All of Me

by Emily Duvall

  “Enough,” I roar, lowering my voice at the sight of a couple of men heading up the steps. “What do you want?”

  “Your job.”

  “No.”

  Sara smiles with an element of cunningness I can’t deny. “That’s the price of my silence. I’ll keep my mouth shut about this and you decline the promotion and put my name in the running.”

  “Sabotage doesn’t suit you.”

  “We’re way past the point of your compliments. I want your job. I won’t take less.” She pats my shoulder condescendingly and walks away. “I’ll be sure to tell Rosenthal every detail.”

  “Wait.”

  She turns around and crosses her arms over her chest. “Yes?”

  “Alright. We have a deal.”

  Sara isn’t moved. “What is it about Maren that you find so appealing anyway?”

  “She’s not you.”

  “After this case, no one will want you, just don’t come running to me.” She looks at me with disgust. “See you inside.”

  Inside is where I go.

  There’s something majestic about an old courtroom. This one’s over a hundred years old. Large, curvy molding is around the windows and the ceiling. The balcony was removed years ago during a renovation, leaving a tundra of stained-glass windows up top. Swirly, white-gray marble stretches across the floors. The judge’s bench is surrounded by craftsman style wood. The American flag hangs on one side of his chair. The Virginia state flag, on the other with the deep blue background and state seal depicting two warriors. There’s a microphone positioned center in front of the judge’s chair and to the right, a section for the witness to sit.

  I never get used to the opening moments of a trial. I wouldn’t ever admit this to Julie. The truth is, I won’t breathe a sigh of relief until the deliberations are over. As if sensing my doubt, the door to the courtroom opens and in walks Dana Rosenthal. The woman is strong-minded in a way that I applaud when I don’t have to go up against her. One look at her suit and her war-room expression and I’m not sure how I will pull off this win.

  “You look like you did the first time you practiced cross-examination,” Dana says with a beaming smile. She places a briefcase on the table for the prosecution.

  “Rosenthal,” I return her greeting with a grin. “I remember you left that day crying.”

  “Better to get that out of my system during law school than looking like you do.”

  “Which is?”

  Her gaze is fleeting and her voice, uninterested. “Predictable and…” She takes her time, looking me up and down.

  “Still angry because I turned you down for that date?”

  “I was going to say scared, which is unlike you.” She steps closer and stops inches from my face with her fake smile. “I must say though, Maren Cole is exceptionally detailed.”

  I offer a close-lipped grin. “You have anything you want to share or are you just wasting my time?”

  “I’m reminding you that I know how to fight back.”

  Casually, I busy myself with sorting through documents. “We’ll see how big you swing.”

  Good. I’m in the mood to take out frustration on someone. We busy ourselves ignoring each other and people trickle in until the seats are all taken. Reporters are present, along with lawyers and interns curious about the case. Supporter arrives in the form of family and friends for both sides. Maren and the other witnesses are kept away from the courtroom until they are called to the stand. I switch my gaze, meeting Rosenthal’s interested stare. For a mortifying second, I think she saw my eyes linger.

  Members of the jury are ushered in through a side entrance to the jury box. The court reporter and a court liaison enter through the door leading to the judge’s chambers. The uniformed bailiff steps forward from his post. “All rise.”

  The entire courtroom gets to their feet.

  “The court of the Sixth Judicial Circuit Court, Criminal Division, is now in session.

  The Honorable Judge Felix Rice is presiding.”

  The door opens, and he enters the courtroom, his arena. Judge Rice is an intimidating man. Taller than me by at least two inches, he’s a bulky guy with dark eyes that stare down a person’s soul. He glances at the jury and the lawyers with neutral energy and continues to the bench where he sits. Leaning his mouth toward the microphone he makes his first order of business. “Members of the jury remain standing. Everyone else, be seated. Bailiff proceed.”

  The bailiff stands in front of the jury and asks them to raise their right hand as he swears them in. They take a vow to be fair and they take a seat when they are done.

