"And if you have a minute, why don't we go talk about it somewhere only we know?"
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Maya Beaulieu, born and raised in Montreal, has heard the stories about Lance Stroll, the boy who grew up down the street of where she lived. All the reason to stay...
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December 15th, Court House, Montreal, Canada
"Remember, you don't need to look at him if that's too painful. Just look at me or his attorney when they question you. It will be a hard trail, but we are not going to settle until Joey gets what he deserves."
And there she was again. My mother has turned into a sweet and caring person, one I barely recognize.
I nod slowly, letting her words sink in, "But what if they twist the story? What if they make it like... like I asked for it?"
"They can try, and they probably will try to do that. But, we have a strong case. And Christa is willing to speak up for us, and so are Simon and Brody."
I nod again, trying to shake the unease I woke up with this morning. It was also the first time I slept in the house again, alone. The last couple of days I took up on the hotel offer my publisher gave me, and it repaid them in a few new chapters.
From those last days until today, Lance tried to support me as much as possible. Making me breakfast in the morning, providing me with snacks during my writing, and giving me space by going out for a run. And most importantly, he just listened when I needed him to listen.
"Is Lance coming too?"
"He should be here any minute." I smile at the thought. Lance really had been my rock, just like he promised.
And then he wanted to introduce me to his family as his girlfriend. I smile again at the memory of him nervously stumbling over his words.
"So, you and him?"
I don't know if my mom meant it as a question, but it is an invitation to tell her more.
"He asked me to be his girlfriend. And I said yes."
My mom nods, a bit of surprise evident on her face, "Emily couldn't stop talking about him on the way home. He made a good impression with her."
"Thankfully," I smile. "She even asked me why he wasn't my boyfriend at Dad's funeral."
Mother chuckles, "Of course, she did."
The door behind us opens, I turn around in a hopeful bliss for it to be Lance, but to my regret, it is Joey and his attorney.
"Good morning," His attorney shakes my mother's hand before walking away with his client. Joey and I both look away from each other.
Does he regret doing it?
"Court starts in five minutes. If Lance wants to be in the courtroom, he needs to hurry." My mom warns me, and I nod.
Where can he possibly be?
Four minutes. Still no sign of Lance. I try calling him to see where he is, but after 30 seconds I receive his voicemail.
Three minutes. My mom nudges me to walk to the door of the courtroom.
