Solemnly Swear

by Nancy Moser

  Because of her past. Not because of her present.

  Not because of her talent.

  Needing to breathe, Abigail moved the pillow aside and took a cleansing breath that did nothing to rid her mind of the thoughts. Even though she hadn’t had a lot of paying jobs lately, she’d certainly played a lot of parts: mother, jury foreman, and now Miss Hannigan.

  Who was she kidding? She should be booed off the stage.

  She was a farce, a pretender. And worse, a has-been.

  ***

  Karla knocked on the doorjamb to Deidre’s walk-in closet. ‘Tm heading for bed and…what are you doing?”

  Deidre realized she was standing in the middle of their closet, staring at nothing. How long had she been there? She made an excuse. “I’m figuring out what to wear tomorrow for court.”

  Karla nodded. “It’s supposed to be cooler tomorrow. You might want to wear a blazer.”

  Deidre nodded.

  “I’ve been wanting to ask you about this morning, but you seem to be avoiding me. From the choir loft I saw you run out of the church. What happened?”

  “I didn’t feel well. It was nothing.”

  “That’s what you said, what Sig said.”

  “You don’t believe us?”

  Karla shrugged. “It was nothing always means it was something.”

  “Not in this case.”

  “I’m a good listener.”

  Yes, she was. If only Deidre could confess to someone.

  “It’s like the world is on your shoulders, Dee-Dee. I can see it bearing down on you.”

  And suddenly, with that one offer of compassion, Deidre covered her face with her hands.

  Karla was immediately at her side. “Oh, honey. Please tell me what’s wrong.”

  The tears were unexpected, yet in an odd way, welcome. If they hadn’t found release Deidre would have self-destructed. Her entire inner being would have evaporated, leaving nothing but an empty shell.

  Karla hugged her, rocked her, and murmured comfort in her ear. “It will be all right. You’ve been so strong, taking your responsibility as a juror so seriously. Of course it’s difficult dealing with your regular life and holding the fate of another person’s life in your hands. Of course you should feel a bit overwhelmed.”

  “It’s too hard,” Deidre said. She focused on the trial. “I don’t like having this responsibility, judging Patti when...when...”

  “You’re a lot like her?”

  Deidre pulled back, incredulous. “I am not like her.”

  Karla pushed a stray piece of hair behind Deidre’s ear. “Aren’t you?”

  Deidre moved away. “Just because we both knew Brett doesn’t—”

  “You both knew Brett, were attracted to Brett, both got pregnant—”

  Deidre pointed at Karla. “What Brett did to me was against my will. What he did to Patti, she wanted. Encouraged.”

  “So it’s a crime to go after a better life by setting your sights on a man who’s above you socially?”

  Deidre opened her mouth to say yes but closed it in time to prevent another lie.

  Karla adjusted a pink blouse that was hanging precariously off a hanger. “I’m not condemning Patti or anyone who takes drastic measures to survive. In fact, I’d say she was lucky to have you on the jury. You, who might understand.”

  Deidre ran past her, out the door, out of the bedroom, down the stairs.

  Karla called from the landing, “Where are you going?”

  Deidre grabbed her purse and keys.

  ***

  Deidre ended up at Sig’s hospital. During the fifteen-minute drive she pinpointed the reason she’d left the house so quickly. She needed to find Sig immediately and tell him she could not guarantee a guilty vote from herself, much less anyone else on the jury.

  Patti was innocent.

  Ignorant and gullible, but innocent overall.

  Brett had played on those traits, teasing her with false promises, tempting her with a better life, pretending to love her.

  Brett was not capable of loving anyone but himself.

  It was the signature of an evil man. But just because Patti had fallen for his lies and charm—as had Deidre—that did not mean Patti should pay for his death. Deidre would let the jury decide, fairly, impartially, and responsibly. She would not try to sway them because Sig wanted her to.

  It wasn’t fair to Patti. And even more than that, it wasn’t right.

  I’ve been skirting right far too long. I’m tired of swaying people to get what I want. Surely it would be easier just to let things play out the way they play out. I’m tired of pushing, of making things happen.

  “Hello, Mrs. Kelly,” said a nurse at the main station of the pediatric ward. “What’s got you out so late?”

  “Hi, Brenda. Is my husband around?”

  She pointed down the brightly painted hall. “Room 243. Just checking on a little boy who was having some issues. He’ll be done soon.”

  “Thanks.”

  Deidre strolled down the corridor and parked herself outside room 243. As soon as Sig came out, she’d pull him aside and tell him the deal was off. She had no idea what he would do. Argue, certainly. Or maybe, just maybe, he’d come up with a plan B. At this point she’d take plan B, C, or Z.

  She heard his voice inside the room. “Yes indeedy, Jason, you are going to be better than new.”

  “Will I be able to run?”

  “Run, jump, and do cartwheels if you’d like.”

  An adult voice added, “Thank you for stopping by so late, Doctor. We were worried, but now that we’re beyond the surgery, just seeing you ...the change in our Jason is so amazing. You’re a miracle worker, Dr. Kelly. What would the world do without you?”

