Page 26 of One of Our Own

“Yes, I think there’s a possibility Hunter assaulted Chloe.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

I waited anxiously in the visitors’ lounge at the jail. Standing up, sitting down, standing again. Walking back and forth across the narrow space. The DNA test took ninety minutes to run. Stan had stayed with me on the phone all the way down here and walked me through the front door, talking me through everything that was about to happen step by step. He told me to go home, and that he’d call me when they had results. That it might actually be longer than ninety minutes, because they were really backed up. But I couldn’t bring myself to go home.

What if Hunter came downstairs while I was there? What would I say to him? What would I do? There was no way I could act normal and keep this all a secret. It was better to stay and wait, not to approach him again until I knew for sure.

It’d been ninety-seven excruciatingly long minutes since they put the underwear in a plastic bag and carried them to the back. That wasn’t the only thing I gave them: I grabbed Hunter’s toothbrush from his bathroom before I left the house, too. I even pulled a couple of hairs from the sink and put them in a Ziploc baggie just in case, but they hadn’t needed them—the toothbrush worked just fine.

I didn’t tell Hunter where I was going or what I was doing, just texted to say I was running an errand. Nothing from him since.

Stan came through the door wearing a grim expression and I knew the results without him needing to say a word. He announced it like a doctor delivering a terminal diagnosis—straightforward, honest, and to the point. “The DNA on the underwear matched Chloe’s. There was also DNA from three males, and yes, one of the samples matches Hunter’s.” I felt the color draining from my face, and he wasn’t done talking. There was more.

I’d brought the other pairs of women’s underwear along with Chloe’s and turned them in with hers. I didn’t even know why, really, I’d just done it. They’d taken samples and run the DNA on each. “His DNA is on all the other underwear, too. We’re running those samples through our databases, and that’s going to take a significant amount of time. However, we already have a match on one of the pairs.” My mind raced. Why would the girls Hunter hooked up with be in the police databases? They were high school girls—sweet, innocent kids I’d fed dinners and asked about college plans.

Stan steeled himself. He didn’t want to tell me, but he had to. “It’s a rape case from two months ago. Remember how I mentioned there were a couple of other open investigations?”

My hand flew to my mouth.

Stan’s face shifted from detective to friend as soon as he’d delivered the news. “I’m so sorry, Felicia. I’m just as shocked as you are. They’re connected to those cases.” He reached out like he wanted to hug me. “Do you want to sit down?”

I didn’t want to sit down. I wanted to jump out of my skin. Scream at the top of my lungs. How could this be happening? I was a good parent. Good parents didn’t raise criminals. That’s not how it worked. What did this mean? Whowasmy son? I still loved him. I loved him so much. What could I do now?

I stumbled back into the chair. I felt the fake leather padded seat. The one I’d gotten up and down from while I waited to seewhich way my world would spin. I’d hoped and prayed. But deep down, I knew. A mother always knows.

“What do we do now?” I asked. My body had gone from being unable to sit still to frozen. And tired, all of a sudden—a wave of exhaustion pummeled me.

“We’re going to charge him with first-degree sexual assault. The DA wants to come out hard with this one, to set a precedent from the very beginning.” He looked sorry to tell me.

“So… what now? We just go to my house, and you put him in handcuffs?” The entire neighborhood would see. Everyone would talk. They were going to dissect our lives, pick us apart piece by piece until we weren’t even real people anymore. And what would they find when they looked at me? Where had I gone wrong? What had I done?

“I know—I don’t want to cause a scene, either. I trust you. If you want, you can go home and get him, then bring him back here to turn himself in.”

Stan could trust me, but I couldn’t trust Hunter. Not anymore. The truth was that if I went home, I wasn’t sure he’d come back to the police station with me. What if he stuck to his story and refused? He’d shown no remorse so far. And I couldn’t physically make him get in the car. He was bigger and stronger than me now. Would he get angry? What would I do then? Would he hurt me? I didn’t know. It was a devastating blow. Our world was never going to be the same, because I was afraid of my son in a way no mother ever should be.

“Thank you, Stan, but I’m not sure he’ll go with me. You might have to come with,” I said. Everything felt like a dream. So many of my clients talked about this when they’d been blindsided by their partners’ leaving: that it didn’t feel real. That they felt like they were living in an alternate universe. I’d never reallyunderstood it until now, but I’d never felt so removed from my body. Like one giant head floating around; unattached. “I know you’re busy, but… do you think you can?”

“Sure, of course,” Stan said, doing a quick pat down of his pockets to make sure he had everything on him that he needed. I’d never been so grateful for his friendship as I followed him out the station door.

Hunter had lied to me. Straight to my face. Over and over again. Even when he was confronted with real evidence, he’d clung to his claims of innocence. Something about that scared me almost as much as what he’d done. How could he behave this way?

“Do you want me to drive?” Stan asked when we got to my car, and I tossed him the keys because I definitely couldn’t handle it. My thoughts were jumping all over the place. My nerves were firecrackers popping off inside my body. I’d never known anxiety like this. The kind that made you want to go straight to the emergency room and tell them you were having a heart attack.

“Breathe, Felicia. Breathe,” I said it out loud because saying it silently wasn’t working.

Stan put his hand on my back and gently guided me into the passenger seat. “It’s going to be okay.”

But it wasn’t.

Because my son was a rapist.

Please no.I thought.Not my son.

And then it struck me, like I’d been jolted with electricity. It was always somebody’s son.

We assumed parents were as bad as their kids. Hunter wouldn’t be the only one considered guilty of his crimes. I would be judged just as harshly. It didn’t matter how open-minded and empathetic we pretended to be with other parents. When kids were fucked up, we pointed the finger directly at the parents, especially the mothers.

I’d done the same thing my whole life. It never occurred to me that a kid could do something terrible if they had a nurturing home, with good parents who instilled good values. Not that I was perfect. I certainly wasn’t. I was way too permissive. I remembered spoiling him with toys when he was little because I felt guilty over him not having a father or siblings. I cried way too much in front of him, and I’d snapped at him more than once when I was exhausted by the challenges of single parenthood. But for the most part our home had been kind, loving, and stable. That was the most important thing to me once I decided to have him.

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