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Amanda was on her feet, gesturing for her mother to return to her seat. A moment of confusion passed over Susan’s face, but she swept back as though this were all a part of the plan.
“Ms. Harris, Ms. Sheridan? Let’s proceed,” the judge said.
Amanda passed her mother and found herself between the judge and the Arnouts. She took her mother’s traditional stance with her fingertips pressed together and her heart in her throat. For a second, she made eye contact with Mrs. Arnout, then Mr. Arnout, thinking of what it had been like for them to raise Hilton from birth and learn that he’d committed such an egregious act. They were willing to fight tooth and nail for it not to be so in a court of law. But that didn’t make it go away. Not really.
At this point in Amanda’s career, she’d done upward of thirty opening statements by herself. Every case required a different tactic, a different attack. But, at its core, the Arnouts’ anger came from love and confusion. It came from sorrow at their own failure.
Amanda hadn’t rehearsed this. She wavered from foot to foot.
“I want to start by saying that you’re right about one thing,” Amanda said. “I am relatively inexperienced. A little bit younger than your son, in fact, and just about a year out of law school. But that doesn’t mean I don’t know what I’m doing.” Amanda set her jaw. She could feel her mother’s eyes boring holes into her. “I graduated at the top of my class in law school. I have fought valiantly for upward of thirty clients. And I grew up with a mother and father who fought for thousands of their own clients over the years. Criminals—or not—who needed their help during times of strife.”
Mr. and Mrs. Arnout were not accustomed to being spoken to so directly in an official court of law. They squirmed and glanced at one another as though they wanted to ask if this was allowed. In fact, Amanda wouldn’t have been surprised if the judge interrupted her and told her to address him rather than the Arnouts. But she proceeded until then.
“I’ve just become a mother,” Amanda said. “I suppose you know this, as you’ve decided to use the fact that I was pregnant last year as one of the reasons I couldn’t support your son as well as he needed. I find this astounding, especially coming from another mother.” Amanda locked eyes with Mrs. Arnout and felt a surge of emotion. She was almost sure that Mrs. Arnout was on the brink of tears. More than that, she was sure that Mr. Arnout couldn’t fathom what it meant to love a child so much that you couldn’t sleep when they couldn’t sleep; that you felt their physical aches just as painfully; that you were willing to lay down your life for them if only to ensure they made it one more day.
In fact, she felt sure Mr. Arnout was angrier about the defamation of the Arnout name rather than his son’s time in prison.
“Since I became a mother,” Amanda said, “I’ve experienced a great deal of empathy for your situation, Mr. and Mrs. Arnout. The idea that my daughter would grow up and break the law or hurt anyone is a horrible thing to carry. But it leads me to a legal issue. One that is rather difficult to face. When we turn eighteen, those of us who are mentally and emotionally sound are self-sufficient in a court of law. It is up to us to sustain ourselves; to contribute to society; to become the sort of people who would make our parents proud. As you all know, my mother and father are both criminal defense lawyers. I wanted to be just like them when I grew up. And hopefully I’ve gotten close.”
Amanda swallowed. She hoped she was making sense. Her thoughts rattled around her brain.
“If I committed a heinous crime tomorrow,” Amanda said, “the world would necessarily look down on me and deal with me as they saw fit. By extension, they would look down on my mother, too. I would feel tremendous guilt for that. But I would know that the crime was mine. Not my mother’s. Not my father’s.
“A jury of twelve listened to the evidence against Hilton Arnout. They declared him guilty, and I do not object to their findings. Neither did Hilton. His parents are the only people dragging this out further than it needs to go. And I know they’re partially doing it out of love. Out of guilt. Out of not wanting to admit to themselves that their son was capable of something like this. But as a new mother who knows how fragile the world and our relationships truly are, I ask you: is it worth it? Is it worth it to drag this out even further, force Hilton’s name back in everyone’s minds, and face a judge based on only your ‘feelings’ about something? I know that the Arnouts have the governor and numerous other people in their pockets. I know they are very powerful. But I hope the judge will take into account the fact that my mother, Bruce Holland, and I work diligently to ensure we never go beyond the limits of the law. Our law office must be safe against people like the Arnouts. And my career should withstand what is genuinely a tantrum about how things should have gone.”
