arraigned later today,” she'd replied with that same serene calm as she'd listened to Morgan's story.

“Arrested? But I just told you I didn't do anything unwillingly, and I'm over sixteen. I'm over the age of consent.”

By the time the officer had told her of the exception in the law for teacher-student relationships, Morgan thought she might faint—or punch the officer in the face in rage.

In any case, she vowed right then not to say one more word.

“Stupid,” she whispered into the still air of her room. “I'm so stupid.” She shifted away from a damp spot on her mattress. She hadn't even noticed she'd been crying.

She had checked, after all. She wanted to make sure he would not get arrested. Yes, she realized that they always had to be careful, that he would tell his wife in his own time, when he could, and that he had to figure out how to keep his job. She never dreamed he would land in jail.

And what she still could not figure out, no matter how hard she thought about it, was this: How did they know? How did the police know to find them?

At first, Morgan believed it had been horrible bad luck, but the more she pondered, the less sense that made. After all, there were two cop cars on the scene at once. They didn't drive around in tandem as a matter of habit.

Maybe someone saw them at the mall. Someone saw a young woman get out of her car and into an older man's car and called the police. But so? He could have been a dad giving her a ride because her car battery died.

Her gut tightened at the sound of her mother's footsteps, audible over a soft passage of the concerto playing in her ears. Had to be Dinah, since the boys were at school and her dad was at work. Morgan had already finished her class assignments in the first two hours of this torturously isolated day, though she'd left the books and papers lying around so she could ward off any interference from her mother by claiming to be “studying.”

Her mother tapped on the doorjamb, since her door had been removed.

“Let yourself in,” Morgan quipped drily. “As if I had a choice in the matter.”

“You have a visitor,” Dinah said. Morgan wouldn't look at her.

“Gee, thanks, Warden. A reward for good behavior?”

“Do you want to see Ethan or don't you?”

“Yes.”

She waited until her mother's footsteps retreated, then she took out the earbuds and cleared a space on her bed. She tucked away her poetry, which had been half hidden under her pillow.

But when Ethan came in, he sat at her desk chair. She never used that desk for anything, other than stacking her clothes on when she didn't feel like putting them away.

“Are you okay?” he asked. “Everyone's worried about you.”

“Ha. I'll bet they are.” Morgan tried to act like she didn't care, but that effort only lasted a few seconds. “What's everyone saying?”

“That Mr. Hill seduced you in his car and got arrested. Is it true? Did he?”

She snorted. “No. He didn't ‘seduce' me like some perv. We were having an affair. He's the older man I mentioned.”

Ethan boggled at her, a cartoon rendering of shock.

“Close your mouth before you catch flies. What, is that so surprising, that I could have a mature relationship?”

“Not sure I'd put it like that . . . I mean, what . . . why? How did it even start?”

“Did you come over because you're concerned, or because you want gory details?”

Ethan looked down at his hands, where he'd been twisting the silver ring he wore on his index finger. “I'm just trying to figure it out. It doesn't make any sense.”

“Love never does.”

Ethan looked back up at her. “Love?”

“What, do you think I'm a slut? Of course it's love. And don't you start sounding like my mother.”

“So what are you going to do now?”

Morgan shrugged. “Finish out the school year in my room, I guess. My dad thinks I shouldn't go back.”

Ethan grimaced. “You probably wouldn't want to. Some people . . .”

“Some people what?”

“Never mind.”

“Screw you, Ethan. You can't start something like that and not finish it. You have to tell me. What.”

“Some people hate you for getting him fired.”

“He's been fired?”

“Not yet, but don't you think he probably will be? It's not like he stole some Post-it notes.”

“They hate me?”

“Some people blame you. Or at least blame you equally.”

Morgan marveled at her own surprise at this, and further, how it stung to hear. “Well, they should. We were in it together, after all.”

“I might as well tell you before you hear it somewhere else . . .”

“. . . not that I hear anything with my phone and computer taken by the cops, and I avoid the rest of the house where the family computer is. I'm like in a little black hole, here.”

“. . . but someone defaced your locker.”

“Defaced how?”

“They scratched it up.”

Morgan shrugged. “Big whoop.”

“With words. It says . . . Well, it says ‘Die slut die.' Well, it did, until the janitor came out there to paint it over. But people had already taken cell-phone pictures of it.”

“It said ‘die'? Does my mom know that?”

“I don't know. It just happened today. Your dad will probably tell her.”

“Stupid childish morons.” She tossed her hair. “Whatever.” But her voice was cracking. “Did . . . did my brothers see it?”

“I doubt it, because it was in the senior hall. But I wouldn't be surprised if someone texted them a picture. Or at least told them.”

Oh, shit. She hadn't anticipated fallout for her brothers. Connor would be looking to bash some heads in. She prayed that he would never get any clue about the guilty party or he'd end up expelled and home all day across the hall from her.

