Photographs Ch. 10

"Blackmail is not what I expected," Christie said, "but I guess with all the spying he did, he would have stumbled on a few things."

"The real question is what do you want us to do with it?" Sean said. "We could find a way to get it to the police."

"Steve would become notorious," Mike said. "And so would you."

"People would wonder why you never figured it out. Stupid people will say you knew and protected him. Or worse."

"The press would never let it go. He'd be like Ted Bundy. People would talk about Steve Tyler decades from now."

"Maybe, maybe not," Christie said. She looked back and forth between them. "Sounds to me like you've been talking this over and over for days. What about all those women? Or the people who were blackmailed. They need to see justice."

"You're police officers," Danny said. "And Christie's an office of the court."

They just looked at him. "We're MacAwleys first," Mike said.

Sean took her hand again. "Why don't you think about it?"

"Give me a minute."

Christie leaned back and closed her eyes, tired from the conversation. Her first instinct was to release the evidence to the police. What happened to her life didn't matter if she could bring closure to so many. Those women deserved to know who raped them and what happened to him. Christie herself understood not knowing. She knew much about what happened that night, but not all. Perhaps the remaining photographs would answer that nagging question: had she enjoyed it? Had she been a participant in her own rape? She didn't think about it much anymore. That wound had mostly healed. Only times like this tore it open again.

It had begun to feel like she spent her entire life making hard choices. In retrospect, deciding to sleep with her son had been easy, a comfortable glide into the arms of the only person who truly understood what she'd lived through. This would affect him, too. He was already the son of the woman who stabbed her husband in the throat with an umbrella. He'd been there that night, and it had been impossible to keep him out of the press. If she turned over the photographs, Danny would become the man raised by a serial rapist.

She opened her eyes to look at him, seeing his expectant expression. The three men in the room were silent, waiting. She knew that whatever she said now she would have to live with for the rest of her life, but the decision was easy.

"Burn it."

######

During the entire conversation Mike had remained in a position by the door, leaning against the wall with his arms folded over his chest. Whenever Christie looked his way, he stared at the floor, unable to meet her eyes. Sean wanted to leave for the storage unit right away, but Christie shooed him and Danny out for a minute.

Still by the door, Mike said, "Sis," but couldn't go on.

When he didn't speak Christie said, "We're even, Mike. You killed someone to save me. I married someone to save you. Let it go."

"I killed someone, but you were the one who was punished." He came forward then, ran a hand through his hair and gave a small, humorless laugh. "And the ironic thing is I would probably have never seen jail time for it anyway."

"You didn't know that at the time."

"Sean knew. He kept telling me it would be okay, but I wouldn't believe him."

"By the time I started law school, I knew it was the cover-up I was protecting you from, not the murder."

They remained quiet for a time.

Mike opened his mouth to speak but Christie cut him off. "Don't you ever ask me to forgive you."

Mike frowned. "But--"

"Don't."

She had grown very tired, but she had just a little more to say. "Remember your high school graduation? Do you remember what I said to you?"

"You said you'd never forgive me if I didn't straighten out and live a good life. I did, didn't I? Are you okay with the way I turned out?"

She held out a hand to him and he took it. "You're still a poopyhead sometimes, but you're a poopyhead who's done a pretty good job at life."

"So we're okay?"

"Of course we're okay."

#####

When Christie came home from the hospital, her mother stayed with her for two weeks while she recovered. There were reporters and photographers on her street the entire time. Even without the necessity of a trial, she wondered if she would ever see the last of them.

"It's just us now, Mom," Danny said, standing beside her in the entryway when they returned from taking her mother to the airport.

She nodded silently, he expression vacant.

"Mom?"

"I don't know what to do."

He put his arm around her shoulders and guided her into the den and onto the sofa.

"You're not sad that he's gone, are you?" he asked.

"Of course not."

"So, what's the problem?"

"I don't know what to do. I tried and tried to find a way out, but I never really believed it would happen."

"Well, it did." He thought for a second. "Why don't you sell this house?"

Her face brightened. "Yes, tomorrow."

"Okay, that's quick."

"And I can burn all that stuff in the white cabinet."

"Can I help?"

"The portrait studio has to be closed up." She grew more alert, sitting up straighter.

"Let's forget it for now," Danny said. "And go to bed. Your bed, where I intend to sleep forever."

She wanted to say that forever is a long time, but didn't. Soon he would come to his realizations on his own.

"Yes, let's go to bed."