Mrs. Arnout was on her feet. For a moment, Amanda thought she was going to storm toward her and smack her on the face. The “tantrum” line was way too far; Amanda knew she was out of line. But Mrs. Arnout burst down the aisle and disappeared through the double-wide doors. Mr. Arnout glowered at Amanda and followed her. Their prosecutor got to her feet and smiled demurely at the judge. Amanda had the sense that Mary-Beth Walker wanted to rip her apart.
The judge was flummoxed. “I suppose we’ll take a recess until the prosecution returns.” He tapped the gavel.
Amanda, Susan, and Bruce gathered their things and walked to the back chambers to wait. Bruce’s wife, Elsa, came with them, whispering to Bruce so quietly that Amanda couldn’t eavesdrop. Amanda swam between fear that she’d just done something incredibly stupid and excitement that she’d done something really incredible. When the chamber door closed, Susan looked at Amanda, puffed out her cheeks, and said, “That was brave. Maybe it was stupid, but it was brave.”
Amanda placed her hand over her mouth and shook with nervous laughter. “I got carried away.”
Susan pulled her hair into a ponytail that she immediately let drop. “I doubt that anyone has spoken so firmly to the Arnouts before. Regardless of what happens after this, you should see that as a win.” She collapsed on a chair and hung her head and chuckled. “Oh, Amanda. I don’t know what to say.”
“I’m exhausted,” Amanda said.
Amanda went down the hall to fetch them cups of coffee and stretch her legs. June sunlight filtered through the dirty windows of the courthouse, and she could hear the birds chirping. She imagined herself a year from now with toddler Genevieve, walking through a sun-drenched path. She imagined herself telling Genevieve all the birds’ names. She made a mental note to ask her grandfather more about that. He was the expert.
When Amanda returned to the chambers, the judge was chatting with her mother as though they’d known one another for years. It turned out they had. He’d gone to school with Richard and Susan back in the day and had even been invited to their wedding but hadn’t been able to attend. “I was sorry to hear about you and Richard,” he said, to which Susan responded, “Don’t be. I’m happier than ever right now.”
The judge didn’t wait long to explain what had happened. Mrs. Arnout was so upset after Amanda’s opening statement that she ran to the harbor and hired a fishing boat to take her around the island to the Arnout estate. “I don’t think she wanted to be in a car with Mr. Arnout,” the judge explained. “Mr. Arnout stormed back to the courthouse with the idea that he wanted to continue the trial, but as he spoke to Mary-Beth about getting back in there, Mrs. Arnout called and said she would divorce him if he kept this ‘silly lawsuit going.’ That’s what I overheard.”
Amanda’s jaw dropped. She’d been right to assume that the full brunt of this attack had been from Mr. Arnout’s side. She imagined Mrs. Arnout out on a fishing boat in the sunshine, her perfectly blown-out hair disintegrating in the sea winds. She imagined Mrs. Arnout taking a trip to see her son very soon so that she could hold his hand, look him in the eye, and say, “You did a bad thing. But that doesn’t mean I love you any less.”
That was what Susan would have done if Amanda committed a crime. And it was what Amanda would do with Genevieve, too. Because that sort of love was messy and chaotic, and it made people do terrible and insane things. But that sort of love never faded, either. It was foolproof.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Wes and Beatrice reached Dr. George Whitehead’s home in the suburbs of Boston at seven o’clock that evening. It was a red-brick colonial with a mailbox shaped like a cardinal. “A fellow birder!” Beatrice suggested as she cut the engine. Before they reached the front stoop, George opened the door wearing an apron covered in flour. “Apologies! I’m making my own pasta,” he said. “It’s a little bit of a mess. But I figured it was worth a shot.”
George led them into the kitchen, where dinner was prepared, and a bottle of wine was airing out. George’s wife, Karen, stood to shake their hands and thank them for coming all this way.
“We wanted to get off the island,” Wes said. “We’ve been cooped up there all winter long.”
“George was just telling me you have a wedding coming up,” Karen said. “How exciting!”
“Not long now,” Beatrice admitted. “But everything has fallen into place. We just have to show up.”
