Boy on Hold

by J D Spero

  “I need to know for sure. What’s the truth?”

  One look at Hen’s eyes and it was clear he already knew.

  “Hen, come back here this minute!” Marcella’s voice was worn down.

  Derek swallowed. A sick feeling coated his stomach. “Truth doesn’t matter, Chicken.”

  Hen ran in front of him, between Derek and the cop car. A tiny silhouette against the blue lights, he stretched out his arms. His little voice rang out. “Yes, it does! It matters. It’s the only thing that matters!”

  Derek: “Go home, Chicken.”

  Officer: “Get in the car, son.”

  Marcella: “Hen, come back inside!”

  Hen advanced. Derek saw his face clearly now. Tears swam in his huge eyes. His voice was a whisper. “Tyler did it, didn’t he? He hurt Miss Sally. He didn’t mean to, but it was him. Wasn’t it?”

  Derek stepped around the boy. That tangle in his chest soaked in pity. As he made his way steadfast to the cruiser, Hen kept whining behind him, “Was it him? Was it him?”

  He sounded so desperate and pitiful. Any other day, it would’ve annoyed Derek. Today, it depressed him.

  Keep walking. One foot in front of the other. Almost to the cruiser.

  Hen’s voice faded, muffled with tears. “Was it Tyler? Did he do it?”

  Derek didn’t look back. Zoned in on the blues. Hen wouldn’t hear, but he said it anyway. “I’m sorry, Hen. For everything.”

  Trial of Tyler Trout

  The courtroom reminded Marcella of what she’d seen on The People’s Court, with wooden church-like pews and burgundy curtains giving a false sense of warmth in the too-bright room.

  Though Gerrity mapped out the process weeks ago, it seemed unfair that the prosecution presented their case first. What happened to innocent until proven guilty? The way the prosecutor, Peter Docker—or Dock, as Gerrity called him—disparaged her son, it all seemed a lost cause. Marcella could hardly stand to listen to it, and consciously tuned out the heinous accusations that couldn’t possibly be true.

  And that was just his opening statement.

  When he called his first witness, Officer Robert Clapp, Marcella thought she might vomit. Was this the kind of twisted game law enforcers played in the name of justice? Couldn’t they see this whole thing was rigged?

  She refused to acknowledge the smarmy officer on the stand, and instead took an acute interest in her fingernails. She pretended to be elsewhere, biding her time at a bus stop or airport terminal. Anything but give credence to this loser in a uniform.

  Until two words piqued her interest: beaded bracelet. She listened eagerly, then, fear encompassed her every nerve.

  “It was found in Sally Hubbard’s home the day after the incident,” Clapp said. “Bernie Hubbard was there with me and explained how she babysat the boy next door. We figured it belonged to him.”

  “And from what I understand, you took it away at that time? Away from the crime scene?”

  Clapp’s well-rehearsed line held no apology. “Typically nothing leaves a crime scene, but considering this was such a kid-specific object, it was automatically classified as non-evidence. Obviously, this was an incorrect classification. But as they say, hindsight is 20-20.”

  Marcella’s head hurt trying to make sense of what Clapp just said. Did that mean the bracelet was important or not?

  Dock didn’t ask that question. “What did you do with the bracelet?”

  “Actually, Bernie gave it back to the boy.”

  “Anything unusual about that interaction?”

  Gerrity: “Objection. Heresay. Officer Clapp wasn’t present for that interaction.”

  Dock: “On the contrary. My witness accompanied Bernie Hubbard next door to the home of the boy in question and absolutely was present for the interaction.”

  Judge: “Overruled.”

  Clapp puffed his chest. “Yes, so, when Bernie gave the bracelet back to the boy, he didn’t take it back right away. It was like the boy was scared to take it, or he knew something.”

  Gerrity: “Objection. Witness had no way of knowing emotions or thoughts of this boy.”

  Judge: “Sustained.”

  Dock: “Officer, is the boy in question related to anyone in this courtroom?”

  “Yes, sir. His mother is sitting in the gallery.”

  A thousand pairs of eyes stared at her. Heat crawled up her back.

