Chapter 9: What Gareth Said Before It Was Over
The trial date was set for seven months out.
Paula said that was fast, for a case like this.
I learned to live inside that timeline — school runs, work, Nora's Thursday swimming lessons, the occasional call from Paula with an update, the occasional call from my mother that I sometimes answered and sometimes didn't.
My father came to see me six weeks after the wedding.
He called first, which he'd never done before — he'd always been the kind of man who showed up and expected to be welcomed.
The fact that he called told me something had shifted.
He sat at my kitchen table with a cup of tea he didn't drink and said, "I've been doing a lot of thinking."
"About what?"
"About the way things were.
In our house.
When you and Gareth were growing up." He looked at the cup.
"I think we made it very easy for him to believe he wouldn't face consequences.
Your mother and I both.
We thought we were protecting him.
I understand now that we were — doing something else."
"Yes," I said.
"You were."
"I'm not asking you to forgive me.
I'm not sure I've earned that." He looked up.
"I'm asking if I can still be Nora's grandfather."
I thought about Nora at the ice cream table.
*I just wanted to make sure.*
"That depends on Nora," I said.
"Not on me.
If she wants to see you, I won't stand in the way.
But I won't push her either."
He nodded.
He looked like a man who had expected that answer and had decided it was fair.
"She asked about you last week," I said.
"She asked if Grandpa was okay."
His jaw moved.
He didn't speak for a moment.
"She's a remarkable child," he said finally.
"She is," I said.
"She didn't get that from Gareth's side of the family."
He almost smiled.
It was the saddest almost-smile I'd ever seen.
---
Gareth contacted me once, in violation of his bail conditions.
Not directly — he used a mutual cousin, a man named Stuart who'd always done whatever Gareth asked because Gareth had once helped him out of a bad situation and Stuart had been paying the debt ever since.
Stuart called me on a Tuesday evening and said, carefully, that Gareth wanted me to know he was sorry.
That he hadn't meant for it to go as far as it did.
That he'd been under enormous pressure and he'd made a terrible decision and he knew that.
"Stuart," I said.
"Do you understand that this call is a violation of Gareth's bail conditions?"
A pause.
"He said it was just — he just wanted—"
"I'm going to have to report this contact to Detective Marsh.
I'm sorry.
I don't have a choice."
Stuart went quiet.
"Tell Gareth," I said, "that sorry is something you say before you do something.
Not after.
And that if he contacts me again through anyone, in any form, I will make sure the court knows."
I called Marsh that evening.
He thanked me.
Gareth's bail conditions were tightened.
Paula called the next morning.
"He's running out of room," she said.
"His attorney is starting to make noises about a plea."
"What kind of plea?"
"Guilty on the assault charge.
In exchange for a reduced sentence and cooperation on the Farrell investigation." She paused.
"It would mean no trial.
It would mean Nora doesn't have to testify."
I sat with that for a moment.
"What do you recommend?"
"I think it's worth considering seriously," she said.
"A conviction is a conviction.
And Nora not having to sit in a courtroom and answer questions about that night — that has real value."
"Yes," I said.
"It does."
"It's your decision.
Take the time you need."
I took three days.
I talked to Nora's therapist, a quiet woman named Dr.
Ellison who Nora had been seeing since the week after the wedding.
I didn't tell Nora about the plea — she was eight, and this was not her decision to carry.
But I asked Dr.
Ellison what she thought.
"Nora is doing well," Dr.
Ellison said.
"She's processing.
She has a strong sense of what happened and why it was wrong.
A trial would interrupt that process significantly." She paused.
"But this is your call, Marissa.
Whatever you decide, Nora will be supported."
I called Paula on the fourth day.
"Tell them we'll consider the plea.
But I have conditions."
"Tell me."
"He makes the statement himself.
In court.
In his own words.
Not through his attorney, not in a written document filed quietly — he stands up and says what he did and why it was wrong.
In front of a judge."
Paula was quiet for a moment.
"That's an unusual condition."
"It's my condition."
"I'll put it to them."
Gareth's attorney pushed back.
Paula held the line.
Two weeks later, they agreed.
---
The hearing was on a Thursday morning in March.
The courtroom was small and smelled of old carpet and recycled air.
My parents were not there.
Paula had advised them not to attend, and for once they had listened to advice.
Gareth stood at the front of the room in a gray suit that was slightly too large for him — he'd lost weight since the wedding.
His attorney stood beside him.
The judge was a woman in her sixties with reading glasses on a chain and the expression of someone who had heard every possible version of every possible story.
The plea was entered.
The judge looked at Gareth.
"Mr.
Calloway.
You've agreed to make a statement.
You may proceed."
Gareth cleared his throat.
He didn't look at me.
He looked at a point somewhere above the judge's left shoulder.
"On the night of October fourteenth," he said, "I deliberately placed my phone in my niece's jacket pocket.
I then announced publicly that it had been stolen and accused her of taking it.
She is eight years old." He stopped.
His jaw worked.
"I did this because I was in financial difficulty and I wanted to create a distraction.
I used a child to do it.
I caused her physical injury." He paused again.
"I knew what I was doing.
I planned it in advance.
I am — I am pleading guilty because I am guilty."
The last sentence came out differently from the rest.
Quieter.
Like something he'd practiced and then abandoned at the last moment in favor of the plain version.
The judge looked at him over her glasses for a long moment.
"Thank you, Mr.
May you like
Calloway," she said.
And then she proceeded.
