Page 57 of The Rut in the Road

I grimaced, but said nothing, pushing a few peas and a tiny carrot cube with the tines of my fork.

“It goes to court in January,” Raj said softly. “Three months from now.”

I sighed again. “Yes, I know.”

“You have to be prepared,” he said, echoing what Ward had said to me a few weeks ago.

I sighed again. “Prepared for what?” I asked, knowing I sounded annoyed. “The truth doesn’t change as time passes.”

“It’s not the truth you need to be prepared for,” Raj replied, and his tone was worrisome. “It’s the fact that Garraway is going to have a lawyer who is going to try to make you contradict yourself.”

I frowned. “The truth can’t contradict itself.”

“The job of Garraway’s lawyer is to confuse you, make you say things that seem to be answering the question, then twisting them around and using them to make you sound like a liar.”

I scowled into my rice, shoving it around some more. “Why? Why would they do that?”

He put a hand over one of mine, stilling the motion of the fork. “Because his job is to defend his client. And the only way he can do that is to confuse the jury about what happened.” He squeezed my hand gently. “Rayn,” he said softly, and I looked up at him. “You know you’re not very good at understanding what people are saying when they’re not being direct.” He sounded apologetic, and while it stung, I recognized that he was right.

“I’m not going to learn how to do that in a few months,” I said softly.

“I know,” he replied, squeezing my hand again. “But we can practice.”

I frowned again. “Practice?”

He nodded. “The prosecutor will work with you, ask you questions so that you get a sense for what it will be like.”

I sighed heavily. “They’re not going to have me testify at all after that,” I said.

Raj’s lips pressed together. “You’ll have to,” he said, his voice serious. “Because the defense will call you.”

“Why?” I demanded.

“Because they know your history,” he said grimly. “And they’ll do everything they can to exploit it. To show the jury that you’re…” He trailed off.

“I’m what?” I asked, although I thought I knew.Mentally unbalanced. Out of control. A danger to himself and others. The same reasons my parents had given for having me committed to Tranquil Brook in the first place.

“Confused,” Raj replied. Except I knew that even if that’s what he said, it wasn’t what he was thinking. Because Raj isn’t a fool. He knew very well that my family’s history would be immediately relevant to any attempt to discredit my testimony. He just didn’t want to hurt my feelings.

I was used to my feelings being hurt—well, being disregarded, anyway. “By making me look crazy,” I said to Raj, stabbing a piece of breaded chicken smothered in sweet and sour sauce.

“I—”

“I’m not stupid, Raj,” I said, wincing a little when even I could hear the annoyance in my voice.

The slight smile he made was apologetic. “Yes,” he confirmed, sounding resigned. “The lawyer will try to make the jury think you’re crazy.”

I nodded. “Because I am,” I said.

Raj sat up abruptly, putting his hands on the table, the bamboo chopsticks clattering slightly on the edge of his plate. “You arenot,” he almost snapped.

I blinked, startled. “I am,” I replied, more surprised than defensive. It wasn’t like I particularlywantedto be mentally unstable or ill. But I had insomnia, nightmares, occasional night terrors, and what my psychiatrist called ‘undiagnosed neurodivergence.’ In other words, there wassomethingwrong with me, but nobody had put a name on it yet.

“Rayn.” Now he sounded angry. “You arenotcrazy.”

I met his golden-brown gaze steadily. “Then what am I?” I asked him. “Because I’m notnormal.”

“Normal is overrated,” he retorted. “You’reyou.”