Ever since he’d seen Gia by the pool on Thursday night, Cormac had been inexorably drawn to the windows of his house that overlooked the Rossi yard. She hadn’t appeared on Friday night; he’d assumed that maybe she was out with friends. But she’d sat by the pool for over an hour on Saturday and walked out again on Sunday just before Cormac was about to go to bed, which held him transfixed at the window in his room, despite the fact that he had to be up early to take Mrs. Wood and Astro to the park.
This morning he’d pulled out the transcript of his father’s trial he’d originally gotten online and stored in a box in his closet. He’d been poring over it on and off as he went through his day. Not only did he want to know whether she was lying, he was interested in how she might’ve gotten beyond the incident if she’d been telling the truth. The pushback and skepticism—from him and others—couldn’t have been easy to endure.
He’d never forget seeing her sitting in the witness box, pale but resolute, in a pretty pink dress that made her look young and sweet. She must’ve been instructed to wear something like that, because he’d never seen her in anything like it before. She’d probably been coached on how to answer, too, as the district attorney led her through a recounting of the events in question. Although Cormac had read it once today already, he took the transcript off his nightstand, where he’d left it last, and sat on the bed to go over the part again where the district attorney, a man named Brindley, had Gia on the stand.
To get through the trial as quickly as possible and put it behind him, his father had elected to forgo a jury. The defense attorney they’d hired had suggested a bench trial might be the smarter route, because it would preclude the prosecution from being able to stack the jury with mothers who’d likely be more susceptible to the emotional pain Gia would, no doubt, claim she suffered.
So the jury box had sat empty but the gallery was full.
MR. BRINDLEY: How were you doing in school generally?
GIA ROSSI: Not the best. I was too caught up in socializing.
MR. BRINDLEY: But you loved English. You usually did well in that subject. Am I right?
At that point, the defense attorney had jumped to his feet.
MR. JACOBS: Objection, Your Honor! Leading statement.
THE COURT: Immaterial. The witness may respond.
Gia had looked a little shaken by the fervor of the objection, but she’d gathered herself and said, I’ve never gotten less than a B in English.
MR. BRINDLEY: And we have your transcripts right here to prove it. Let the record show that Gia’s previous report cards reflect this.
The prosecutor had lifted a file, which he’d entered into evidence before proceeding.
MR. BRINDLEY: How were you doing in Mr. Hart’s class?
GIA ROSSI: Fine. I turned in all my work on time. I had good marks up until that point.
MR. BRINDLEY: Then you weren’t worried about your grade.
GIA ROSSI: I was a little worried. Only because I needed to get an A in English to keep my volleyball scholarship to the University of Iowa. I assumed it’d be easy enough to do, since I’d never had a problem before. But then Mr. Hart gave me a D on my big research paper.
MR. BRINDLEY: Why do you think he gave you such a low grade?
GIA ROSSI: At the time I didn’t know.
Cormac remembered her voice dropping dramatically at that point.
GIA ROSSI: Now I think I do.
MR. JACOBS: Objection, Your Honor! Conjecture!
THE COURT: Please, just answer the question.
After that, Mr. Brindley had tried to gain Gia’s attention right away so she wouldn’t falter.
MR. BRINDLEY: You’re telling me you don’t think you deserved a D on your research paper?
GIA ROSSI: Not at all! Why would I go from making almost all As in his class to almost failing such a major assignment?
MR. BRINDLEY: Maybe you were falling off in English like you were in your other subjects. Senioritis gets the best of a lot of kids.
Cormac chuckled humorlessly as he read that. Brindley had obviously been trying to neutralize some of the claims he’d known would arise from the defense.
GIA ROSSI: That’s not the case here. You can read my paper yourself and compare it to what the other kids turned in—kids who got a much better grade from Mr. Hart. You can talk to my friends, too. They’ll tell you I was taking the assignment seriously. I even stayed home and missed a party I really wanted to go to so I’d have enough time to get it done right.
