“Why is the door locked?”
“Here I come.” Rose got up and caught sight of her reflection, but didn’t recognize herself. Her eyes, dark and blue, looked haunted.
“Alohomora.” Melly giggled, on the other side of the door.
Chapter Thirty-seven
Rose was cleaning up the dinner dishes when her phone rang, and she dried her hand hastily, reached for the cell phone, and tucked it into the crook of her neck. “Hello, yes?”
“Rose. It’s Oliver. I heard you got a visit today.”
“Yes. Did they call you? What did they say?” Rose peeked around the corner and double-checked that Melly was out of earshot in the family room, sitting at the computer desk and printing the Flat Stanley picture. John was in his high chair in the kitchen, mashing his rotini, his hand a small starfish. His palm made a bum, bum, bum sound when he banged the tray.
“They want a meeting tomorrow. Our offices, at ten in the morning. Can you make it?”
“My God, so soon?” Rose felt stricken. “What’s going on?”
“Remain calm and carry on, remember?”
“Does this mean they’re thinking of charging me?”
“It means they’re investigating the facts.”
Rose’s gut tensed. “But why so soon?”
“The sooner, the better for us. We want to meet with them while Amanda’s still alive.”
Rose shuddered. “Why?”
“As we discussed, now there’s less public pressure to charge you, and less pressure from the Gigot family. At present, the worst-case scenario is still a hypothetical. Understand?”
“Yes, but why are they moving so quickly?”
“Lots of reasons. They could be following up when your memory is fresh, or trying to show how responsive they are and how hard they work. Or they want to have their ducks in a row, in case Amanda dies.”
“Do you have to talk that way?”
“What way?” Oliver paused, his voice warmer. “Sorry. I really am a nice man. You recall.”
Rose didn’t smile. She eyed John, banging the tray. Bum!
“Rose, be of good cheer. I’d like them to hear your side of the story before they get entrenched. If we put on a strong enough case, I hope we can back them down.”
“We have to put on a case?”
“Not in a strict sense. I’ll explain when I see you. Can you come in around nine, so I can prepare you before the meeting?”
“Yes. Sure.” Rose thought a minute. “What if I can’t get a sitter that quick? What do we do?”
“Melly’s in school, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t get a sitter. I want Howard and his lackey to see what the jury will see. Bring the baby.”
“You talk like he’s a prop.”
“Well said. He’s a prop.”
“Oliver, he’s my son,” Rose said, upset. It was getting worse and worse.
“Did you speak with Leo yet?”
“No.”
“By way of housekeeping, am I correct in assuming that you’d like us to represent you, on both the criminal and the civil side?”
“Yes.”
“Excellent. We’re delighted, and I know I speak for Tom. If you tell me your email address, I’ll email you an engagement letter and when you get a second, send us a check for the retainer, which is five thousand dollars.”
“Okay.” Then Rose remembered. “Wait. I disabled my email.”
“Get a new account, and we’ll keep it private. What do you want to do about the press release, or me talking to one of my sources? May I go forward?”
“I’m not sure. Let me think and talk to Leo.”
“Sure. Let me know. See you. Take care.”
“Thanks.” Rose pressed END, then L to speed-dial Leo, and waited while it rang, then went to voicemail. She composed herself before leaving another message: “I’m meeting with the D.A. tomorrow morning. Please call.”
She pressed END, and her gaze fell on John, happily sucking his fingers. She couldn’t imagine what would happen to him or Melly, if she had to go to jail. Leo would have to hire a full-time caretaker, and even if John could adapt, Melly would be devastated. She’d already lost her father, now she’d lose her mother. And there’d be no backstop for her at school, now that Kristen was gone.
Rose felt a wave of sadness so profound that she had to lean on the counter until it passed. It killed her that her children, and Leo, would have to pay for what she’d done, and even so, she sensed that she was entering eye-for-an-eye territory, the ultimate payback. She pressed the emotion away, trying to stay anchored in the present. There were dishes to rinse, counters to spray-clean, and a baby to bathe; the tasks of home life, the very stuff of being a mother. She had always taken satisfaction in the tasks, because she knew that each one mattered; it was the little things that made a house a home, and moms did all the little things.
