A thick wave of fluorescent light pours into my cell all at once.
“Joseph Rossi,” a booming voice says as my brain comes into focus. I must have passed out from mental exhaustion at some point during the last few hours. But now I’m awake and there’s a new cop standing in the doorway. “Get up.”
I rub my eyes until they hurt and peel myself off the cot. You know what would be amazing right now? A giant mug of espresso roast coffee.
“You’ve got visitors.”
Visitors, he said. Plural. Nonna is obviously one of them — I’m surprised they were able to keep her at bay until morning, to be honest — but who else? Maybe Marco? It’s gotta be Marco. He must have woken up at the crack of dawn to drive down and come help us get through this whole hearing process.
The cop escorts me through the Motivational Poster Hall of Shame, through the office, and back to that empty white room Mom and I waited in yesterday. It’s like he’s opening the door in slow motion, I’m so eager to see who’s on the other side. But it’s empty.
“They’ll be right in.” He slaps my shoulder blade. “Just take a seat.”
The room is just as sterile as it was last night — but now there’s a weight in the air that wasn’t here before. Maybe it’s the light of day. It’s making all of this feel so much realer than it did last night after our emotional-roller-coaster ride home from the lake.
The door swings open.
It’s Mom. New Cop escorts her to the seat next to me and leaves the room. We look at each other with don’t-fucking-cry-right-now-we’ve-both-already-cried-too-much faces.
“You get any sleep?” she asks.
I shrug and shake my head in response.
“Same,” she says. “This doesn’t feel real, huh?”
“Nope. Were we crazy for coming here?”
Mom shakes her head back, trying her best to look sure. “We had no other choice.”
The door swings open again. This time New Cop is trailed by Nonna — she’s wearing a jean jacket and carrying a garment bag — and some John Krasinski–looking dude in a suit. Nonna whooshes in like a hurricane, slams the bag on the table, and wraps me in a big hug for about two seconds. Then she steps back, looks at me, and smacks me upside my head. Fair!
“Nice haircut,” she says — but it sounds more like a death threat than a compliment.
I open my mouth cautiously. “Thanks…”
“You trying to drive me pazzo hanging up on me yesterday?” she screams. “I was trying to tell you that I have a lawyer for you.” She hits the suited guy’s arm and, like, presents him to us. “Teresa’s nephew Michael.”
He nods and starts to open his mouth, but then Mom jumps in.
“Are you trying to drive me pazzo, Ma?” she asks. “You know we can’t afford a lawyer.”
“Madonna mi,” Nonna moans. “Your picture’s been all over the news! You think you can get out of this without a lawyer?”
“But —”
“But nothing,” Nonna interjects. “Michael offered his services as a favor. If Joey didn’t hang up on me last night —”
“The phone died,” I correct her.
She ignores my correction and side-eyes me. “If Joey didn’t hang up on me last night, I could have told you to wait. Instead, the two of you come over here on your own, talking to the cops all night without a lawyer present like a couple of stunads.” She shoots Mom an iron stare. “And you! Gianna Maria. How could you do this to me? To your son? What were you thinking? Your father must be rolling over in his grave.”
“Good!” Mom barks back. “Fuck him. And his grave.”
Nonna puts a hand over her chest as if Mom just stuck a knife in it.
Mom crumples onto a chair and buries her face in her hands. I always knew she held some kind of grudge against Nonno, but damn. That was way harsh, Tai. I can tell by the way she’s huffing right now that she regrets it already.
“Listen.” Michael — our lawyer? — clears his throat. “You can’t afford to be fighting with each other right now. I’m gonna do everything I can to help you, but you all need to be on the same team.” He loosens his tie and narrows his eyebrows. “We don’t have much time.”
“Why are you here?” Mom asks. I’m kind of wondering the same thing, but also I’m not about to question our sudden twist of good fortune. “What kind of lawyer just works for free?”
“Gianna,” Nonna warns. “Stop lookin’ a gift horse in the mouth. Statazit and let him talk.”
“My firm encourages us to take on a certain amount of pro bono work each year,” Michael explains. “And I really do believe I can help minimize your sentences.”
He takes a seat across from me at the table and shuffles some papers out of a manila folder. “I talked to the Essex County prosecutor,” he continues. “She seems hyperfocused on the unrelated case against your, uh — Richard Massey — which is likely to go to trial in the future. So I think she’ll be willing to work out a plea bargain on this one and move on. And I’m sure his legal team is more concerned with keeping him out of jail than putting you two in it.”
“Is it too late to frame him for insurance fraud?” I joke. Although how amazing would it be if Michael’s answer was just, like, Nope! Framing him for insurance fraud is totally feasible and a great idea.