MR. BRINDLEY: Can you tell us what Mr. Hart didn’t like about your work?
GIA ROSSI: I went up to his desk after class to ask, but there were a lot of kids around, trying to talk to him, too, and he just said he expected more from me.
MR. BRINDLEY: He didn’t tell you what you did wrong?
GIA ROSSI: He said we’d talk about it later.
MR. BRINDLEY: Did you ever have the chance?
GIA ROSSI: I assumed I was going to when the bell rang and he handed me a slip of paper telling me to come by his house after volleyball practice that afternoon.
MR. BRINDLEY: Isn’t it unusual for a schoolteacher to have a student come to his house? Had Mr. Hart ever asked you to come over before?
GIA ROSSI: No, but he lives just down the street. Since he’s my neighbor, I didn’t think it was all that unusual.
MR. BRINDLEY: And did you go to his house?
GIA ROSSI: I did.
MR. BRINDLEY: Is that when you pressed him to give you a better grade?
Again, Cormac could tell, especially as an adult, that Brindley had been trying to preempt the defense by getting ahead of the story that she was so disappointed with her grade she was smearing her teacher’s reputation as a form of revenge.
GIA ROSSI: I didn’t press him to give me a better grade. I was hoping he’d allow me to rewrite the paper. He sometimes did that when he knew a student could do better.
MR. BRINDLEY: You’re saying he allowed his pupils to redo an assignment and they could still get an A?
GIA ROSSI: No, the highest he’d give on that type of thing was a B, but a B was all I needed on this paper to get an A in the class.
MR. BRINDLEY: Were his wife and children at home the evening you were there?
GIA ROSSI: No.
MR. BRINDLEY: Did he tell you where they were?
GIA ROSSI: He might have. I don’t remember. I know now that they were at the high school watching Cormac’s baseball game.
Cormac had been a decent pitcher—nothing for the major leagues, but he’d earned a baseball scholarship at Duke, where he’d gotten his bachelor’s in animal science. Wakefield had been playing their biggest rivals that night, so even his sisters had attended. Only his father had missed the game, saying he had papers to grade. The end of the year in Honors English always required a great deal of his time.
But if what Gia said was true, Evan hadn’t begged off because of work; he’d been planning to spend those hours having sex with a student he’d become infatuated with.
MR. BRINDLEY: Did you have your paper with you?
GIA ROSSI: I brought it, yes. But he had me set it aside, said we’d get to it later. First, he wanted to give me some suggestions for my Banned Books Club and asked me if I wanted a drink.
MR. BRINDLEY: He offered you something like a Coke? Maybe iced tea?
Cormac remembered her gaze darting self-consciously in the direction of Cormac’s father.
GIA ROSSI: No. Alcohol.
The DA’s eyes had gone wide as he pandered to the judge.
MR. BRINDLEY: But you’re only seventeen. What would make a teacher give an underage student alcohol?
GIA ROSSI: He said I probably drank with my friends already, and it wouldn’t hurt to have a little rum and Coke.
MR. BRINDLEY: Did you drink with your friends?
She’d hung her head.
GIA ROSSI: Sometimes.
MR. BRINDLEY: And did you drink that night with Mr. Hart?
She’d looked up again, long enough for Cormac to see her face turn bright red.
GIA ROSSI: A little.
Cormac remembered the murmuring that rose in the gallery—it would probably always stay with him—and the frowns that’d creased the faces of her own family, all of whom were sitting on the opposite side, across the aisle. Obviously, they hadn’t liked the idea of her accepting alcohol. That besmirched her reputation, made her something slightly less than an innocent victim.
But that had probably been orchestrated. Admitting to doing something wrong gave her more credibility. It would be logical for the judge—for anyone—to think, if she’d tell the truth about that, she must be telling the truth about all of it.