“I cannot believe someone ratted us out. Who would do that? And why didn't they mind their own . . .”

Her voice trailed off as she looked at Ethan, who looked pale and fretful, worrying that ring around on his hand.

“Oh, my God. It was you.”

“What? What was me? I would never say something like that about you.”

“Not my locker. I don't give a shit about my locker. You called the police. You did this to me.”

“No!” Ethan put his hands up like she'd threatened to shoot him. “I didn't even know!”

“You are such a liar. It makes perfect sense. I told you it was an older man. You already followed me to my library job that one time, so it makes total sense that you'd follow me to the mall just to see what I was up to. You saw me get in his car and you called the police on us.”

“I swear, I didn't.”

“Who else would it have been?” She was controlling her volume with great effort, not wanting to get Dinah up here. “No one else even knew I was seeing anybody at all, and you right away were worried about this ‘older man.' Well, thank you for ruining my life. If you see ‘die slut die' on my house or car windows or something, you only have yourself to thank.”

Ethan stood up hard, knocking the chair into the desk. “First of all, it wasn't me. Second, even if it was, ‘myself to thank'? How about you, who thought sleeping with your teacher was a great idea? Or him, for being a disgusting pervert who preys on a kid in his class?”

“I'm not a kid, and I was not his prey!” Now she was screaming, all control burned away in her anger.

Ethan was already heading out the door, and Morgan heard Dinah's running feet. But before he left, he turned back to say, “I wish I
had
been the one to call, so I could take credit for ending it. It was sick, Morgan.”

She threw her iPod, but a second too late, so that it bounced off her mother's head as she rounded the corner into her room and Ethan stormed down the stairs.

33

JUNE 6, 2012

T
ell the court what you saw when you approached the vehicle.”

Dinah reached for Joe's hand and gripped it hard. He allowed her to do so but did not react even with the lightest squeeze in return. They'd heard the story before—Henry had been over this with them—but this was open court, with cameras rolling, shutters snapping. Since Hill had waived a preliminary hearing, this was the first time the gory details would be splashed out in public. She imagined all Arbor Valley with smartphones and tablets and computer screens glowing across riveted, gleeful faces.

“We found Miss Monetti and the defendant in his car. As I approached, they appeared to be embracing, but when I pounded on the glass with my closed fist, they separated from each other. Miss Monetti clasped her arms across her chest. She was naked from the waist up.”

A murmur rippled across the courtroom. That was a detail that had not yet been in the press and would no doubt feature prominently in the news stories the next day.

The officer continued to relate the story. “She did not appear to be physically harmed. Officers Stone and McAllister secured the defendant, read him his Miranda rights, and I helped Miss Monetti from the car and gave back her shirt, and a blanket, since she was shivering.”

“Did the defendant say anything as he was arrested?”

“Other than saying he understood his rights, he repeated three times, ‘It's not what you think.' ”

“How would you describe his demeanor?”

“He was sweating, pale, and shaking.”

The prosecutor sat down and TJ Hill's attorney rose. Dinah swallowed hard and breathed in deeply, as though to steady herself for a blow. The last time this Alexandra had spoken, her daughter had been portrayed as an unstable aspiring Lolita, with poor TJ as the innocent, bumbling victim of his own charm and chiseled jawline.

Alexandra clicked across the floor in her heels. “Officer, you testified that you came upon Miss Monetti naked from the waist up.”

“That's correct.”

“So she was already topless when you arrived on the scene.”

Topless! Dinah's stomach lurched. A stripper is topless. A prostitute is topless.

The officer agreed, regarding the attorney with a wary glint.

Alexandra said then, “So you did not see who removed Miss Monetti's shirt? Whether it was the defendant or the young lady herself?”

“No, I did not see.”

“Could you see what the two of them were doing in the car?”

“They appeared to be embracing, kissing.”

“Appeared. Could you please describe exactly what you saw, and only what you saw.”

“I saw their heads close together. Close enough together they could only be kissing. Or giving mouth-to-mouth.”

An uncomfortable laugh rumbled through the audience, and the officer let slip a small grin.

Alexandra's face grew severe, in the manner of a parent about to lay down some punishment.

“Let me ask you, was the windshield fogged up that day?”

The officer frowned into his lap. After a pause: “Yes, I believe it was.”

“So, leaving aside the speculation about first aid, can you tell me exactly what you saw, and only that.”

“I saw two figures in the car, close together.”

“Close together over one side of the car, or another?”

“I'm not sure I know what you're asking.”

“Could you tell whether the two were together in the driver's side? Or the passenger side?”

Long pause. “I believe it was the center of the car. They had leaned together over the center console, over the emergency brake.”

“So the defendant was not on top of her, and not in her seat.”

“No, not that I recall.”

“So, before you pounded on the glass, through the fogged windows, you saw that they were each in their own seats, is that correct?”