Rose went to John, pulled out his tray, picked him up, and hugged him close, breathing in his damp baby smells and feeling his reassuring weight. He looped his fleshy arm around her neck, and she rocked him, told him she loved him, and nuzzled his warm neck with her nose, trying not to think about how much longer she’d have him, or he’d have her.
“Let’s go say hi to your sister,” she whispered into his ear, swallowing her emotion. She carried him into the family room, where Melly looked up from the computer printer, her blue eyes expectant.
“Mom, was that Ms. Canton on the phone?”
“No, sorry.”
“When is she going to call?”
“I’m not sure, but soon, I hope.”
“She said she would.”
“She will,” Rose said, uncertain.
After the kids were in bed, she went back down to the kitchen, cleaned up, and sat down in front of the laptop, logging onto the web and checking philly.com for news of Amanda. The earlier stories hadn’t changed, which meant that she was still alive.
Thank you, God.
Rain fell outside the window, and the sky had grown dark, a backdrop like a final curtain, of dark velvet. She could see the peaked roof of the house next door, which had in-ground floodlights that shone upward at its brick façade, lighting the place like a stage set. The tall trees in the sideyard were shedding leaves, but night and rain had obliterated their colors, so they looked black and shiny.
She wondered which leaf would fall next, playing a waiting game with herself, which felt uncomfortably familiar. She’d been waiting to see what would happen to Amanda. Waiting to see if she’d be charged with a crime or sued. Waiting for decades, since it had happened.
It had been a night just like this, and the rain was a slow, steady downfall. Her downfall. Rose could call up the memory of that night, without thinking. In fact, it took thinking not to call it up. She could see it now as if it were in front of her. It had happened around this time of year, too, but at the end of October. Halloween night, the leaves fallen, dead on the street.
Rose blinked, and the memory vanished. The kitchen was dim, the halogens under the counter working their suburban magic. The only sound was the patter of the raindrops on the roof and the thrumming of the dishwasher, which shifted gears. The blue digits glowed on the door, counting down until the end of the cycle. She watched the number change, 36, 35, 34, finally permitting herself to have the thought she’d been suppressing, almost constantly since the fire.
I need a drink.
She got up, went to the side cabinet, and reached into the wine rack, sliding out the first bottle she touched, then closing the door. The label read LOUIS JADOT, which would do just fine. She went into the drawer for the corkscrew, peeled the metal wrapping off, and did the honors with difficulty because of her bandaged hand. She poured herself a glass of merlot, and still standing at the counter, drained the glass like she used to, in the bad old days. It tasted more bitter than she remembered, but it could have been her state of mind.
“Don’t tell anyone,” she said, when Princess Google looke
d up.
She grabbed the bottle by the neck and set it on the table, then took the glass over to the laptop and sat down. She poured another glass, drank it, and her gaze fell on the laptop through the glass, an alcoholic wash of the newspaper’s front page. HERO MOM? read the sidebar, and underneath that, New Viewer Videos!
She set down the glass, palmed the mouse, and muted the volume on the laptop. She clicked on the link for the videos, and it brought her to a list in bright blue, each one titled: School Fire, Cafeteria Fire in Local School, First Responders Arrive, Ambulance Leaves with Amanda Gigot, and so on, the list reading like a chronological description of her nightmare. Luckily, she was starting not to feel anything.
She poured another glass, drank it, and clicked one of the links, of the kids running from the school and onto the playground. She watched them come, numbing to their stricken faces, racing into the camera. The video ended, and the arrow froze, and she clicked and watched it again and again, until she felt absolutely nothing. She clicked on another video, titled Copter Shots, and watched the roof of the cafeteria smolder, then flare into flames. She slid the bar back and forth, forward and back, moving time backward and forward, so the past became the present, then they traded places and the present came before the past, her life a palindrome.
Rose came out of her reverie, realizing the cell phone had been ringing. The screen read LEO, so she reached for it and answered, “Hello?”
