CHAPTER 5
Colin
Colin had witnessed reactions like Maria’s before, and he knew she was debating whether she should stick around. People generally had negative reactions to hearing about his past. While he no longer beat himself up for his mistakes, he wasn’t proud of them, either. He was who he was, warts and all, and he accepted that. Now it was her turn to make a decision.
He knew that Evan would have shaken his head at the way Colin had answered her questions, but aside from Colin’s desire to be honest, what Evan didn’t understand was that trying to hide the truth about his past was futile, even if he wanted to keep it hidden. People were both curious and cautious, and he knew that a quick Internet search using his name would yield a handful of newspaper articles about him, none of them good. And if he hadn’t laid it out there from the beginning? Either Maria or Serena may have Googled him the same way Victoria had.
He’d met Victoria at the gym a couple of years ago, and after chatting off and on for a few months, they’d fallen into occasionally working out together. He’d thought they were getting along well and considered her a good training partner until she’d suddenly begun to avoid him. She’d stopped returning his texts or calls and started working out in the mornings instead of the evenings. When he was finally able to talk to her about it, she’d revealed what she’d learned about him and insisted that he stop trying to contact her. She hadn’t been interested in excuses and Colin hadn’t offered any, but he did wonder why she’d conducted her Internet research in the first place. It wasn’t as though they’d been dating; he wasn’t sure they’d even reached the friendship stage yet. A month later, she’d stopped coming to the gym at all, and that was the last he’d seen of her.
She hadn’t been the only one who’d shied away after learning the truth about Colin, and while Evan might joke that Colin immediately volunteered his full history to anyone who asked, it wasn’t like that. It generally wasn’t anyone else’s business, and he kept it that way, unless someone was—or might become—part of his life somehow. Though it was way too early to tell whether Maria fell into that category, Serena was a classmate, and if she’d talked to him once, she just might talk to him again. He admitted that there was something about Maria that interested him, however. Part of it was the way she looked, of course—she was a more mature, more striking version of Serena, with the same dark hair and eyes—but at the bar, he’d noted her lack of vanity. Though she’d drawn stares from any number of men on the rooftop, she hadn’t been aware of it, which was extremely rare. But his initial impressions ran deeper than that. Unlike Serena—who was bubbly and chatty and not really his type—Maria was quieter, more contemplative, and obviously intelligent.
And now? He observed Maria as she tried to figure out whether she wanted to stay or go, continue the conversation or say good-bye. He said nothing, giving her room to make her own decision. Instead, he concentrated on the feel of the breeze and the sound of the waves. Staring down the pier, he noticed that most of the people who’d been fishing had cleared out; those who still remained were packing up their gear or cleaning their catch.
Maria leaned a little farther over the railing. The darkening sky cast her face in shadow, making her appear mysterious, unknowable. He watched as she drew a long breath.
“What other things?” she finally asked. Colin smiled inwardly.
“As much as I enjoy working out, there are times when I’m just not in the mood. But knowing that I have a match coming up, and knowing I have to train for it, gets me off the couch and into the gym.”
“Every day?”
He nodded. “Usually two or three different sessions. It takes a lot of time.”
“What do you do?”
“Almost anything,” he said with a shrug. “A big chunk of my training is centered around striking and grappling, but after that, I try to mix it up as much as I can. I do Olympic and heavy lifting, but I’ll also do spin classes, yoga, kayaking, circuit work, running, rope climbs, stairs, plyometrics, body-weight exercises, whatever. As long as I can break a sweat, I’m happy.”
“You do yoga?”
“It’s not only good for flexibility and balance, but it’s great for me mentally. It’s like meditating.” He nodded at the water, burnished red-gold in the last rays of the sun. “Kind of like being out here after a shift.”
She squinted at him. “You don’t look like a guy who does yoga. Guys who do yoga are…”
He finished for her. “Skinny? Bearded? Into things like incense and beads?”
She laughed. “I was going to say they’re usually not into violence.”
“Neither am I. Not anymore. Obviously, injuries can happen during one of my fights, but I don’t necessarily want to hurt anyone. I just want to win.”
“Don’t the two go together?”
“Sometimes, but not always. If you get your opponents in the right submission hold, they’ll tap out and walk away good as new.”
She twirled the bracelet on her wrist. “Is it scary? Walking into that cage?”
“If you’re scared, you probably shouldn’t be getting into the ring in the first place. For me, it’s more of a rush that gets the adrenaline flowing. The key is to keep the adrenaline under control.”
He began reeling in his line.
“I take it you’re pretty good.”
“I’m all right for an amateur, but I’d struggle in the pros. Some of those guys were NCAA-level wrestlers or Olympic boxers, and they’re out of my league. But I’m fine with that. It’s not my dream to go pro—it’s just something to do until I graduate. When the time comes, I’ll be ready to walk away.”
