Page 43 of The Trust We Broke
But then, I realized, sometimes there is only one person for you. And everyone that follows is a substitute. They’ll do a decent job of living up to the title of husband, wife, partner, whatever, but they won’t be the one you lost.
My phone vibrates again.
Henry:I know how much you hate the cold so want to make sure it’s warm when you get back.
Me:Please, stop trying. I’m not coming back. We’re done. I’m a long way from New York, so stop before I block you.
Through my childhood bedroom window, the sky is the kind of gray that suggests more snow is imminent.
I focus back on my laptop. I don’t trust anyone with what I found, so I quickly photographed everything and transferred it to my laptop and saved it in multiple locations.
But what I’ve learned makes me feel sick all over again.
My father set Grudge up because of the reputational damage of having a biker as a son-in-law. He never went back to Justin Loeb to attack him a second time. Instead, my father used an unnamed Midtown Rebel to pretend they were Grudge and break into Loeb’s apartment while he was sleeping and increase the severity of the assault. I don’t know how everyone fell for it, except maybe they saw the Rebel’s build and assumed they were the same man.
The jury never truly listened to my testimony, that I remembered Zach was there with me when I fell asleep and when I woke. Or a vague recollection of him holding me in the night when I cried. And they never listened to his brothers, who were willing to verify they saw his bike at the clubhouse at various times of the evening.
Because my father had already ordained it that Grudge…Zach…would take the fall. And he made me feel like he’d helped me out, getting Grudge’s sentence reduced, in return for the divorce, when it was possible he wouldn’t have been imprisoned at all for the assault he landed on Loeb in the first instance.
The walls of this house are closing in on me. Everything feels ill-fitting. Too tight. I can’t breathe. Quickly, I jump from the stool and pull on some track pants and a soft hoodie.
I throw all my things into my suitcase, including my old laptop that contains the videos of me and Zach, and drag everything to the hallway. Mom is with Dad right now. I don’t know where I’m going, I just know I can’t be in this house a moment longer.
I didn’t owe my father anything before I found out. I owe him even less, now. And not even my mother’s pleadings could persuade me to make a different choice.
In desperation, I take my father’s truck and fill it with my belongings.
But when I pull out of the driveway, I have no idea where I am going.
I sit at the junction onto the main road, and I don’t even know if I’m turning left or right.
My life was meticulously planned, and for whatever reason, everything is exploding. The only thing I know is that I’m going to get all the paperwork in order, to get Zach pardoned. He didn’t do what he was accused of, and expunging his record is something I can offer him to help soften the blow.
Resting my head on the steering wheel, I take a deep breath. Then, another.
I had a decent life in New York, perhaps a little lonely. I could just go back to it once I’ve righted the wrongs of my father. Try harder to build a circle of friends.
But then, I’d miss Colorado.
I turn right toward town, unsure where I’m headed beyond that. Maybe coffee and pastries will help while I figure it out, and it only takes ten minutes to drive there and find a parking space.
Eventually, I’ll need to face Zach, so I’m not sure if this is delaying the inevitable or fortifying myself with comfort food before I do.
I vaguely remember Quinn Moran. I think I was sandwiched between her and her sister at school. In fact, as I think on it, I remember that Melody Moran went missing, at some point.
I’m nosey enough to want to know if she ever returned.
The bakery smells delicious as I stand in line and look at the shelves stuffed full of sweet goods determined to tempt me. And given I couldn’t have an orgasm earlier, a thick and gloopy cinnamon roll with an unnatural amount of cream cheese icing is just what I need.
“What can I get you?” Quinn asks. “And is it for here or to go?”
I look around the light walls and airy vibe. “I’ll eat in. And I’d love a triple-shot latte and one of the cinnamon rolls, please.”
“Oh, good choice. I think we should be friends. Anyone who can handle a triple shot is worth getting to know.”
I smile as Quinn starts to make my coffee. “Years of law school. And I think we already know each other. We were at school together. Lucy De Bose. I think I was two years above you in school, and a few years below Melody.”
Quinn glances back at me, scrutinizes me for a second, then laughs. “Holy shit. I should have recognized you from your hair.I had mad envy for it when it was longer. You used to wear it up in this thick, messy bun, and I could never get my hair to look like that.”
