Page 86 of Come Find Me
“I should’ve done so many things differently,” he says. “Before. After.” He shakes his head. “I missed you a lot, Kennedy.”
My eyes lock with his across the table, and it’s then I believe it: he will come back to me.
The lawyer walks us through the case, but Elliot keeps his eyes down on the table the whole time, his hands folded together, like he can’t bear to hear it. How many times, I wonder, has he had to endure this? The horrors he’s seen, which I can only imagine.
“Elliot was sitting at his desk, working on a project, and didn’t hear his mother and Will come home. The first thing he remembers is the sound of a shot,” the lawyer says.
Joe puts a hand on Elliot’s arm, as if to steady him. Just as he did for me.
The lawyer lays out the things Elliot must have told him, about the Will none of us ever saw. The controlling, manipulative version, who used Elliot’s grades and his status at school to undermine his concerns, who isolated our mother from her colleagues—and us.
“The night of the crime,” the lawyer continues, “Elliot noted a bruise on his mother’s collarbone before she left the house, which she covered up with a scarf. He confronted her about it, asking if she had been hurt.”
I close my eyes, picturing it. Watching her in the mirror as she readjusted the fabric, examining her own reflection. I wonder if it was Elliot’s comment that finally tipped things; if my mother broke it off that night. If that’s what had Will so enraged, and had my mother running for her gun, for protection.
Elliot was the only one who could see the type of person Will was. He always saw more than the rest of us. He was always looking for signs.
“I remember the scarf,” I say, my voice scratching against my throat. “I didn’t know,” I say to Elliot.
The lawyer pauses, making a note. “Good,” he says. “Your statement will help.”
Elliot runs a hand through his too-long hair. “I pushed her to it. I set it in motion, that night, whatever happened.”
I shake my head. “Heset it in motion.”
The lawyer looks between the two of us and continues. “The police have spoken with Hunter Long, confirming Elliot’s accounts,” he says. “Hunter can at least corroborate that Elliot confided in him his concerns about Will. Though Hunter has a history of running away, and he’s something of a flight risk as it is.”
But Elliot shakes his head. “He won’t testify. Don’t make him. Something happened to him the first time he ran away, when he was staying at some shelter nearby. He won’t want his name in the public….”
Something rattles in my chest, but the lawyer continues. “The hope is it won’t get to that point, anyway,” he explains. “The evidence supports Will firing the first shot. Forensics has confirmed: the only fingerprints on the gun safe behind the wall were your mother’s.”
They go over the evidence in support of their case—that Elliot was surprised by the sound of the first shot and ran out of his room straight into a horrific scene. Overwhelmed as he was by the blood, and the reality in front of him, his memory fractured. He acted on instinct, facing a man holding a gun.
But Elliot will have to live with what he’s done. It’s all still terrible. That feeling, he said, was what made him believe that he was guilty of something. Was why he couldn’t look me in the eye.
The trial has been postponed, with the gun safe as new evidence; they found it, untouched, behind the wall panel. The lawyer says he expects some sort of deal to be offered, at the very least. They are presenting Elliot’s shooting of Will as self-defense, and are waiting to hear back from the DA’s office.
I expect Elliot to look relieved, but he doesn’t.
And then I understand. Mom is still gone. None of this changes the past, or the present—though I hope it will help him move on.
It must be impossible, I think, to imagine a future when you can’t see beyond the walls that contain you.
“Elliot,” I say as we’re saying our goodbyes. “I’ll see you soon.”
He nods, but I stand there waiting until I hear his echoingSee you soon.
—
On the walk back to the parking lot, I turn on my phone, but there’s still no reply.
“Joe,” I say, “I have to call Nolan.” Something about what Elliot mentioned, about Hunter and a shelter…I wonder if maybe Hunter can act not as a witness for Elliot, but against Mike.
“I don’t think that’s necessary,” Joe says, nudging my shoulder. I look up, and Nolan’s car is parked beside ours. He sits on the trunk, his feet resting on the faded bumper, and waves when he sees me looking.
I start walking faster, and when I’m close enough to see him clearly, he grins. “Sorry I’m late,” he says, and I smile.
He looks over my shoulder at Joe, strolling across the lot. “Should we introduce your uncle to the world’s best pizza?”