Instead of casting again, he fastened the hook and lure to the pole, then tightened the line. “And besides, teaching and cage fighting don’t exactly mesh. I’d probably scare the little kids like I scared you.”
“Little kids?”
“I want to teach third grade,” he said. He bent over, reaching for his tackle box. “It’s getting dark,” he added. “You ready to head back? Or would you like to stay out here a bit longer?”
“We can go,” she said. As Colin set the pole on his shoulder, she noted the restaurants lit from within, lines of people already forming at the doors, the faint strains of music filling the air. “It’s starting to get crowded down here.”
“That’s why I asked to work the day shift. It’ll be a zoo on the rooftop tonight.”
“Good for tips, no?”
“Not worth the aggravation. Too many college kids.”
She laughed, the sound warm and melodic. They began to retrace the steps they’d taken earlier, neither feeling the need to rush. In the dimming light, she was alluring, her slight smile making him wonder what she was thinking. “Have you always lived here?” he asked, breaking the peaceful lull.
“I grew up here and moved back last December,” she answered. “Between college, law school, and working in Charlotte, I was gone for about ten years. You’re not from here, though, right?”
“I’m from Raleigh,” he said. “Spent summers here when I was a kid, lived here on and off for a month or two for a few years after high school. I’ve been living here permanently the last three years.”
“We’ve probably been neighbors at times and didn’t even know it. I went to UNC and Duke.”
“Neighbors or not, I doubt we traveled in the same social circles.”
She smiled. “So… you came here to go to college?”
“Not at first. College came a little after that. I came here because my parents kicked me out of the house and I wasn’t sure where else to go. My friend Evan was living here and I ended up renting a room from him.”
“Your parents kicked you out?”
He nodded. “I needed a wakeup call. They gave me one.”
“Oh.” She tried to keep her voice neutral.
“I don’t blame them,” he said. “I deserved it. I would have kicked me out, too.”
“Because of the fights?”
“There’s more to it than just that, but the fights were part of it. I was kind of a problem child. And then, after high school, I was a problem adult for a while.” He glanced over at her. “What about you? Do you live with your parents?”
She shook her head. “I have a condo down on Market Street. As much as I love them, there’s no way I could live with my parents.”
“What do they do?”
“They own La Cocina de la Familia. It’s a restaurant here in town.”
“I’ve heard of it, but I haven’t been there.”
“You should go. The food is really authentic—my mom still cooks a lot of it herself—and the place is always packed.”
“If I mention your name, will I get a discount?”
“Do you need a discount?”
“Not really. I’m just wondering how far we’ve progressed.”
“I’ll see what I can do. I’m sure I’d be able to pull some strings.”
By then, they were over the sand and headed for the stairs. He followed as she bounded gracefully down the steps.
“Do you want me to walk you to your car?” he asked, meeting her gaze.
“I’ll be okay,” she demurred. “It’s not far.”
He moved the rod from one shoulder to the other, reluctant for the evening to end.
“If Serena’s going out with her friends, what were your plans for the rest of the night?”
“Nothing, really. Why?”
“Do you want to listen to some music? Since we’re already here? It’s not that late yet.”
His question seemed to take her by surprise, and for a moment, he thought she might say no. She adjusted her purse strap, fidgeting with the buckle. While he waited, he thought again that she was beautiful, her long, dark lashes shrouding her thoughts.
“I thought you didn’t go to bars.”
“I don’t. But we could walk the beach for a bit, listen for something good, and enjoy it where we are.”
“Are any of the bands any good?”
“I have no idea.”
Uncertainty was written on her face before he saw something finally give way. “All right. But I don’t want to stay long. Maybe just a walk on the beach, okay? I don’t want to be down here when the crowds descend.”
He smiled, feeling something unwind within him, and raised the tackle box. “Let me just drop this off, all right? I’d rather not carry it the whole time.”
They backtracked to the restaurant, and once he stowed his things in the employee area, they wandered back down to the sand. The stars were beginning to emerge, brilliant pinpricks in the velvety sky. The waves continued their steady roll and the warm breeze was like a quiet exhale. As they strolled, he was conscious of the fact that she was close enough to touch, but he pushed the realization away.
“What kind of law do you practice?”
“Mainly insurance defense work. Research and depositions, negotiation, and as a final resort, litigation.”
“And you defend insurance companies?”
“For the most part. Every now and then, we’re on the plaintiff’s side, but it’s not that common.”
“Does it keep you busy?”
“Very.” She nodded. “There’s a policy for everything, and as much as the policy tries to anticipate every possibility, there are always gray areas. Let’s say someone slips in your store and he sues, or an employee sues after getting fired, or maybe you’re throwing a birthday party for your son and one of his friends gets hurt in your swimming pool. The insurance company is responsible for paying the claim, but sometimes they decide to fight the claim. That’s where we step in. Because the other side always has lawyers.”
