She shook her head. “My therapist advised me to go on a no-media diet for a few months.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” I said, but then I brought her up to speed on the latest trial developments, including the video and Rawlins’s contention that it had not been doctored.
“But you saw those pistols?”
“Every time I close my eyes, I see them,” I said.
“Any chance you imagined them?”
I started to tell her absolutely not but then said, “Part of me doesn’t know anymore, Tess, and it’s got me scared that I did something heinous and that my mind has somehow erased it and put something else in its place to justify my actions. Does that make sense? Has that ever happened to you?”
Pain flickered on her cheeks before she shook her head. “I remember every detail, the first shots, me returning fire, and then hearing the Phelps’s nanny wailing beyond that apartment door. I can’t forget a second of it.”
“That’s how the other part of me feels.”
“Then those pistols were there and removed from the videos. You just have to prove it.”
My cell phone dinged, alerting me to a text. I pulled it out, saw it was from Bree: Where are you, Alex? I’m worried.
I texted back, Talking to an old friend. On my way.
I looked at Tess and said, “I have to go. Thanks for talking.”
“One good deed deserves another.”
We both stood and headed toward the door. I opened it and looked back at her before leaving.
“I forgot to ask. How are you keeping busy?”
Tess smiled wistfully and said, “Running twice a day, reading, and trying to learn how to forgive myself without a bunch of drugs in my brain.”
CHAPTER
62
AT TEN THE following morning, I was in the stands inside the Johns Hopkins University field house with Damon, a sophomore now. We were watching Jannie take her last warm-ups. She’d been quiet on the ride up for the meet, so quiet that I had finally asked her what was going on.
Jannie didn’t want to talk at first, but she eventually admitted that she was upset because someone had uploaded the shooting videos to YouTube. Social media was incensed. Terrible comments had been directed at her and at the boys.
That only made the day worse. When I’d told Bree the night before that Rawlins said the videos had not been doctored, I’d seen something in her eyes that I swore I’d never see there. Doubt. Not open suspicion, not a lack of faith, but doubt about the facts of the shootings as I’d described them.
“How are you doing, Dad?” Damon asked.
“Let’s focus on Jannie,” I said. “I’m sick of thinking about everything else.”
“How’s our girl looking?” Ted McDonald asked, breaking into my thoughts.
I was surprised to see him. “Thought you couldn’t make it, Coach.”
“My plans changed last night.”
“Does Jannie know?” Damon asked.
“She will after the race.”
“You mean after you see if she executes your race plan,” I said.
“That too,” McDonald said. “The field’s pretty much the same as last time, including Claire Mason, so we can kind of hit reset today.”