  Clapp gestured to Tyler. “And his brother is the defendant.”

  Dock made a face to the jury. “Did you say his brother is the defendant?”

  Marcella rolled her eyes at his superfluous inflection.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Dock’s voice boomed through the courtroom. “Your honor. I’d like to submit this piece of evidence as People’s exhibit A.”

  He waved a plastic bag in front of the jury before handing it to the judge. Marcella easily saw it held Hen’s beaded bracelet craft. Tears started, seeing it in this context—an extension of her baby boy. She fought an urge to run up and collect it for him. It didn’t belong here. Still, Hen’s little voice rang in her mind and sent a chill through her. The beaded bracelet. He was wearing it that night.

  “Objection!” Gerrity leapt out of his chair, waving his own plastic baggie in the air. Marcella nearly tipped out of her seat trying to make it out. She blinked a few times, as it seemed to be déjà vu. What the—?

  Gerrity spoke fast. “Your honor, I also have a beaded bracelet I was planning to submit as evidence. I think you’ll find it is identical to the one Mr. Docker is trying to submit.”

  The courtroom buzzed with commotion until the judge pounded his gavel and requested a sidebar.

  Aside the bench, the two lawyers remained stoic as the judge examined the contents of the two plastic baggies. Marcella gripped the seat back in front of her, wishing for the ability to read lips. But maybe it didn’t matter. Dock’s neck reddened and his expression soured, while Gerrity’s grin was absolute. As the dueling attorneys made their way back to their respective tables, the judge made an announcement.

  “Because two identical beaded bracelets are presented and since the original bracelet at the crime scene has been compromised, there’s no way to know which, if any, were actually at the crime scene. Therefore, both items are excluded from evidence.”

  Excluded from evidence. For once, the legalese was perfectly clear. Marcella nearly collapsed with relief.

  By the time Mr. Docker had finished presenting his case and rested, Marcella felt wrung out. The judge called a recess.

  Gerrity led her to a sitting room to rest. “You need to get your energy back. Next is our turn and I need you. You’re going on the stand, remember?”

  How could she forget?

  It was Gerrity’s idea to throw her on the stand. A risk, he’d said, since it would give Dock the chance to cross-examine. She’d seen his tactics play out. Dock-head Dick-head was the master of turning things around. Her nerves were already frayed. She wasn’t sure she’d survive a cross-examination.

  “I’ll be fine,” she lied. “I just need to lie down for a few minutes.”

  She reclined on such a scratchy couch, she was sure she wouldn’t sleep. But then…

  When Marcella came to, the first thing she saw was Bernie’s face, a heap of worry on his features.

  “It’s okay,” he kept saying, his voice soft.

  “Bernie?”

  “There she is.” Bernie’s smile was back. His warm palm covered her hairline and it dawned on her he’d been stroking her hair. That was a first. And, a balm. She closed her eyes, comforted by the weight of his hand. She could stay like this for hours. Maybe get some more sleep.

  “Where am I?” she whispered.

  “Gerrity sent me back here to get you. But here I find sleeping beauty. I wouldn’t dare wake you.”

  It all rushed back. All those awful things the prosecutor said about her son. She tried to sit up. “Oh, no. I have to—”

  “No, no. Stay right whe
re you are. They can wait.” He eased her head back onto the pillow. He handed her a glass of water. “Here, drink.”

  The water was lukewarm—the way Hen liked to drink it. Oh, my Hen. Another jolt of panic. If Bernie was here with her in Elizabethtown, that meant—

  “Wait. Where’s Hen?”

  “At Murphy’s. It’s all arranged with Murphy’s parents. They’re feeding him dinner, too.”

  Gratitude filled her. Hen was safe.

  Couldn’t say the same about Tyler. Shame crept into her heart. How much could that boy take?

  “How is Tyler? Do you know?”

  Bernie moved to the end of the couch, near her feet. “I haven’t seen him. Haven’t heard anything. They’re going to put him on the stand tomorrow, though. That, I do know.”

  A headache spiked. She massaged her temples, trying to clear her mind. No use trying to come up with a plan. No use trying to solve for this. Tyler’s situation had taken on a life of its own. Completely out of her control.