“Do you ever go to court?”
“I haven’t yet. Not for this job, anyway. I’m still learning. The partner I do most of my work for goes to court quite a bit, but truthfully most of our cases are settled before they go to trial. In the end, it’s cheaper and less hassle for everyone involved.”
“I’ll bet you hear a lot of lawyer jokes.”
“Not too many,” she said. “Why? Do you have one?”
He took a couple of steps. “How does a lawyer sleep?” At her shrug, he said, “First he lies on one side, then he lies on the other.”
“Ha, ha.”
“I’m kidding. I’m the first to appreciate good lawyers. I had some brilliant ones.”
“And you needed them?”
“Yes,” he answered. He knew that would trigger even more questions, but he continued on, nodding toward the ocean. “I love walking the beach at night.”
“Why?”
“It’s different than it is during the day, especially when the moon is out… I like the mystery of thinking that anything could be out there, swimming just beneath the surface.”
“That’s a scary thought.”
“That’s why we’re here and not out there.”
She smiled at his words, surprisingly at ease as they meandered down the beach. Neither of them felt the need to speak. Colin focused on the sensation of his feet sinking into the sand and the warm breeze on his face. Watching Maria’s hair ripple in the wind, he realized that he was enjoying the walk more than he’d anticipated. He reminded himself that they were strangers, but for some reason, it didn’t quite feel that way.
“I have a question, but I don’t know if it’s too personal,” she finally said.
“Go ahead,” he replied, already knowing what was coming.
“You said you were a problem adult and that you got in a lot of bar fights. And that you had some great lawyers.”
“Yes.”
“Was that because you were arrested?”
He adjusted his cap. “Yes.”
“More than once?”
“A number of times,” he admitted. “For a while there, I was pretty much on a first-name basis with any number of cops in Raleigh and Wilmington.”
“Were you ever convicted?”
“A few times,” he said.
“And you went to prison?”
“No. I probably spent a total of a year in county lockup. Not all at once, more like a month here, two months there. I never made it as far as prison. I would have—the last fight was pretty bad—but I caught a serious break and here I am.”
She lowered her chin slightly, no doubt questioning her decision to walk with him.
“When you say you caught a serious break…”
He took a few steps before answering. “I’ve been on probation for the last three years, with two more to go. It’s part of the five-year deal I received. Basically, if I don’t get into any more trouble for the next two years, they’ll clear my record entirely. Which means I’ll be able to teach in the classroom, and that’s important to me. People don’t want felons teaching their children. On the other hand, if I mess up, the deal goes out the window and I go straight to prison.”
“How is that possible? To completely clear your record?”
“I was diagnosed with an anger disorder and PTSD, which affected my mens rea. You know what that is, right?”
“In other words, you’re saying you couldn’t help it,” she said.
He shrugged. “Not me. That’s what my psychiatrists said, and fortunately, I had the records to prove it. I’d been in therapy for almost fifteen years, I’ve been on medication periodically, and as part of my deal, I had to spend a few months at a psychiatric hospital in Arizona that specialized in anger disorders.”
“And… when you got back to Raleigh, your parents kicked you out of the house?”
“Yes,” he said. “But all that together—the fight and potential prison sentence, the deal, my time at the hospital, and suddenly being forced to be on my own—led me to do some serious soul searching, and I realized that I was tired of the life I’d been living. I was tired of being me. I didn’t want to be the guy who was known for stomping on someone’s head after they were already on the ground, I wanted to be known as… a friend, a guy you could count on. Or at the very least, a guy with some kind of future ahead of him. So I stopped partying and I channeled all my energy into training and going to school and working instead.”
“Just like that?”
“It wasn’t quite as easy as it sounds, but yeah… just like that.”
“People don’t usually change.”
“I didn’t have a choice.”
“Still…”
“Don’t get the wrong idea. I’m not trying to make excuses for what I did. Regardless of what the doctors said about whether or not I could actually control my behavior, I knew I was messed up, and I didn’t give a damn about getting better. Instead, I smoked pot and drank and trashed my parents’ house and wrecked cars and I got arrested over and over for fighting. For a long time, I just didn’t care about anything other than partying the way I wanted to.”
“And now you care?”
“I care a lot. And I don’t have any intention of going back to my old life.”