Cormac hadn’t let it sway him, though. There was no way his father would offer alcohol to any of his students. That right there would risk his job.
The DA had spoken above the noise.
MR. BRINDLEY: Then what happened?
Gia’s face had gone from red to slightly tinged with gray, as if it made her nauseous just to retell the story. To that point, she’d been putting on a stellar act. His sisters had been sitting on either side of him. He remembered Louisa leaning over to whisper that Gia deserved an Oscar for her performance.
But now he had to wonder if it’d been an act at all.
GIA ROSSI: He took off his shirt.
The embarrassment that’d hit Cormac when she made that statement had been excruciating. But he’d insisted his father would not have done something so humiliating—just like he wouldn’t have offered a student alcohol. This whole thing had been designed to punish a teacher for standing in the way of a volleyball scholarship.
MR. BRINDLEY: He did...what?
Cormac had squirmed in his seat as Mr. Brindley tried to make a bigger issue of her response—to be sure the judge heard it, no doubt.
GIA ROSSI: He took off his shirt.
MR. BRINDLEY: Did you leave at that point?
Cormac pictured her digging at her cuticles.
GIA ROSSI: No.
MR. BRINDLEY: Why not? Surely, you must’ve found it strange that he’d disrobe.
GIA ROSSI: I believed he took it off because he was too hot. He said he was. Also, he was drinking, so I thought he might not be thinking straight. I was still hoping to talk to him about my paper. I wanted him to tell me why he thought it was so terrible. And what I could do to improve it. And...and he seemed to be more friendly the longer I stayed, which made my hopes go up.
MR. BRINDLEY: That’s understandable. Doesn’t sound too out of line to me...
MR. JACOBS: Your Honor, Mr. Brindley is inserting his own opinion into the witness’s testimony!
There’d been so many objections. Some the judge had supported; others, he hadn’t. This objection had been sustained. But Mr. Brindley hadn’t seemed to care. He’d smiled at his assistant when his back was to the judge as if he’d already accomplished his goal just by making sure everyone had heard what he’d said.
MR. BRINDLEY: Did you ever get to talk to Mr. Hart about your grade?
GIA ROSSI: No.
MR. BRINDLEY: Can you speak up?
Gia’s answer had been barely audible. Cormac had been hanging on every word and still had to lean forward to catch it. But at the prosecutor’s urging, a stubborn defiance had come over her face and she’d lifted her chin and spoken more loudly.
GIA ROSSI: I said no.
MR. BRINDLEY: Why not?
GIA ROSSI: Because that was when Mr. Hart pulled me up against him and...and...
Her words had faltered, and Cormac remembered hoping and praying she wouldn’t be able to finish that statement.
MR. BRINDLEY: I know this is difficult. It’s got to be almost as embarrassing and hurtful to recount as it was to live through it. But I need you to tell the judge exactly what happened.
By that point, Cormac had felt sick to his stomach. He’d told himself to get out of the courtroom before she could comply with the prosecutor’s instructions. He’d known that the images her response put in his mind would never leave him. But he’d been unable to believe she’d lie about something so monumental and had to stay and hear it for himself. It’d been like watching a car wreck; as horrified as it had been to witness the carnage, he couldn’t look away.
GIA ROSSI: He kissed me.
Given the number of times he’d dreamed of kissing her himself, Cormac had flinched.
MR. BRINDLEY: Did you try to resist?
She’d looked down for several seconds, kept digging at her cuticles while Cormac—and probably the rest of his family—held their breath.
MR. BRINDLEY: Miss Rossi?
Her eyes had been shining with tears when she looked up.
GIA ROSSI: Not at first.
While he’d heard the gasps and murmurs around him, Cormac had remained silent, his gaze on her face. She was doing the same thing here as she’d done with the alcohol—admitting to some small wrongdoing so that the rest of what she said would be more believable, he’d thought.
MR. BRINDLEY: Why not?