  A sigh escaped. Hopelessness was pervasive. The room seemed too quiet all of a sudden.

  “I failed my telecourse,” she blurted.

  Bernie’s eyebrows lifted. “What’s that? Telecourse?”

  “I signed up for a marketing course. Did you know that? But then when all this happened, I dropped it like a hot potato.” Marcella laughed lightly and palmed her forehead. “I thought I could work toward a degree in business. How foolish of me.”

  Bernie straightened. “Now, don’t you start with all that. I won’t have it. I don’t know anything about any telecourse. But I know you. And you are a good person. One of the best.”

  “Oh, Bernie, you don’t have to say that.”

  “I’m not just sayin’ it to say it. I mean it. And I want you to be nice to yourself now. You hear me? You be kind to Marcella.”

  “Be kind to myself?” She leaned back on the pillows. “I can try.”

  “Please do.”

  She blinked Bernie into focus. He sat with her stockinged feet in his hands. As he gazed out a window, natural light fell over his face and shadowed his profile. Handsome, in his way. Plain, yet smart. Thoughtful. This was a man of integrity. The way he wore his heart on his sleeve. The selfless way he helped her with everything.

  You be kind to Marcella.

  He turned toward her. Like she was caught in a windstorm, it struck her so acutely. He loved her.

  He loved her.

  Something released in Marcella’s chest. A surge of adrenaline warmed her from inside out. She could breathe freely for the first time all day. She felt like singing. Or running. Or flying.

  Or laughing.

  “What’s so funny?” Bernie half-grinned.

  Why did she laugh? Marcella silently scolded herself. But while a part of her world was falling apart with Tyler trapped in that courtroom, she felt another part of her world open up. How could she have never seen it before?

  Bernie was here. Had been here all along.

  She sat up. “Bernie.”

  “No, lie down. Take it easy, you—”

  “No, Bernie. Come here.” She reached for him.

  “What is it?” He tensed as she pulled him close. Confusion wrinkled his brow, but yearning shone in his eyes.

  She looped her arms around his neck. Like she’d done it a million times before. “Kiss me.”

  He took in a sharp breath but didn’t move. His skin smelled like metal and oil and earth. He was warm. She breathed him in and closed her eyes. She pressed her lips to his. Like she’d done it a million times before. Now it was her turn to stay still. Waiting.

  Until he kissed her back.

  Marcella held on to that sweet calm with Bernie as long as she could. Until Gerrity, impatient now, came to collect her. Was she really going on the stand? At once she felt utterly incompetent. What good would she do? But Gerrity was hard-pressed for character witnesses. Someone who could vouch for Tyler’s “quality of character.” Too bad Hen didn’t count.

  Although they’d rehearsed at Gerrity’s office, nothing prepared her for the real deal. All that careful prep floated away.

  As she walked the aisle, feeling incongruently bride-like, she felt at any moment someone would call her bluff and send her away. Surely, they wouldn’t let her go up there and make a fool of herself and her son, both. But alas, she made it to the stand somehow.

  In the leather-cushioned hot seat, she swore her oath with a hand on the Holy Bible to tell the truth, nothing but the truth, so help her God.

  So help me, God. If I only knew the truth.

  It was like she was on another planet. Was this really what mothers were expected to do? Was this on the list of responsibilities?

  Tyler sat unmoving at the defendant’s table. She studied him from her perch. Now that she could see his face, she tried to recall better times. Tried to capture that tenderness she’d once felt for him. When he was a baby, perhaps? Did she really want to resurrect those memories? What a whirlwind. Hurled into motherhood at twenty-two, she survived what she thought was the brunt of it years ago. The bone-tired exhaustion when he was a newborn, the heart-stopping fear when he gashed his forehead stepping in front of a swing set, and later, the blatant rejection when puberty hit.

  Nothing prepared her for this.

  What the hell was this? Sitting in an oversized casket, as men in suits circled like hungry sharks, peppering her with questions about her son who was accused of murder. Her son. Murder. The idea made her insides curdle. It felt like some sort of sick joke.