He felt her eyes on him, and sensed her trying to reconcile the past he’d described with the man before her. “I can understand the anger disorder, but PTSD?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“Do you really want to hear this? It’s kind of a long story.” When she nodded, he went on. “Like I told you, I was a bit of a problem child, and by the time I was eleven, I was pretty much uncontrollable. In the end, my parents shipped me off to military school, and the first one I attended was just a bad place. There was this weird Lord of the Flies mentality among the upperclassmen, especially when someone new arrived. At first, it was little things—typical hazing kind of stuff, like taking my milk or dessert in the cafeteria, or making me shine their shoes or make their beds while another guy went over and trashed my room, which I’d have to clean before inspection. No big deal—every newbie goes through that kind of stuff. But some of these guys were different… just sadistic. They’d whip me with wet towels after I showered, or they’d sneak up behind me while I was studying and throw a blanket over me, and just start beating the crap out of me. After a while, they started to do that at night, when I was sleeping. Back then, I was kind of small for my age, and I made the mistake of crying a lot, which only amped them up even more. It’s like I became their special project. They’d come for me two or three nights a week, always with the blanket, always with the punches, just beating the crap out of me while telling me that I’d be dead before the year was up. I was pretty freaked out, on edge all the time. I would try to stay awake and flinch at the slightest noise, but it’s not like I could avoid sleeping. They’d bide their time and wait until I was out. That kind of crap went on for months. I still have nightmares about it.”
“Did you tell anyone?”
“Of course I did. I told everyone I could. I told the commander, my teachers, the counselor, even my parents. None of them believed me. They kept telling me to stop lying and whining and just toughen up.”
“That’s awful—”
“No question. I was just a little kid, but after a while, I figured I had to get out of there, or they’d take it too far one day, so I ended up taking matters into my own hands. I smuggled in some spray paint and went to town in the administration building. I ended up getting kicked out, which was exactly what I wanted.” He drew a long breath. “Anyway, they ended up closing the school a couple of years later, after the local paper did an exposé on the place. A kid died there. A little kid, my age. I wasn’t one of the students mentioned in the exposé, but it was national news for a while. Criminal and civil charges, the whole works. Some people ended up in prison over it. And my parents felt terrible after that, because they hadn’t believed me. I think that’s why they put up with me for so long after I graduated. Because they still felt guilty.”
“So after you were expelled…”
“I went to another military school and swore to myself that I’d never let myself get beaten up again. In the future, I’d be the one throwing the first punch. So I learned to fight. I studied it, practiced it. And after that, if someone ever grabbed me, I’d just… lose it. It was like I was a little kid again. I got expelled over and over, barely made it through, and after I graduated, it sort of snowballed from there. Like I said, I used to be pretty messed up.” He took a few steps in silence. “Anyway, all that came into play during the court proceedings.”
“How do you get along with your parents right now?”
“Like my sisters, it’s a work in progress. Right now, they have a restraining order against me.”
A stunned expression crossed her face and he went on.
“I was arguing with my parents the night before I went to Arizona and I ended up pinning my dad against the wall. I wasn’t going to hurt him and I kept telling him that—I just wanted them to listen to me—but it scared the hell out of my parents. They didn’t press charges—or I wouldn’t be here—but they did get a court order that prohibits me from being at their house. They don’t necessarily enforce it now, but it’s still in place, probably to keep me from ever thinking about moving back in.”
She studied him. “I still don’t understand how you can just… change. I mean, what if you get angry again?”
“I still get angry. Everyone does. But I’ve learned different ways to cope with it. Like not going to bars or doing drugs, and I never have more than a couple of beers when I’m with my friends. And being really physical every day—training hard, pushing myself—helps keep my moods in check. I also learned a lot of helpful things at the hospital, different ways to cope. The whole experience ended up being one of the better things I’ve ever done.”
“What did you learn there?”
“Deep breathing, walking away, letting thoughts bounce off, or trying to accurately name the emotion when it strikes in the hopes of diminishing its power… it’s not easy, but it becomes a habit after a while. It takes a lot of effort and a lot of conscious thought, but if I wasn’t doing all of these things, I’d probably have to go back on lithium, and I hate that crap. It’s a good drug for a lot of people and it works, but I just didn’t feel like myself when I used to take it. It was like part of me wasn’t quite alive. And I was always starving, no matter how much I ate. I ended up gaining weight, getting fat. I’d rather train a few hours a day, do yoga, meditate, and avoid places where I might get into trouble.”
“Is it working?”
“So far,” he answered. “I just take it one day at a time.”
As they walked farther down the beach, the music gradually faded beneath the sound of waves rolling up the shore. Beyond the dunes, businesses had given way to houses, lights glowing through the windows. The moon had risen higher, bathing the world in an ethereal glow. Ghost crabs scuttled from one spot to the next, scurrying at their slow approach.
“You’re very open about all of this,” Maria observed.
“I’m just answering your questions.”
“Aren’t you worried what I might think?”
“Not really.”
“You don’t care what other people think about you?”
“To a certain extent I do. Everyone does. But if you’re going to make a judgment about me, then you need to know who I really am, not just the part I decide to tell you. I’d rather be honest about all of it and let you make the call as to whether you want to keep talking to me or not.”
“Have you always been like this?” She peered up at him with genuine curiosity.