GIA ROSSI: I was shocked...and...and overwhelmed, I guess. To be honest, I don’t really know. I still thought I liked him, that...that he was a cool teacher... I don’t know.
She’d shaken her head helplessly as she’d repeated that she didn’t know.
MR. BRINDLEY: Then what happened?
GIA ROSSI: He pulled off my shirt, undid my bra and started kissing my breasts. That was when I pushed him away and said I wanted to talk about my paper.
Cormac winced. Even now, he felt sick. At this point, Mr. Brindley had been forced to raise his voice to be heard above the noise.
MR. BRINDLEY: And how did he respond?
GIA ROSSI: He said I didn’t need to worry about my paper. It was one of the best in the class.
At that point, the murmuring had crescendoed to the point that it nearly drowned out the prosecutor’s next question, and the judge had to warn the gallery to remain quiet.
MR. BRINDLEY: Yet he gave you a D?
GIA ROSSI: Yes. That made me so mad I pushed him away again. I knew then that...that there was nothing wrong with my work. He’d used my paper as an excuse to get me to come over.
MR. BRINDLEY: What happened next?
GIA ROSSI: He told me I was all he could think about. That he would give anything if only I’d go into the bedroom with him. But by then I was too grossed out by what was happening to even let him touch me—the bad grade I didn’t deserve, the alcohol, the rest of it.
MR. BRINDLEY: So what did you do?
GIA ROSSI: I tried to wrench away. But he had hold of my arm and wouldn’t let go. He kept telling me that I’d enjoy myself if...if I’d just quit fighting. That he’d be gentle with me, and I deserved someone who was experienced for my first time. He said making love would be something we’d both always remember and not to worry about my scholarship because he’d give me an A in the class.
Once again, the noise that’d erupted in the gallery had made it difficult to hear the prosecutor—and once again, the judge had warned everyone to pipe down.
MR. BRINDLEY: Did he tell you he loved you?
GIA ROSSI: He did. I asked him about his wife, and he said he’d leave her if we could be together.
Cormac had shot a glance at his mother when Gia had said that, but Sharon had sat, rigid and stoic, and hadn’t returned his gaze. Those words had cut him, too, though. That his father would walk away from the family for a student... It’d been unthinkable.
MR. BRINDLEY: And do you feel as though you ever loved him?
She’d hesitated as if she didn’t know how to respond, before finally answering.
GIA ROSSI: It wasn’t love. I liked him. I thought he liked me. I trusted him. I couldn’t believe he’d give me a D if I didn’t deserve it. And I knew I didn’t want him to keep touching me. It felt creepy, wrong.
MR. BRINDLEY: And did he stop?
GIA ROSSI: Not right away. He was trying to get inside my pants. He unbuttoned and unzipped them and jammed his hand down the front. I was trying to fight him off, but it wasn’t until I started to scream for help that he realized my answer was really no. Then he let me go and stepped back as though he was shocked I wouldn’t go into the bedroom with him.
Tears had started rolling down her cheeks, which she’d quickly wiped away.
GIA ROSSI: I told him I was going to tell the principal that he’d cheated me on my grade. Somehow, I was more concerned about that than anything else, since...since the physical stuff really hadn’t gone that far, and I felt partially to blame for drinking with him. But then he started to threaten me, said that he’d fail me if I told anyone. He said I asked for what I got by flirting with him at school and that he held all the power, so no one would believe me, anyway.
The silence that’d fallen over the court after that statement had been more deafening than the noise. Mr. Brindley didn’t speak for several seconds. Cormac had known even back then that he’d been drawing out the moment for dramatic effect. He’d wanted everyone in that courtroom, especially the judge, to see that evening through Gia’s eyes.
When Brindley finally spoke, he did so quietly.
MR. BRINDLEY: How did it end?
GIA ROSSI: I did what I could to straighten my clothes and ran out.
MR. BRINDLEY: Did he come after you?
GIA ROSSI: No.
