When We Were Bright and Beautiful

by Jillian Medoff

THIS IS BILLY’S STORY. BUT IF I WERE THE ONE TELLING IT, I would start with Nate’s call.

“He’s had rich-people problems, Cassie. Park Avenue problems. The kind of problems that evoke disgust, not sympathy. Billy is the whole trifecta: rich, white, Ivy League athlete. Put those together, and you’ve got a story everyone knows. The one where the loudmouthed jock gets tanked, loses control, and attacks the nearest female.”

“Cass, we’re talking about Diana Holly. It’s Billy’s word against hers. Who do you think people will believe?”

There’s a fine line, I’ve come to realize, between loving someone and suffocating her.

What haunts me most about Diana Holly, even more than the violence, is her deceptiveness.

Diana Holly, despite her mother hen act, is a manipulative and vindictive young woman.

Money is a noose that yokes children and parents together in ways you can’t anticipate. It binds you for life and then some.

You can’t choose who you love, but you can choose how you behave. I behaved atrociously. Which is why it’s too mortifying to talk about.

“I’ll tell you what happens,” I say to Nate now, lying next to him. “Billy will go to med school. I’ll fly supersonic jets. You’ll surf the Banzai Pipeline. We’ll live happily ever after.” I pause. “Nate? You up?” Beside me, my brother’s breathing is slow and even. “Just wait, Nathaniel,” I whisper. “It will be so beautiful.”

One great lie of modern life is that parenthood is vital and transformative.

The truth may eventually come out, but for now, I carry my brother the way I carry my other secrets: one self facing the world, the other shrouded in darkness.

The half-life of a daughter’s grief is equal to the length of time she spent with her mother multiplied by the rest of her life. I always feel Rachel’s absence.

Nate and Billy are Quinns by birth. They can never be rejected. But my place is tenuous. So I’ll do whatever I can to make sure Eleanor and Lawrence love me, if not the most, then at least as much.

I understand how scared he is—I’m scared too—but I thought this horrible experience would bring us closer again. Instead, it’s pulling us further apart. Why can’t it be the same as it was when we were kids?

Your lies ruined my life. Look at me, Cassie. Look what you’ve done to me. It’s time you told the truth, not me.”

“I know you’re upset,” I say weakly. “But I’m not the one on trial here.” “You should be. If I had the balls, I would tell everyone how fucked up you are.”

“My little brother is innocent,” I told Haggerty, and I meant it. “He didn’t rape Diana Holly.” What I didn’t say? He sure as shit has it in him, Detective.

Nate’s eyes flutter open; suddenly, he’s wide awake. “Cassie, for someone so smart, you are so stupid. Billy is never gonna talk to you. Never. Billy hates you, Cassie. I mean, he doesn’t hate you—he loves you, you’re his sister. But he can’t stand the sight of you.”

Diana and Billy broke up because of you. You’re the reason for this whole mess. It’s your fault. So don’t you dare suggest that he plead guilty just to save yourself.” Nate stands up. “I love you, Cassie. You’re my sister and a sour pickle, but you are also one dangerous cunt. Right now, I wish we never let you into our family. Actually, I wish we never met you.” He staggers out.

“You know what I want. I want you to tell me about Marcus Silver. He doesn’t show up on any Google searches for men aged thirty-five through seventy in the Tri-State area.”

“Maybe I’m the monster, Greg. Maybe it’s been me all along.”

I may not be as good a storyteller as the DA. But I am a good truth-teller.

I will never escape Lawrence. I will never escape Marcus. They are one and the same. The secret, special men who loved all of me.

And there’s my answer: I won’t do anything for Diana. None of us will. We are complicit. We are responsible. We carry her like we carry our other crimes. The show must go on.

“You grow up. You learn how to live. We all do. No one is normal. In fact, I bet you’ll be a better wife, a more empathetic mother. As for your family, when you’re ready, you’ll forgive them.” “Forgive them? I’m the one who ruined us, who . . .” It’s too intense to think about, like staring into the glare of white light. “They didn’t protect you.” “They didn’t know.”

No one is all good or all bad. You can love your father because he clothed and fed you, but you can hate him because he’s a man and tragically flawed.