“What do you mean?”
“Honest? About… everything?”
“No,” he said. “That came about after I got back from the hospital. Along with all the other changes I decided to make in my life.”
“How do people react to it?”
“Most don’t know what to make of it. Especially at first. Evan still doesn’t. And I don’t think you do, either. But it’s still important to me to be truthful. Especially with friends, or someone I think I might see again.”
“Is that why you told me? Because you think you might see me again?”
“Yes,” he answered.
For a few seconds, she wasn’t sure what to make of that.
“You’re an interesting man, Colin,” she said.
“It’s been an interesting life,” he admitted. “But you’re interesting, too.”
“Trust me, compared to you, I’m the furthest thing from interesting.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. But you haven’t run away yet.”
“I still might. You’re kind of scary.”
“No, I’m not.”
“For a girl like me? Believe me, you’re a little scary. This is probably the first time I’ve ever spent an evening with a guy who talks about stomping on people’s heads in bar fights or pinning his father against the wall.”
“Or has been arrested. Or went to a psychiatric facility…”
“Those things, too.”
“And?”
She brushed at a few windblown strands of hair. “I’m still deciding. Right now, I have no idea what to think about everything you’ve said. But if I suddenly take off running, don’t try to catch me, okay?”
“Fair enough.”
“Did you tell any of this to Serena?”
“No,” he said. “Unlike you, she didn’t ask.”
“But would you have?”
“Probably.”
“Of course you would.”
“How about we talk about you instead? Would that make you feel better?”
She cracked a wry smile. “There’s not much to tell. I told you a little about my family; you know I grew up here and went to UNC and Duke Law School, and that I work as a lawyer. My past isn’t quite as… colorful as yours.”
“That’s a good thing,” he said. Somehow already on the same wavelength, they turned simultaneously and started back.
“Okay,” she said, and when he laughed, she stopped for a moment, suddenly wincing. Reaching for his arm to steady herself, she lifted one foot from the sand. “Give me a second here. My sandals are killing me.”
He watched as she slipped them off. When she finally let go of his arm, he felt the lingering afterglow of her touch. “Better,” she said. “Thanks.”
They began walking again, more slowly this time. On the roof at Crabby Pete’s, the crowd was growing, and he suspected that other bars were filling up as well. Above them, most of the stars had been washed away by moonlight. In the easy silence, he found himself admiring her features: her cheekbones and her full lips, the sweep of her lashes against her flawless skin.
“You’re very quiet,” he observed.
“I’m just trying to digest everything you told me. It’s a lot.”
“No question,” he agreed.
“I will say that you’re different.”
“In what way?”
“Before I took a job here, I was an assistant district attorney in Charlotte.”
“No kidding?”
“A little over three years. It was my first job after I passed the bar.”
“So you were more used to prosecuting guys like me than dating them?”
She half nodded in agreement, but went on. “It’s more than that. Most people pick and choose the way they tell their stories. There’s always a positive bias involved, and they frame the stories that way, but you… You’re so objective, it’s almost like you’re describing someone else.”
“Sometimes it feels that way to me, too.”
“I don’t know if I could do that.” Frowning, she went on. “Actually, I don’t know if I want to do that, at least to the extent that you do.”
“You sound like Evan.” He smiled. “How did you like working in the DA’s office?”
“In the beginning it was all right. And the whole thing was a great learning experience. But after a while, I realized it wasn’t what I thought it would be.”
“Like taking a walk with me?”
“Kind of…” she said. “When I was in law school, I thought that being in a courtroom would be more like the stuff you watch on TV. I mean, I knew it would be different, but I wasn’t prepared for just how different it actually was. To me, it seemed like I was going after the same person, with the same background, over and over. The DA would take the higher-profile cases, but the suspects I dealt with were like walking clichés; they were usually poor and unemployed with limited education, and drugs and alcohol were usually involved. And it was just… relentless. There were so many cases. I used to dread coming in on Monday mornings because I knew what would be waiting for me on my desk. The sheer volume put me in the position of having to prioritize the cases and continually negotiate plea bargains. We all know that murder and attempted murder or crimes with guns are serious, but how do you prioritize the rest of it? Is a guy who steals a car worse than a guy who broke into someone’s house and stole jewelry? And how do either of those compare to a secretary who embezzles from her company? But there’s only so much room on the court docket; there’s only so much space available in prison. Even when the rare case did go to trial, it’s not what you know happened, it’s what you can prove beyond a reasonable doubt, and that’s where it gets even trickier. The public believes we have unlimited resources to prosecute, with advanced forensic capabilities and expert witnesses at the ready, but that’s just not the way it is. Matching DNA can take months, unless it’s a high-profile crime. Witnesses are notoriously inconsistent. Evidence is ambiguous. And again, there are just too many cases… even if I wanted to really delve into a particular crime, I’d have to neglect all those other files waiting on my desk. So more often than not, the pragmatic thing was to simply work something out with opposing counsel, where the subject pled to a lesser offense.”