  “Arguments will begin momentarily,” Judge Rice says, getting comfortable, and leaning back in his chair. “This is case two-five-two-seven. Corrigan, Thorne, and Regal verses Pierce. Ms. Rosenthal, please proceed with opening arguments.”

  Dana stands and walks over to the jury in a way that we hear every click of her heels. “Good morning,” she says with a robust edge. “I come before you, bringing you a case that will break your heart. The night of November thirtieth, Beth Corrigan, Amanda Thorne, and Ellie Regal set out to have innocent fun. Three young girls, testing their limits as teenagers. They went to a bar to try to get drinks and they did. Only one of them would come home. The other two young women never made it to their beds that night and they are clinging to life in a long-term care facility. You see, these girls, got in a car crash within minutes of leaving Pierce’s bar. Beth was the driver.” Rosenthal pauses to gesture to her client. “Her best friends are still in a coma. Now there’s no denying, Beth’s blood alcohol level was beyond the legal limit, but the fact is, she never should have been served in the first place. Paul Pierce, the owner of the bar, served them drinks and let Beth get behind the wheel. What you will hear from the defense is how Beth was responsible for making her own choices. That she used poor judgement and that Mr. Pierce didn’t have the right to stop Beth and her friends from going. These girls, are, by law, not adults. Where were the other twelve grown-ups staffed at the bar that night?”

  Dana’s going on about age and decisions and how everyone makes mistakes. Emotions are the forces I leave out of my argument. Paul is seated next to me and taking in Dana’s words.

  “In a minute, the defense will do their best to convince you that Mr. Pierce isn’t responsible,” Dana continues, gearing up for her closing, “Nothing could be further from the truth. This horrible event has forever changed the course of these families. The real crime is that this was preventable. Mr. Pierce is an experienced business owner and he did not act as a man watching out for the interests of his customers. He could have called them a ride.” She gives the jury an earnest look and pivots, pointing to the audience where Beth’s family is seated. “Mr. Pierce did nothing. He didn’t let them leave his bar. In fact, he followed them out to their car. Then, he forced the driver to drink more. What you will see, without a doubt, is a man who not only let these minors drink, is that he took his hatred a step further. The proof is in the fact that two of those girls are still in a comas.”

  I stand and take my time, going over to the jury patiently. Dana and I switch places.

  “Good Morning,” I say, introducing myself. “Mr. Pierce did watch out for the interests of his customers that night. He checked identification for each girl before serving them alcohol. He did everything required of him by law. Beth, Ellie, and Amanda did go out that night as adolescents, but this wasn’t an innocent spark of rebellion. This wasn’t a one-time event. The girls have done this before in bars around the district. Beth and her friends did not show up at Pierce’s to test their teenage limits. They liked to play a game. They wanted to see how much they could drink for free. They stayed at the bar for over three hours and they drank, then, one of them got behind the wheel. That sad night in November was no one’s fault but their own. Ms. Rosenthal is right, Mr. Pierce was working that night. There was standing-room only. Mr. Pierce isn’t in the business of following customers out to their cars
. There’s no proof that he took it upon himself to go after these young women. He treated the girls like any other customer. He did his job.” I walk back to Mr. Pierce and I catch Julie’s eye.

  “Ms. Rosenthal call your first witness,” Judge Rice orders.

  I sigh and clasp my hands beneath the table. Here we go.

  Chapter 25

  Maren

  I’m in a courthouse. I’m in a courthouse. I’M IN A COURTHOUSE. The morning has been full of witnesses and I am restless. I’ve been sequestered in a private room. I haven’t heard any of the trial. My attention span is waning, except when the door opens, and someone gives an update of how much longer I must wait. A changing cast of someone from Rosenthal’s staff waits with me. What I do know is the prosecution has their turn this morning. They are calling the families of the girls and witnesses from the bar. They will also put a toxicology expert on the stand, the police, and Beth. I am scheduled to go last. There is a good chance I will not be speaking today.

