Innocent or Guilty?. A. Taylor M.
Kat said, “Do you know?”
There were trees as far as the eye could see, trunks thick, leaves an everlasting green. It was hard to believe we were just a few minutes from busy streets, a bustling high school. If you listened hard enough you could hear the gentle rush of Cedar Creek, and then, further away, the growing roar of Hood River. It seemed darker than it should have been, a temporary twilight falling over the footpath, and I looked up; through the canopy of leaves the sky had started to turn grey, and with my face upturned I felt a drop of rain land on my cheek. “Olivia?” Kat said again, bringing me back.
I looked around us, and shook my head, “I don’t know the exact spot, either. But it was probably around here. We’re still a few minutes from my old house.”
By the time we reached the house, the 20 or 25-minute bike ride Kevin had predicted had taken much longer due to all our stopping, and Kat and Ray were saying they wanted to try it again with no stops this time. Maybe even under the cover of darkness, just to be sure. “And we need to go back to Jessica Heng’s old house,” Kat said, “I want to see if you could actually identify anyone going into the woods from that far away. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to –” Ray started to say something and Kat held up her hand, as if she knew exactly what was coming, “With my glasses on I mean.”
But my attention had been caught by something just a few houses down the street. I narrowed my eyes, not sure I could really believe them, because standing out on a porch, just three houses away from where I’d grown up, were Cole Sampson and Morgan Washington.
And they were watching us.
It’s the first day of Ethan’s trial, the air heavy and slow with heat, summer wafting in through my open window as I dress. My legs and arms shake as I worry over what to wear. Is a dress too much? Is a suit too formal? Eventually I settle on a dark blue jersey maxi dress I would normally wear to the beach, but with a brown leather belt cinching it at the waist, it somehow looks okay. My hands tremble as I do up the belt, fingers sticky and stiff. I have no idea what I’m doing.
But no one does. That’s what I soon realize. I can’t rely on my older sister, or even my parents to lead the way now. Neither of my parents could ever have imagined finding themselves in a situation like this. My dad is a city planner, my mom a landscape gardener. They see life through a series of plans and blueprints, one stage leading to the next, leading to the next. You prepare the soil, you plant at the right time, you water the ground, and whatever you put in there, you grow. But they could never have planned for any of this. Nothing about their lives up until this point, up until the morning the police knocked heavily on our front door, could have left them with even a hint that their only son was going to be arrested for murder. They did everything right, prepared us all perfectly for the world that was waiting for us, but they failed to take into account the blurred or broken line on a blueprint that eventually led to ruin and chaos; the weeds running rampant in the garden; the woodworm condemning the house to rot. So, when we get to the steps of the courthouse, the sidewalk and street packed with journalists, photographers, reporters and cameramen, I lead the way. It’s as if I can feel my parents’ inability to believe any of this is happening, and instead of scaring me, it bolsters me somehow. Because someone has to go in there and show Ethan they believe him, and that everything’s going to be okay.
But I’m not prepared for the other side of the courthouse door. I thought this would be the worst of it – the reporters and the onlookers, the rubberneckers and the muckrakers, but I couldn’t be more wrong, because on the other side of the door is Mayor Washington and her family. Her husband stands by her side, arm clamped around her shoulders, and in front of them is their daughter Morgan, my former friend and cheer captain, just one year older than both me and Tyler. I don’t expect anyone to say anything; I don’t know what I would say, what any of my family would say, so I can’t imagine what any member of Tyler’s family would say either.
But apparently my imagination isn’t quite up to scratch, because before I realize what’s happening, Mom is edging away from our family huddle, and taking a few steps towards the Washingtons, her mouth open to speak. But the sound that comes out is strangled and all wrong, and the Mayor just gives her a withering, disgusted look, her mouth drawn into a hard, straight line while Morgan says, “Don’t you dare come a single step closer, you murderous bitch.”
But her voice is thin and tinny, when I know from hours of cheerleading practice with her, that it’s normally hard and strong, as cheerful and confident as it is forceful. And for some reason, it makes my mind go clear, a glorious blank sheet of water roaring through it, and even though I have no idea what I’m doing or why, I walk over to Morgan and pull her into a hug, whispering into her ear as I do so, “I’m so, so sorry,” and that’s when I finally let myself cry, and that’s when her body collapses and the shudder of her sobs join mine.
Kat was unable to resist striding over there, Ray a few steps behind her, muttering something about not having their recording equipment. I watched as Kat introduced herself to Morgan, but Morgan just stood there, arms crossed against her chest as she listened to Kat, while every few seconds her gaze flicked directly to mine. Despite having seen and talked to me just hours earlier, Cole’s eyes didn’t land on me once.
He was sat on a wooden bench, one leg crossed over the other, a bottle of beer in hand as he watched the interaction between Kat and Morgan. Clouds had scudded over the sky, but it was late in the day now, evening strolling in, and the combination of sunset and clouds turned the world yellow, meaning Cole was squinting as he watched his girlfriend talk to Kat. Morgan was gesticulating, her face twisting and turning, and I wished I could hear what they were saying, but I felt rooted to the ground, stuck in place. Morgan kept bringing one hand to her stomach, every couple of seconds or so, and my eyes instantly flicked to Cole, trying to read his face, figure out if what I was thinking could possibly be true.
“Is she pregnant?” I asked, turning to Kevin all of a sudden.
Kevin looked from me over to where Morgan stood on her porch, staring down at Kat and Ray who were talking full force at her now, giving her the pitch. “Don’t know. Why?”
“She just keeps … touching her stomach, I thought maybe …” but I couldn’t finish the sentence, and Kevin just shrugged and said lightly,
“Maybe she just had a really big burrito.”
“Thank you, Kevin. You don’t think maybe you could take this a tiny bit more seriously?”
Kevin made a face at me and sighed, “What would it matter anyway, Liv? If Morgan is pregnant, so what. What’s it to you? Or Ethan? Or the podcast?”
“Nothing, it’s nothing to me,” I said stoutly, turning away from him, “I was just curious.” And then after a beat I couldn’t help asking, “They’re not married though, right? Just dating?”
Kevin laughed, the sound running down the road and catching up to Kat, Ray, Cole and Morgan who all turned to look at us at the same time. “You worried about them having a baby out of wedlock, Liv?” He asked, still laughing. But when I didn’t immediately answer, he said, “No, they’re not married. They do live together though. So, a bit more serious than ‘dating’.”
Ray was strolling back towards us now, telling us that Morgan had miraculously agreed to an interview so he was going to go back and get their recording equipment from Kevin’s if that was okay? Kevin agreed and the two of them hopped on their bikes again, about to speed off when I said, “Can I stay? For the interview?”
Ray