She kicked at the sand, her footsteps dragging. “I was constantly being put into situations where people expected results that I couldn’t deliver, and I’d end up being the bad guy. In their minds, the suspects had committed a crime and they should be held accountable, which to the victims almost always meant prison time or restitution of some sort, but that just wasn’t possible. Afterwards, the arresting officers weren’t happy, the victims weren’t happy, and I felt like I was letting them down. And in a way, I was. Eventually I realized that I was just a cog in the wheel of this giant, broken machine.”
She slowed, pulling her sweater tighter around her. “There’s just… evil out there. You wouldn’t believe the cases that would reach our office. A mom prostituting her six-year-old daughter to buy drugs, or a man raping a ninety-year-old woman. It’s enough to make you lose faith in humanity. And because there’s this great burden on you to go hard after the really horrible suspects, that means that other perpetrators don’t get the punishment they deserve and end up back on the streets. And sometimes…” She shook her head. “Anyway, by the end of my time there, I was barely sleeping and I started getting these weird panic attacks when I was at work. I walked in one morning and just knew I couldn’t do it anymore. So I went to my boss’s office and resigned. I didn’t even have another job lined up.”
“It sounds to me like your job was draining in a lot of different ways.”
“It was.” She smiled grimly, a spectrum of conflicting emotions playing across her face.
“And?”
“And what?”
“Want to talk about it?”
“Talk about what?”
“The real reason you quit? The part that led to you having panic attacks?”
Startled, she turned toward him. “How would you know about that?”
“I don’t,” he said. “But if you’d been there for a while, something specific must have happened. Something bad. And I’m guessing it concerned a case, right?”
She stopped walking, turning to face the water. The moonlit shadows accentuated her expression—a mixture of sadness and guilt that brought with it a fleeting ache he hadn’t expected.
“You’re very intuitive.” She closed her eyes, holding them that way for a moment. “I can’t believe I’m about to tell you this.”
Colin said nothing. By then, they’d almost reached the spot where they’d entered the beach, a cacophony of music audible now above the sound of the waves. She gestured toward the dune. “Do you mind if we sit?”
“Not at all.”
Slipping off her purse and setting her sandals aside, she lowered herself to the sand. Colin made himself comfortable beside her.
“Cassie Manning,” Maria offered. “That was her name… I hardly ever talk about her. It’s not something that I like reliving.” Her voice was tight and controlled. “The case came to me maybe three or four months after I’d begun working at the DA’s office. On paper, it struck me as a fairly typical case. Cassie is dating a guy and they get into an argument, it escalates, and the guy ends up getting violent. Cassie ends up in the hospital with a black eye and a split lip, bruising, a cracked cheekbone. In other words, it wasn’t just one punch; it was a beating. His name was Gerald Laws.”
“Laws?”
“I’ve tried to find the irony, but I’ve never found any. And nothing about the case ended up being typical in the slightest. It turns out that they’d been dating for six months or so, and in the beginning of the relationship, Cassie found Laws utterly charming. He listened well, opened doors for her—a gentleman—but after a while, she began to notice aspects of his personality that concerned her. The longer they dated, the more jealous and possessive he started to become. Cassie told me that he began to get angry if she didn’t answer immediately when he called her; he started showing up at her office when she was getting off work—she was a nurse at a pediatric office—and once, when she was having lunch with her brother, she spotted Laws on the other side of the restaurant, all by himself, just watching her. She knew that he’d followed her there and it bothered her.
“The next time he called, Cassie told him that she wanted to take a break for a while. He agreed, but soon thereafter, she realized that he was stalking her. She’d see him at the post office or when she was leaving the doctor’s office or when she was jogging, and she’d get these calls where no one would talk on the other end. Then, one night, Laws showed up at her door saying that he wanted to apologize, and against her better judgment, she let him in. Once inside, he tried to convince her to go out with him again. When she said no, he grabbed her arm and she began to fight back, and she ended up hitting him with a vase. After that, he threw her to the floor and just… went at it. It happened that there was a police officer the next street over, and after the 911 call came in—the neighbors had heard screaming—he was at the house in minutes. Laws had her pinned to the floor and was punching her and there was blood everywhere. It turned out later that it was his blood from a cut over his ear where she’d hit him with the vase. The officer had to use a Taser on him. When they searched his car, they found duct tape, rope, a couple of knives, and videotaping equipment. Scary stuff. When I talked to Cassie, she told me that the guy was crazy and that she was afraid for her life. Her family was, too. Her mom and dad and her younger brother were adamant that Laws be put away for as long as possible.”