  My brain is going nuts.

  I think of Mr. Pierce and my stomach is in knots. I squeeze the stress ball forcefully enough that I think it will pop. I think of Caleb and how he must look in the courtroom, sitting back with his arms folded over his chest. We have not acknowledged each other at any point, even this morning, when we had passed each other in the great big hall with columns made from marble. I picture him coming up to me at our jogging bench or kissing me. That is a different person. Caleb and I were intimate. Were, past tense. I wouldn’t tell anyone about our relationship. I wouldn’t betray him in such a spiteful way. I don’t want people to know I didn’t get it right. I failed, failure, got it wrong, made a mistake. I didn’t mean to say those things about his daughter and now I can’t take them back. I can’t un-say them.

  The door opens and a woman from Dana’s team pokes her head in. “Maren, they’re done for the day. You can leave. We’ll need you back at the same time tomorrow.”

  More waiting. I hold back from complaining. “How did everything go?”

  “Dana’s pleased.” She smiles and opens the door wider. “We are confident we’ll get a win.”

  I grab my book about atlases that helped occupy the time and I step out of the room. The hallway is filled with people and among them, I spot Caleb talking to Mr. Pierce. Their faces are stern. They both turn their heads in my direction, but Caleb turns his back fully to me. His intern, Jane, is at his side and I notice the visible shift in his profile.

  My parents are in town for the trial and our family goes out for dinner. No one’s in a pleasant mood and everyone breaks away once the bill is paid. My parents go to their hotel and Libby meets a friend. I make my way home. I need to talk to someone and there’s no one to listen. What am I supposed to do? I have all this stuff in my mind.

  A text comes through on my phone. My heart lights up and then goes dark.

  I’m sorry about what happened. Let me apologize in person. –Andy.

  I respond with the only acceptable answer. I don’t want to see you again.

  I call Charlotte, but she doesn’t answer, and I rest against a pillow on my bed. Andy isn’t someone I could see myself with and Caleb is someone else now. Still, my heart begs the question. Why did he keep coming around? Negative thoughts tumble in my head. What if Caleb only came around so he could use me? How long had he known about the court case? All those reasons he gave me for being together, were they real? My track record is pretty short where guys are concerned. Why did he come back for more?

  Scooting beneath the covers, my mind drifts to the trial. Each detail, every implication, I play again and again. At the time, I had stood there by Libby’s car. I didn’t know how to be involved. I should have run back inside and called the police. I should have spoken up sooner. I should never have taken Dana’s advice and spoken to the defense team. My arms feel like each side pulls me in a tug-of-war, except I don’t feel like there are any winners. I tap my hands against my sides. My body rocks forward and I breathe and breathe and breathe. Nothing helps, my brain is wired, and my heart is fried as an electrical system gone bad. I get up and I get my iPad and binge on Countess Coins until dawn.

  Day four of the Corrigan v. Pierce trial is my time to take the stand. I am in the courtroom sitting in a row behind the prosecution. Caleb hasn’t acknowledged my presence, and when he does finally get around to looking at me, his expression is indifferent. That blows. I keep expecting him to look at me like he does when he’s holding me in his arms or like the fire in his eyes when he’s upset. Both of those expressions are preferable to this blank slate.

  “Ms. Rosenthal call your next witness,” Judge Rice orders, and slides his two fingers up his jaw to rest his head.

  Rosenthal stands and buttons her navy jacket. “The prosecution calls Maren Cole.”

  All I need to do is speak the truth. The truth…it has never felt more complicated.

  I grip the stress ball and take my seat in the witness chair. The jury is on one side of me and the audience stretches to the back of the room. Caleb’s head is bent; his attention is on a document in front of him. The Bailiff comes over and stands in front of me, blocking my view. “Please raise your right hand,” he orders with a tone as commanding as Judge Rice. “Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?”

  “Yes.” I hold back from announcing the word truth is used three times.