MR. BRINDLEY: What was he like the next time you saw him?
GIA ROSSI: When I got to class the next day, he acted as if it never happened—except he did change the grade on my paper to a B. My friend pointed it out to me almost as soon as I walked in. Our grades were posted on a chart on the wall.
MR. BRINDLEY: But you still went to the principal.
GIA ROSSI: I was torn about it, but I didn’t want to be in his class any longer, so, yes, I went to Mr. Applegate, and he put me in Mrs. Summerfield’s class instead. The funny thing is that they were a week behind us. People were just turning in their research papers, so I turned mine in right along with everyone else.
MR. BRINDLEY: You didn’t change it in any way?
GIA ROSSI: Not one sentence.
MR. BRINDLEY: What kind of grade did you get from Mrs. Summerfield?
GIA ROSSI: An A minus.
There’d been another collective murmur in the gallery then, after which Mr. Brindley had said, “No more questions, Your Honor.”
Cormac set the transcript aside. After that, the defense attorney had had a chance to cross-examine Gia and got her to admit, once again, that she’d been drinking that night, which meant she might not remember it clearly. He’d pointed out that grading a research paper was often subjective, so getting two vastly different grades could happen even when there was no impropriety involved. And then his father had taken the stand and done an excellent job of presenting his side of the argument, which had made Gia look bad.
Bottom line, the whole thing had been a fucking nightmare.
Leaving the transcript on his nightstand again, Cormac got up and leaned against the wall of his bedroom as he went back to staring down at Gia. Although she had her phone in her hand, she wasn’t using it. The fact that she’d come out so quietly, without turning on any lights, suggested her parents were asleep and she was enjoying a peaceful moment alone, just sitting in the lounger and staring up at the stars.
He wondered why the cold hadn’t driven her back inside. But then he reminded himself that she’d spent considerable time in Alaska. Maybe the cold didn’t bother her. Maybe she missed the wide-open spaces she’d enjoyed during those years enough that it was worth the chill. Wakefield wasn’t exactly crowded—there were only five thousand people—but that was probably big compared with some of the places she’d lived since moving away from home.
After she’d first left, he’d been tempted to track her down. His world had been crumbling around him, and he’d thought if only she’d listen to what was happening as a consequence of her lies and have some compassion, she might be willing to come forward with the truth, which could restore his father’s reputation and save his job—as well as his parents’ marriage. Cormac believed if she had a conscience, she’d have to right this wrong. But his father had villainized her to the family and anyone who’d listen to the point that he hadn’t believed he could reach her no matter what.
And now, seventeen years later, she was becoming human to him again. Should he talk to her? If so, what would he say?
He’d be a lot less accusatory than he’d been before; he knew that. Judging by the way his father had lived his life—and what she’d accomplished since—she was the one who seemed more reliable these days. Even though Cormac wanted to blame what his father had become on her—and in all fairness that was still a possibility; there were men who couldn’t get over the false accusations they’d endured—there was a small voice inside Cormac that said if his father’s character had been what it was supposed to be, he would’ve figured out a way to live a life of integrity, nonetheless. A man like he’d once thought his father was would not want to be a liability to his family and friends...
He rubbed his temples as he tried to figure out a way to contact Gia that wouldn’t involve anyone else and wouldn’t become the subject of gossip around town.
They definitely couldn’t be seen together...
Fortunately, their houses backed up to each other. There was even a gate between them. And she came out alone almost every night despite the cold. He could walk over there right now and interrupt her solitude, but he knew that wouldn’t be a welcome surprise. She had to be willing to meet with him; he felt that was the only way they might have a civil conversation. And that meant he needed to give her the choice and hope she’d agree.
So he wrote a note asking her to come to his house tomorrow night—or suggest another private meeting spot if she wasn’t comfortable doing that—and waited until she’d gone inside to leave it on the chaise under a rock so the wind couldn’t blow it away.