The video captures the sword falling and the bottle opening with a burst of bubbles tumbling onto the tower. More applause and cheering. One of the servers helps me, and we slowly pour the bottle, the bubbling liquid cascading from the top of the tower toward the bottom.
Handing out glass after glass, I clink cheers and then sip before raising another glass with the next person. I even hand one to Miller, and his scowl makes my grin grow.
I raise my glass toward the camera.
And then it goes black.
The tape.
My memory.
My life.
My phone buzzes, and it’s Ron, our family lawyer, calling me back. After a brief conversation, I decide I won’t go to the police station. There’s another way. I’ve seen it work.
Just like her father.
VIDEO TRANSCRIPT 2
STATEMENT BY JULIET WORTHINGTON-SMITH
SUBMITTED TO DETECTIVE FRANK RAMOS
July 11th
JULIET is seated in her lawyer’s office. She’s in a suit, next to a small table and a glass of water.
JULIET
Hello, my name is Juliet Worthington-Smith. I am submitting my statement on video per the request of Detective Frank Ramos.
JULIET clears her throat.
I am CEO of the Poe Foundation, and our purpose is to take the best ideas from Rhode Island and share them with the world. Dr. Terrance Castle was certainly one of the best from our state. He has . . . had wonderful theories about restorative justice, which is a way of healing people after a crime has occurred. And not just victims, but those who committed the crimes. There were people who didn’t agree with him, but real change can often be controversial.
JULIET pauses to take a sip of water before continuing.
I announced our program last night, on July 10th, at the Providence Hotel downtown. We were celebrating, and I had too much champagne. That’s embarrassing, but it’s true.
After the event was over, I met Terrance out for a drink at the Wrong Side of Hope Bar. I remember arriving, but that’s about it. Just before 2:00 a.m., I texted my husband that I was walking home, which is when the bar closes. To the best of my recollection, I left my wallet behind. I’ve actually done that before at the Sider. The next morning, Detective Ramos informed me that my wallet was found with a body.
JULIET pauses to take a tissue and wipes her eyes.
Sorry, I really admired Terrance. He was a great man, and his death is difficult to believe. But I did return home that night. I worry . . . that after I left my wallet, Terrance may have tried to return it . . . and that’s when he was . . . attacked. But I have no idea. And I’ll live with that guilt for the rest of my life. That’s the extent of my knowledge. I’m happy to answer further questions through my lawyer.
Chapter 5
Two Weeks Later
The morning light breaks through my nightmare, and I replay the images in my mind, hoping they’ll soon disappear:
My dad is driving me to work. I’m nervous, as if we’re late. “Come on. You’ve got to fight, kid. Don’t let them see you sweat,” he yells.
I cannot open my eyes yet, even if I am fully awake. Because opening my eyes is the transition from sleeping nightmare to the waking one that is my life.
My head aches from too much wine with Ethan last night. Maybe it’s stupid to drink after what happened, but honestly, it’s what gets me through at this point. When this is over, I’m really never drinking again.
I open my eyes and blink at the ceiling, but it feels as if that white surface overhead is pressing down on me. I scratch at my scalp when I realize I literally haven’t left the house in two weeks. As if my prison sentence has already started. Even if the news keeps reporting the same refrain: No suspects. No suspects. No suspects.
The truth is they do have one. Me.
I still wonder if my video statement, recorded in my lawyer’s office, was the best course of action. We haven’t heard anything from the police. My lawyer assures me this is normal. Cases like this can take months or even a year.
God, months of this? A year? How can I survive?
I reach for my phone, and I refresh my email, but nothing happens, so my work account is still locked.
Ethan stirs next to me and rolls my way. He pulls me close, nuzzling me with his blond chin stubble. I breathe his scent and lean into his warmth. Instead of thinking on all I’ve lost, I try to be grateful that he’s here.
“My first day back at work,” Ethan murmurs. My head really throbs for a moment, but I’m not going to make this about me. Not when it’s been the Jules show twenty-four seven the past two weeks.
“It won’t be for long,” I say. Since my job is frozen, but our bills are not, Ethan has returned to the job he had before Fitz was born. “Just a few weeks, probably. So we don’t get behind on the mortgage.”
“Yeah,” Ethan says with a sigh. “Maybe it’s good for both of us to work, though. Fitz can spend more time with your mom.”
“Why did I want this big house?” I whine. “If we were back at our old place on Ogden Street, we’d be in a much better position.”
“It’s not like we’d saved up a nest egg there either, Jules. My going back to work probably needed to happen, you know.”
Ethan has never been a good liar. We were living our respective dreams before. He always wanted to be a stay-at-home dad. Yes, he liked his job at the Rhode House, helping homeless people rehabilitate and assimilate back into the general population. And I’m sure the executive director, Brooke Jones, or Jonesy to her legions of fans, is thrilled to have “her Ethan” back. She’s everything cute and perky in that Peace Corps, granola way.
“Plus, you’ll see your ‘work wife’ again,” I tease. But Ethan is right. For our family, for right now, he has to go back to work while I wait for things to clear up. “The police could keep dragging their feet.”
“These things take time. There are probably a dozen suspects by now.”
I fake a smile, as if that’s what’s happening, when we both know it isn’t. Maybe I shouldn’t feel so sorry for myself. At least I’m alive. The guilt takes its familiar perch in the center of my chest, pecking away. “I’m really sorry. This is the worst.”
“No.” His voice cracks a little, and he clears it. “We’re together. Our family is fine. It could be a lot worse.”
I should be grateful, but it feels like the end of our life. Even if it’s only been fourteen torturous days, I already feel halfway to prison.
There have to be more suspects. The person who actually did it. My brain starts to spin a familiar loop of all I don’t remember and imagined shadowy figures. My headache kicks up a notch, and I grab the Aleve on my nightstand. At least there’s one thing I can get under control.
My phone buzzes as I take a sip of water. I scroll through texts from “friends” that keep coming in. Not supporting me, exactly, but letting me know they can talk. I haven’t returned them or asked for help. Maybe because I remember all the friends my dad once had, and I watched every single one of them fade.
Another buzz as an email pops up to my personal account—and at last, good news.
“Elle wants to take me to brunch this morning.” I press my phone to my chest and nearly giggle from relief. Goodbye, grubby pj’s. The rarely showering and just watching Farm Family videos with Fitz can end. Finally, something is happening.