“Babe, is that you? You sound funny.”
“I was sleeping. I went to bed early.”
“Sorry. You wanna go back to sleep? How are you with this D.A. meeting?”
“Fine, but I need to go back to sleep.”
“Sure, okay. Oliver’s a great lawyer, so don’t worry. Just listen to what he tells you when you meet with the D.A. Don’t let them rattle you. If you wake up, call me, no matter how late. Love you.”
“Love you, too.” Rose hung up, set the phone down, and reached for the bottle.
Chapter Thirty-eight
Rose sipped her coffee, but it couldn’t cure her cotton mouth from last night. They were in a larger conference room than yesterday, containing a long walnut table that held only a stack of fresh legal pads. The windows showed off a view of the woods behind the corporate center, with picturesque autumn foliage, a sharply blue sky, and a cool sun.
Rose stayed seated with John in her lap, while Oliver introduced himself to the two prosecutors. She had on a navy dress with a matching sweater, light makeup, and her hair in a half-ponytail, and John was in a white polo shirt and his Mom jeans, sucking his pacifier and clutching his Fisher-Price car keys. Long ago, she had posed almost the same way, for the Hanna Andersson catalog.
“Gentlemen, be my guest.” Oliver gestured at the walnut credenza against the wall, which held two canisters of coffee, fresh bagels, and cream cheese, the delicious smells scenting the air. “Get yourself some coffee, and we have the best bagels of any law firm in the county.”
“Thanks, but no,” Howard said, evidently for both of them. He rolled out a chair for Rick, then unbuttoned his khaki jacket before he sat down, with a warm grin for Rose. “Hello again. Now that I can see the baby, he’s cute, and the resemblance is remarkable.”
“Thanks.” Rose flashed a professional smile, wary. During their meeting prior, Oliver had warned her that Howard would use the friendly approach to get her to talk, and he’d told her to clam up, which should be easy, because she was terrified.
“Let’s begin, shall we?” Oliver pulled up his chair and sat next to Rose. Their backs were to the window, forcing the prosecutors to squint against the brightness. Oliver had told her that the seating plan was intentional, but she hadn’t reminded him that yesterday, she’d been the one squinting.
Oliver cleared his throat. “I suggest that we proceed as follows. Rose will tell you what happened at school, then you may ask questions, for clarification purposes. Understood?”
“Fine.”
“Let’s be clear. Rose is here today because she wants the truth to come out, and it hasn’t, as yet. Between us, she’s considering whether she will file a civil action against the school and the school district, for damages arising from their negligence.”
Rose said nothing. Oliver hadn’t told her he would say that, but she let her smile mask her dismay.
“I see.” Howard lifted an eyebrow. His eyes were brown behind his hornrims, and there was a small scab under the softness under his chin, as if he’d cut himself shaving.
Oliver nodded. “Frankly, I have advised her to file suit, as has my partner Tom, but she and her husband have yet to decide. Her daughter Melly, as you may know, almost perished in the fire, and as you can see, she herself was burned on her hand and ankle.” He gestured in Rose’s direction, and John banged his plastic keys on the table. “In addition, Howard, let me ask you if the Commonwealth intends to file criminal negligence charges against the school and the school district in connection with the fire?”
“We’re undecided, at this point.” Howard’s smile faded, and beside him, Rick looked down, as if the conference table needed examining.
“I would hope so.” Oliver leaned back in the chair. “Who makes that decision, anyway? The District Attorney himself? And you make a recommendation to him, go or no?”
“Something like that.” Howard looked annoyed.
“You’ve got ’em dead to rights, don’t you? Even I’ve heard rumors there was faulty wiring and a gas leak. What did the Fire Marshal determine as the cause?”
“We haven’t yet released that information.”