She burrowed her toes in the sand. “I thought so, too. In my mind, there was no question that the guy needed to be put away. It was also pretty open-and-shut as far as cases go. In North Carolina, Laws could have been charged with either a Class C felony, which means he had the intent to kill her, or a Class E felony, where he didn’t have the intent to kill her. The family, especially the father, wanted him to be charged with a Class C felony, which could have put him behind bars for anywhere between three and seven years. The arresting officer, too, believed that Laws was dangerous. But unfortunately, the district attorney didn’t think we could prove intent, since there was no proof that any of the things in the car had anything to do with her. Nor were her injuries truly life-threatening. Cassie also had a bit of a credibility problem… while most of what she’d said Laws had done in the past was true, she also said he’d done things that he clearly hadn’t. Then there was Laws: He looked like Mister Rogers, worked as a loan officer at a bank, and had no criminal record. He would have been a prosecutor’s nightmare on the stand. So we ended up allowing Laws to plead guilty to misdemeanor assault, with a year in prison, and that’s where I went wrong. Because Laws was extremely dangerous.”
She paused, willing herself to keep telling the story. “Laws ended up serving nine months, since he’d already served three months pending trial. He wrote Cassie letters every other day, apologizing for his actions and begging for another chance. She never answered them; after a while, she didn’t even open them, but she saved them all because she was still afraid of him. Afterwards, when we examined them more closely, we noticed the shift in tone over time. Laws was becoming more and more angry that she wouldn’t respond. Had she actually read them and brought them to the DA…”
She stared toward the sand. “As soon as he got out, Laws showed up at her door. She slammed the door on him and called the police. She had a restraining order filed against him, and when the police talked to him, he promised that he wouldn’t go anywhere near her again. All that did was make him more careful. He sent her flowers anonymously. Her cat was poisoned. She’d find bouquets of dead roses on her doorstep. Even her tires were slashed.”
Maria swallowed, visibly shaken. When she continued, her voice was hoarse. “And then, one night, while Cassie was heading to her boyfriend’s place—by then, she was dating someone else—Laws was waiting for her. Her boyfriend saw Laws grab her right off the sidewalk and force her into the car, and he wasn’t able to stop it. Two days later, the police found Cassie’s body in an old lakefront cabin the bank had foreclosed on. Laws tied her up and beat her extensively, set the cabin on fire, and then shot himself, but they couldn’t tell whether she’d been alive when the fire…” She closed her eyes. “They had to be identified through dental records.”
Knowing that she was reliving the past and trying to work through it, Colin remained quiet.
“I went to her funeral,” she said, finally going on. “I know I probably shouldn’t have, but I felt like I needed to go. I came in after it started and sat in the back row. The church was full, but I could still see the family. The mom couldn’t stop crying. She was almost hysterical, and the father and the brother were just… white. I was sick to my stomach and I wanted the whole thing to be over. But it wasn’t.”
She turned toward him. “It… destroyed the family. I mean, all of them were a little strange, but it turned into a catastrophe. A few months after the murder, Cassie’s mom committed suicide, then the father had his medical license suspended. I always thought there was something a little weird about the brother… anyway, that’s when these terrible notes started to arrive. They came to my apartment and the office, in different envelopes, usually just a sentence or two. They were awful… calling me names, demanding to know why I hated Cassie or why I wanted to hurt the family. The police talked to the brother and the notes stopped. For a while, anyway, but when they started arriving again, they were… different. More threatening. Way scarier. So the police talked to him again, and I guess he just… snapped. Denied that he was responsible and insisted that I was out to get him, that the police were in cahoots with me. He ended up in a psychiatric hospital. Meanwhile, the father’s threatening to sue me. The police theorized that Cassie’s boyfriend might be responsible for the notes. Of course, when the police talked to him, he denied sending them, too. That’s when the panic attacks started. I had the sense that whoever was sending those notes would never leave me alone and that’s when I knew I had to go home.”
Colin said nothing. He knew there was nothing he could say that would make her view the events she had just described in a different light.
“I should have listened to the family. And the officer.”
Colin stared out at the waves, their rhythm ceaseless and soothing. When he didn’t respond, she turned toward him.
“Don’t you think?”
He chose his words carefully. “It’s hard to answer that question.”
“What do you mean?”
“By the way you said it, it’s clear that you already think the answer is yes, but if I agree with you, you’ll probably feel worse. If I say no, you’ll dismiss my answer because you’ve already decided that the answer should be yes.”
She opened her mouth to protest, then closed it. “I’m not even sure what to say to that,” she offered.
“You don’t have to say anything.”
She sighed, resting her chin on her knees. “I should have lobbied the DA and insisted that we charge Laws with a felony.”
“Maybe. But even if you had—and even if Laws was in prison longer—the outcome might still have been the same. He was fixated on her. And if you’re curious, if I’d been in your shoes, I probably would have done the same thing.”