“Funny.” Michael’s face muscles barely move.
I decide to ask the question that is (or at least should be) at the forefront of all of our minds: “So what is our sentence going to be? Are we gonna have to go to prison?”
“I’m hopeful it won’t come to that.” He says it so matter-of-factly that I’m weirdly comforted. He’s clearly not just bullshitting to make me feel better. “But you shouldn’t worry about the sentencing at this point. The goal today is to get you home until your next court date. Which means you need to come off as apologetic and likable to the judge.”
“I brought you clean clothes.” Nonna gestures to the garment bag on the table.
“So we get changed and act sorry, and that’s it?” Mom asks. A little too hopeful for our own good. “He’ll let us go?”
“Given the severity of the charges…” Michael looks down at a piece of paper. “Well. Let’s start with the pluses. Neither of you has a record. You have your jobs in Bayonne. Joseph has school. You both have” — he gestures at Nonna — “family in the community.”
Hearing an actual lawyer rattle off reasons why we should be allowed to go home feels like putting cool aloe on a blistering sunburn.
“But,” Michael continues. Goddamnit. “There are minuses. You’ve been charged with felony arson and criminal property damage. You disappeared for three days.” He clicks his pen. “That isn’t a crime in itself, but judges typically don’t take well to fl —”
“Flight risks,” I somberly finish for him.
The relief is gone just as fast as it came. Back to being burned.
“But we came back!” Mom says. “We turned ourselves in. We told the truth. That has to help our case.”
“I’m afraid it doesn’t work like that,” he says. “If I were here last night, I would have strongly advised you against talking so much — or at all. Now your confessions can be used as evidence against you.”
“Fuck me!” Mom shrieks. “I can’t do anything right.”
Nonna’s just sitting on the other side of the table with her arms crossed, biting her tongue so hard it’s probably bleeding.
“Listen,” Michael continues. “We can argue that you were both under emotional duress and didn’t understand the extent of what you were confessing to. You can still plead not guilty today.” He pauses. “In fact, you must plead not guilty today.”
“Joey?” Nonna asks, probably because I’m currently staring at the floor. My sneakers are covered in caked-on dirt from walking up and down that muddy hill yesterday. Hopefully she has some shoes in that bag. “Did you hear that?”
“Yeah. Not guilty.” I shift my weight in my chair. “Even though we are guil —”
“Please don’t say that to the judge,” Michael interrupts. “Or anyone at all.”
“Right. Got it.” I look over at Mom and remember how we slept in separate cells last night. “They’re not gonna separate us again, are they?” I ask.
“Since you were charged together, you’ll face the judge together as codefendants. And as long as the judge lets you go home today, you shouldn’t have to worry about separation.” Michael shuts his folder. “But you should be prepared for some fairly restrictive conditions of release. You won’t be allowed to leave the state before your next court date, which could be anywhere from several days to several months.”
“That’s fine,” Nonna says. “He’s going to college in-state.”
I can tell she’s saying it more for my instruction than his benefit.
“In light of your financial hardships,” he continues, “I’m going to ask the judge to let you go home based solely on your promise to appear in court. But given the severity of this crime, you’ll probably be required to post b —”
“Bail,” I lifelessly finish once again.
“Yes.” His eyes dart around the room. “If that happens, you may be able to get a bond, but you’d be responsible for paying ten percent.”
“We can’t afford any percent,” Mom says. “Fuck! Fuck —”
“Basta!” Nonna says. “Let Michael talk, will you?”
“I’ll do my best to ensure bail is as low as possible,” he says. “But I would be remiss not to advise you to prepare in the event that it’s on the higher side. Is there anyone in your lives who might be able to help?”
“No,” Mom says through quivering lips. “We have nothing and no one.”
“I have some retirement money,” Nonna says. “How much would ten percent be?”
Michael takes a breath. “It could be anywhere from a thousand —”
“Ma!” Mom interjects. “I don’t care how much it is. You’re not doing that.”
If I could bring myself to speak right now, I would tell Mom that now is really not the time to get on a whole we-don’t-need-any-handouts high horse. But luckily Nonna is prepared to make the argument for me.
“You think I’m going to let my daughter and grandson rot in jail?” She throws her hands up. “I don’t have a choice, Gia! Christ. You took my choice away when you set that house on fire! You weren’t thinking about my life savings then. Were you?”
“There’s no need to get hysterical,” Michael says calmly. I wish his composure were contagious. “Like I said, I’m going to do my best. Hopefully the question of bail will be a nonissue.”
“Right.” Mom’s voice trembles while I nod along in pure terror. “Hopefully.”