“Of course, whatever, I’ll play along.” Oliver shrugged it off. “Obviously, the general contractor and all of the subcontractors—electrical, HVAC, and the like—were under the school and the district’s exclusive control and supervision. I assume that the district chose them, and were I in your chair, I would examine the bidding method by which they were selected with a close eye.” Oliver sniffed as if he’d caught a whiff of something stinky. “I know that state and local politics often play an unfortunate role in the awarding of major construction projects, and that should be investigated, too. If the district awarded the job to the low-ball contractor, they’d get haphazard construction, which resulted in foreseeable loss of life. That’s criminal negligence.”
Rose was surprised at how strong Oliver was coming on, and it was ratcheting up the tension in the room. Across the table, she could see Howard stiffen.
“Not to mention the elementary school’s failure to have adequate safety procedures, which your discovery will reveal, if it hasn’t already.” Oliver gestured again at Rose. “My client is happy to speak with you now, however. We hope it will help you build a case against the people responsible for the deaths of three innocent citizens—and a little girl, if Amanda Gigot doesn’t recover, God forbid. I assume you’ve been in contact with the Gigot family, and I would hope that your office isn’t succumbing to their pressure to scapegoat Rose and her family.”
“No, nothing of the sort.” Howard frowned.
“Then I’m at a loss to understand why you visited my client at her home, yesterday. I would think she’s the last person you would want to speak with, a mother who’s as much a victim as the Gigot family. I trust you understand, whether we file suit or not, that’s our position.”
“I do.” Howard shifted forward. “Now, if we could get on with—”
“Finally, of course, Rose is in no way waiving any of the constitutional rights that she may seek to assert later, such as self-incrimination, which we expect will not be necessary. Understood?”
“Yes.”
“And, one questioner only. That’s you.” Oliver pointed at Howard. “If at any point, Rose wishes to break, we will. If she feels uncomfortable, we stop. If she wants to end, we do. Understood?”
“Yes,” Howard answered, and Oliver turned to Rose, with a confident smile.
“Rose, why don’t you begin?”
“Okay.” Rose hoisted John
higher on her lap and launched into the story. She told it in brief strokes, the way she had to Oliver and Tom, and Howard listened quietly, his expression sympathetic. When she got to the part where Melly was taken away in the ambulance, Oliver leaned over, raising his hand like a school crossing guard.
“And the rest is history,” he said, to Howard. “So you see, no matter what the press or the Gigots may be saying, it’s not as if Rose chose to rescue Melly over Amanda and Emily. On the contrary, she chose Amanda and Emily over Melly. There’s simply no basis for any criminal charges against her.”
Howard’s gaze shifted from Oliver to Rose, then back again.
Rose held her breath. It was hard to believe she was sitting here, in front of a man who determined her and her family’s fate. He wielded all the power and resources of the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania. He could send her to prison for twenty years.
Oliver kept talking. “I cannot imagine a jury in the world who would find anything blameworthy in her conduct, because she is a hero. The fact that Amanda was eventually injured is the fault of the construction deficiencies, the school’s non-existent fire safety procedures, and the negligent supervision of the blond teacher in the hallway, who permitted her to run back in after an iPod.”
Rose remained still. John banged the keys on the table, but everyone ignored him.
Howard looked deep in thought, eyeing Rose. “Just to clarify, where was the other lunch mom, Terry Douglas, when you asked Amanda and the other students to stay behind?”
Rose swallowed, hard. “She was—”
“Stop.” Oliver raised his hand again. “I object to the phraseology ‘stay behind,’ and Rose has been clear about that. I won’t have you go over and over it.”
“I was clarifying.”
“It’s clear enough.”
“Not to us.” Howard shook his head. “The Commonwealth’s concern is that Rose assumed and insisted upon exclusive control of the three children, including Amanda.”
Rose felt her gut clench.
“We dispute that,” Oliver shot back, coolly. “As soon as Rose regained consciousness, she delivered Amanda and Emily to the hallway and the supervision of the teacher there. She excluded no one, at any time. There was no one helping any child, except Rose.” Oliver checked his watch. “We’ve been here an hour. That’s an hour you should have spent interviewing the contractor, subcontractors, school district officials, and a teacher who let a child run into a burning building.” Oliver rose, suddenly. “This meeting is over. Good-bye, and thank you for coming.”