“I know, but…”
“Have you talked to anyone about this?”
“Like a therapist? No.”
He nodded. “Okay.”
“You’re not going to tell me that I should?”
“I don’t give advice,” he said.
“Ever?”
He shook his head. “Then again, you don’t need my advice. If you think therapy might help you, try it out. If you don’t think so, don’t. I can only say that in my own experience, it’s been beneficial.”
Maria was quiet, and he couldn’t tell whether she liked his answer. “Thanks,” she finally said.
“For what?”
“For listening,” she said. “And not trying to give advice.”
Colin nodded, studying the horizon. More stars were evident now, and Venus glowed in the southern sky, bright and constant. A handful of people had wandered to the beach, their laughter carrying into the night air. Sitting beside Maria, it seemed like he’d known her far longer than the hour or so they’d spent together. He felt a distinct stab of regret that the evening was about to end.
But he could sense it coming in the way she suddenly sat straighter. He watched as she drew a long breath before finally glancing toward the boardwalk.
“I should probably get going,” she said.
“Me too,” he agreed, trying to hide his reluctance. “I still have to make it to the gym tonight.”
They rose from their spot and he watched as she brushed off the sand before slipping her sandals back on. They started back toward the dunes bordering the commercial strip, the music growing louder with every step. By the time they left the sand and were back on solid ground, the sidewalks were thronged, the crowds already enjoying their Saturday night.
He stayed at her side, weaving between pedestrians until they reached the street, where things were quieter. Surprising him, she stayed close, their shoulders occasionally brushing. The sensation of her touch continued to linger. “What are your plans for tomorrow?” he finally asked.
“On Sundays, I always have brunch with my parents. After that, I’ll probably go paddleboarding.”
“Yeah?”
“It’s fun. Have you ever done it?”
“No,” he said. “I’ve always wanted to try, but I just haven’t gotten around to it yet.”
“Too busy doing real workouts?”
“Too lazy,” he admitted.
She smiled. “How about you? Are you working?”
“No,” he said. “I’ll run, do some yard work, change the alternator on my car. It’s still not starting right.”
“Maybe it’s the battery.”
“Don’t you think I would have checked that first?”
“I don’t know. Would you?” He heard the teasing in her tone. “So after the manly yard and car work, what’s on the rest of your agenda?”
“I’ll hit the gym. There’s a class that meets on Sunday mornings, and I’ll probably do some sparring and ground work, hit the bags, things like that. A guy named Todd Daly runs the gym, and he tends to work us pretty hard. He’s a retired UFC fighter, coaches like a drill sergeant.”
“But if you had to, you could probably take him, right?”
“Daly? Not a chance.”
She liked the fact that he admitted it. “And after that?”
“Nothing, really. I’ll probably do some studying.”
By then, they’d turned onto another street, around the corner from Crabby Pete’s. He recognized her car up ahead from the night he’d changed her tire, and when they finally reached it, neither seemed to know what to say. Instead, he felt her eyes zeroing in on him, almost like she was really seeing him for the first time.
“Thanks for walking me to my car.”
“Thanks for the walk on the beach.”
She lifted her chin slightly. “I have another question.”
“Okay.”
“Were you serious about wanting to try paddleboarding?”
“Yes.”
She lowered her lashes, slipping him a sidelong glance. “Would you like to join me tomorrow?”
“Yes,” he said, feeling a dart of unexpected pleasure. “I’d like that. What time?”
“How about two o’clock? And we’ll check out Masonboro Island? It’s kind of hard to get to, but it’s worth it.”
“Sounds great. Where should we meet?”
“The parking isn’t ideal. The only way to get there is to head down Wrightsville Beach, right to the very end of the island. Just park on the street. Bring some quarters because you’ll have to feed the meter, but I’ll meet you there.”
“Can I rent a board somewhere?”
“You don’t have to. I have two of them. You can use my beginner board.”
“Great.”
“It’s hot pink, though. With stickers of bunnies and flowers on it.”
“Really?”
She giggled. “I was kidding.” Then: “I had a strangely good time tonight.”
“Me too,” he said, meaning it. “And I’m looking forward to tomorrow.”
After she unlocked the car, he opened the door, watching as she slid in. A moment later, she was backing out and then pulling away as Colin stood in place. It might have ended there, but she suddenly stopped the car and rolled down the window, leaning out.
“Hey, Colin?” she called out.
“Yeah?”
“When you’re in your sparring class tomorrow morning? Try not to get hit in the face.”
He smiled, watching as her car sailed up the boulevard, wondering what he was getting himself into. He hadn’t expected her invitation, and as he made his way back to his Camaro, he replayed the evening, trying to figure it out. Whatever her reason, he couldn’t deny the fact that he’d been pleased.
He wanted to see her again.
No question about it.