  At least Gerrity was on her side. After the formalities were done, like stating her name and relationship to the defendant, Gerrity set the stage for the jury to imagine a “broken household.” Which ticked her off a little. But Gerrity insisted it was part of the strategy.

  Gerrity’s questions were softballs, which she answered mindlessly, unable to tear her eyes from Tyler. He should have been terrified. Yet…was he?

  Tyler leaned his elbows on the table, slouching like he was at a boring lecture at school and not on trial for a criminal offense inside a courtroom. He didn’t seem to get it. He appeared to be waiting this out, his mind on the next thing. And what might that be? What the heck went on inside his head?

  He wore that strange expression she’d seen too often in recent months. His eyes darted to the security cameras near the ceiling, with a knowing expression. Like he saw something that wasn’t there. It was maddening. Didn’t he know she was trying to help him, to save him? The least he could do was look at her.

  The second wave of questions set up the fact of the drug operation in the back room of Leon’s Diner. Those were harder to answer. White lies sound different inside a courtroom. Thankfully, Gerrity saved the tough questions for Tripp when it was his time to go on the stand.

  No time to prepare for cross-examination. The transition between the two lawyers was swift. Dock stood as Gerrity sat, a well-practiced routine. Marcella fought an urge to flee. She braced herself as if Dock planned to physically strike her. He paced before her and the judge, his face drawn and serious.

  Wow, she was beat.

  Had to hand it to Gerrity, though, he was thorough. He fidgeted in the seat next to Tyler, who still hadn’t met her eyes. She decided to pretend he wasn’t in the room at all, considering the vein of questioning.

  Dock’s voice was as cocky as before. “So, we’ve established that Tyler’s father is estranged. And Tyler’s half-brother is about ten years younger. Correct?”

  “Right.”

  “That’s quite a wide gap. How do the half-brothers get along?”

  “Oh, we don’t say half-brothers. Just brothers. Tyler’s a good big brother.”

  The memory of this past Christmas gurgled up like acid reflux. When Tyler threw Hen’s gift away and Hen screamed I hate you! She pushed it back down.

  How about a happier moment? She forced a smile. “Last summer, Tyler took Hen to the lake to hang a bat box Hen made at school. It was a production,
to say the least. Hen’s always had a concern for wild animals. Tyler respects that. He took the bat box thing seriously. Hen idolizes him.”

  “Could you tell us about Tyler’s childhood?”

  As if it were a closed chapter. Wasn’t he still a child? “I don’t know. I guess he was, you know, a regular boy. Lots of energy. Maybe a little hyper after dessert.”

  “Tantrums?”

  “He threw the occasional temper tantrum. What child doesn’t?”

  “I’m not sure. We’re talking about your son, who seemed to have quite a lot of physical altercations at a very young—”

  Gerrity: “Objection.”

  Judge: “Sustained.”

  Dock: “Did Tyler fight with his peers?”

  A loose hem thread found Marcella’s fingers. “Some. The normal playground spats.”

  “Tyler’s former principal said he often found himself in trouble at school.”

  Marcella willed her trembling lips into a smile. “Boys play games.”

  “Games of picking fights?”

  The thread broke between her fingers. “I don’t know what else to say. He was never a malicious child.”

  Dock looked at a paper on his desk. “Didn’t he vandalize school property in the sixth grade? A broken window?”

  Was Dock trying to corner her? A stupid laugh fluttered out. “Vandalism? Oh, no. That was an accident. He was a boy. You know, rough and tumble. He and Derek liked to catch frogs and tackle each other in the backyard. They stayed in the woods for hours. Came home covered in mud. Once they did karate in my kitchen and dented my oven door. I wouldn’t call that vandalism.”

  “You use the expression ‘rough and tumble.’ Isn’t that the same as saying he’s violent?”

  Gerrity: “Objection.”

  “I withdraw the question.” Dock had the nerve to grin at her.

  Hot flash. Did she give the wrong impression after five minutes on the stand?

  Her words scrambled out. “Boys do that sort of thing. Wrestle around and pretend to be ninjas. Gosh, they imagine pinecones as guns and play cops and robbers. This is boy stuff. It doesn’t mean they’re violent.”