  “Prosecution may proceed,” Judge Rice says with a flick of his wrist.

  The questions haven’t changed since we did the mock practice at her office. She asks me about the night in question and asks me to describe what I saw. “Did you see each girl show her identification to Mr. Pierce?”

  “Yes.”

  “What about Beth? Did she show him a credit card?”

  “No, she showed her driver’s license.”

  A wave of gasps erupts from the audience and Caleb’s head shoots up. Rosenthal smiles patiently. “How can you be sure?”

  “Each ID had the same backing with a barcode. There’s no mistake. Beth’s was a government-issued ID, at least, the card looked official.”

  “Did you overhear anything they discussed?”

  “They wanted to drink as much as possible and for free.”

  “What are you doing?” Beth calls out, halfway to standing.

  “Sit down, Miss Corrigan,” Judge Rice yells. “Any outbursts in my court room will be cause for contempt.” He leans forward. “You may proceed.”

  “They left the bar and I happened to leave at the same time. I was getting a sweater for my sister that was in her car.” I tell the story like I’ve told it before. I don’t realize how quiet the courtroom has become by the time I finish.

  “We’ll get back to that in a moment. Ms. Cole, do you have a hard time differentiating every day talk and the use of expressions in casual conversation?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Ms. Cole, do you enjoy hanging out at bars?”

  My gaze lands on Caleb. “No, I don’t.”

  “Do you find socializing difficult?”

  I lean in to the mic. “Yes.”

  Dana angles her body to the jury. “And why is that?”

  Here we go. Not again. My blood pumps faster and I’m aware of the heartbeats pounding against my chest.

  “Ms. Cole?” Dana repeats.

  “I am diagnosed as a person having Autism.”

  A deploring smile swipes across Dana’s lips. “Which means?”

  “I process things differently.”

  “How did you know Beth didn’t want these extra drinks?” Finally, she walks further away, staying close to the jury.

  “She was upset. I could hear the pain and fear in her voice. Anyone could.”

  She refers to an exhibit, a giant poster board set on an easel, with a map of the bar and the parking lot. Photos are tacked onto the board and other items, like cars have been drawn in. “According to your testimony, you were standing here.” She goes over the pre
sentation and points at the location.

  “Correct,” I answer.

  “So, you waited four cars down and you watched Mr. Pierce put these girls in more danger. Did you try to stop Mr. Pierce?”

  I’m too involved with focusing on the map. The scale is poorly drawn. The road is too skinny. The markers, like the cross streets aren’t accurate.

  “Ms. Cole?” Dana chides. “Did you stop Mr. Pierce at any time?”

  “No. I was afraid of him.”

  “What about calling the police?”

  “My phone was inside the bar.” My foot tap tap taps up and down. My heartbeat pounds explosively.

  “Were Beth and her friends smiling and laughing while Mr. Pierce stood at Beth’s car?”

  “No, they were not. They were yelling for him to stop.”

  “I’m asking again for a special reason.” Dana comes closer. Her eyes are green like mine, except darker. Her gaze causes me to wiggle in my chair. “You’re sure about what you saw?”

  “Yes.”

  “I want to make certain because there’s a lot of confusion about what went on in the parking lot and without Amanda and Ellie to speak up for themselves, that leaves you and Beth. In a moment, Mr. Allan is going to ask you similar questions and I want to make it clear about which side you are on. Is it true that you have become good friends with defense attorney, Caleb Allan?” she says.

  Oh, no.

  Oh, no.

  Oh, no.

  My stomach drops.

  Caleb flies out of his seat. “Objection!”

  “Ms. Rosenthal, keep the questions about the case,” Judge Rice orders.

  “I can assure you, that my question pertains to the case.” She never takes her gaze from mine. “Ms. Cole. Are you friends with Mr. Allan?”

  The depth of her eyes suddenly reminds me of a trap. I look at Caleb. “We were friends, yes.”

  “You go jogging—” her voice is slippery. “You hang out together.”