“They were meeting in the middle—embracing, or something—but yes, they were bodily in their own seats.”

“ ‘Or something,' you said. But given the fog of the windows, could they have been only talking, perhaps whispering? Is it possible?”

The officer seemed to sigh, or maybe that was Dinah, projecting her desire for him to be on her side, help their case. “It's possible,” he allowed.

Alexandra nodded, thanked the officer, and sat down with a cool, detached expression. Henry went through the motions of calling the other officer on the scene that day to the stand.

Dinah swallowed a spike of anger at the prosecutor. She'd begged Henry to offer a deal to TJ that he'd be stupid to pass up, anything to avoid exactly this agony. But Henry had been politely steadfast: TJ had committed a crime, in fact he'd violated a minor child under his influence. He wasn't going to offer a “gimme” over something like this.

TJ had been offered a deal, but it included jail time and a guilty plea. His attorney was holding out for no contest, and that had been the breaking point for Henry. “He doesn't want to admit he did anything at all wrong. He needs to be held accountable.”

And now here they were, the gory details unfolding in front of everyone, for who knows how many days, all for an uncertain result.

Dinah had seen enough
Law & Order
to know that the evidence was thin without her daughter's testimony, and Henry had explained that Morgan's statement to the police was inadmissible as hearsay.

It would help if TJ himself broke down and confessed on the stand, but that seemed too much to hope for. Was the jury disgusted enough to convict on the scant evidence they had? So far, the community disgust as registered online, via gossip, and in letters to the editor seemed wide ranging: It applied to TJ, Morgan, Dinah herself, and Joe (especially Joe), even the teacher's supportive wife.

Of course, even if he was convicted, what did it really matter?

Morgan's innocence was still gone, her senior year still ruined, and more crucially, with her eighteenth birthday approaching, Morgan had all but announced her intention to bolt. Even if he spent time in jail for what he did, Morgan would fancy herself waiting for him. She'd even think it was romantic: the two of them, against all odds, not even jail time could stop them. She'd actually used the phrase “star-crossed lovers” in one of their fights.

Dinah had tried that one brilliant scheme to win her daughter back to her side, and it had backfired something awful.

No, whatever happened in court—and she prayed against the odds that TJ would be locked away for years—she'd already lost her daughter.

 

R
ain clenched her hands together to keep herself from shaking. She sensed a bubble of awareness around her: Somehow, everyone had figured out who she was. She already had rebuffed the reporters who kept asking her for comment, but she felt their eyes on her, heard the scratching in their notebooks.

Beverly had wanted to come along, pleaded in fact, even offered to shut down NYC for the day, but Rain had rejected her pity, which was all she was getting these days from her boss and sometime friend. Beverly called it support, but Rain knew full well Bev thought she was stupid and blind for staying with TJ. Alessia might have come, but she and her loving husband were cocooned with their new little family, their absence easily explained away, saving Greg from the awkwardness of appearing in court to support his disgraced brother. Like Bev, he had become more and more impatient with Rain, since his own belief in his brother's innocence had eroded. He'd recently told her that her devotion was “admirable but foolish” and that she should save herself and leave him.

Rain had been horrified. How dare he?

And yet. Troubling images plagued her at night as TJ paced the house, racked with insomnia, and she lay alone, twisting in the sheets, wide awake. The story she'd been telling herself about her husband's “mistake” had begun to fray, and she could not admit the reason to anyone. In fact, there would be hell to pay if she told a single soul.

 

M
organ had practiced her cool mask of detachment, modeling it after that of Alexandra, the lawyer. Though she hated what the lawyer was saying about her to get TJ out of trouble, she had to admire the skill it took to tell a compelling story of TJ's innocence.

Whatever it took, Morgan kept telling herself. This was all so insane. This archaic law with its arbitrary rule that somehow because he was a teacher meant she could not be responsible for a decision to have sex with him. She could have chosen to give a blow job to a fifty-five-year-old gas station attendant in the bathroom and that would have been perfectly okay.

And what about Britney? How many different guys had she screwed when stupid-drunk on schnapps out of a plastic cup? But that was just dandy?

Morgan had made love with two men in her entire life, both times on the pill, both times only when in love, and somehow it had become this horrid crime.

Well, there was the wife. But that wasn't the illegal part.

Morgan bit her lip and tried to push the wife out of her head. It was easy to do when she'd never seen her. She was like a bogeyman then: invisible, yet obviously wicked. Morgan could see the effects of her coldness on the poor man and shake her head in disgust that anyone could treat him so poorly, so ungratefully.

A headache began to roll around like a billiard ball inside her head. She could feel the wife's presence without looking at her. In that way she was like a bogeyman still; the wife made the hair on Morgan's neck prickle with tickly fear.

Morgan glanced up to see TJ holding his temple at the defendant's table as the cops were being cross-examined. Their mutual headache reminded her they were in this together. Come what may.