  A scale popped into Deidre’s mind. On one side was her husband’s life, heavy with worth. And on the other was the life of Patti McCoy, an uneducated dishwasher. Whose life held true importance, purpose, and promise? Who would be missed if they went to jail?

  Not Patti.

  But if Sig went to jail for the death of Brett Lerner . . .

  He couldn’t. Guilty or not, the world should not have to lose the services of this great man.

  So much for letting things play out.

  Deidre retreated down the hall from whence she had come.

  She had no choice. Plan A was still in place. Patti McCoy must be found guilty so Sig could remain free.

  NINE

  They sweep past like the wind and are gone.

  But they are deeply guilty,

  for their own strength is their god.

  HABAKKUK 1:11

  The morning after the first meeting of the Annie cast, Abigail was not in the mood to be jury foreman. She was not in the mood to be in deliberations on any jury. She was not in the mood to do anything but stay home and watch game shows and soap operas all day, perhaps indulging in a large bag of Fritos and a half liter of Dr Pepper.

  Her fellow jurors gathered in the jury room, getting coffee and donuts, settling in for a new week of deliberations. Heaven forbid it would take a week.

  Gus took a sip of the coffee in his Styrofoam cup and made a face. “You’d think with all the taxes I pay they could provide a decent cup of coffee.”

  Jason the waiter stood over the donut tray. “You’d think with all the pay we don’t get paid for doing this, they’d give us fancier donuts than plain old sugar and glazed.”

  “I could bring in a coffee cake,” Susan said. “I make a great cinnamon crumble.”

  “I’m not sure they’d allow it,” Jack said. “They have rules for rules around here.”

  “What’s she going to do, bake a weapon into it?” Joe said.

  He took a bite of donut, making it rain sugar onto the table. ‘That’s one good thing about driving a truck. I get to eat great food at truck stops.”

  “Fried food, you mean,” Letisha said. “But answer this, Mr. Trucker. I want to know why you don’t weigh three hundred pounds.” She caressed her o
wn ample hips. “Sometimes I hate men. Most of them can eat and eat and not gain a thing. I just look at that donut, and . . .” She shook her head and gazed longingly at the pastries.

  “I wish they had more than one kind of tea bag,” Deidre said, dipping one in her cup. “Cinnamon or Earl Grey or Lemon Zinger.”

  Although Abigail accepted all the gripes as apropos, in Deidre’s case, there was something disconcerting about seeing a Styrofoam cup in her hand. Not that the surgeon’s wife had demanded china teacups, but Abigail was fairly sure she was not used to disposable dinnerware. And no donut for Deidre. Probably on a diet. Women like her were always on a diet. Where was the fun in that?

  Abigail set her own place with a sugar donut and coffee, which was white with two cream packets and some Splenda. Might as well get this over with. “Come on, people. Let’s get down to business.”

  Abigail watched as Mary took a seat directly across the table. She overheard her say to Deidre, “I met your husband Saturday.”

  “My husband? Really?” Deidre said.

  “He’s going to help my son. He’s going to do surgery on him.”

  “Really?” She sounded genuinely surprised.

  Joe—on Mary’s other side—shoved a bite of donut to the inside of his cheek. “And why would he do that?”

  Mary looked up, obviously surprised anyone had overheard. “He’s a doctor. That’s the kind of man he is.”

  Joe looked at Mary, then back at Deidre. “You’re just trying to win her over to the guilty camp.”

  Deidre put a hand to her chest. “I’m doing no such thing. I have no idea what she’s talking about.”

  Mary smacked Joe on the arm. “Dr. Kelly didn’t seek me out. It just happened. I was having a garage sale. He stopped by, happened to see my son, noticed his hand problem, talked to me, and—”

  “Sig went to a garage sale?” Deidre asked.

  Mary nodded.

  “See?” Joe said. “It’s rigged. He rigged it.”

  “And why would he do that?” Abigail asked.

  Joe hesitated a moment, then shrugged. “I don’t know, but you gotta admit it’s fishy.”

  Deidre shook her head. “Sig often goes up to people with children and talks to them about any medical problem he thinks he can help with. He really does. He performs free surgeries all the time. That’s what his foundation is all about.”

  “That’s really nice,” Bobby said.

  “He must be a really nice man,” Letisha said. “A good man.”

  “He is,” Mary said. “He’s a godsend to our family.”

  Joe crossed his arms. “But with Deidre wanting a guilty verdict and Mary voting innocent, it’s fishy, I tell you.”

  “Are you implying I asked him to do it?” Deidre said. “To seek her out because she’s a juror?”

  Gus raised his hands, trying to calm them. “That doesn’t make sense, Joe. It’s not like Deidre’s life is on the line. No offense to Patti McCoy, but in the end, what does Deidre really care if the girl is found innocent or guilty?”

  Ann chimed in. “Besides, she’s not supposed to—none of us are supposed to—talk about the trial. To our families. To anyone.”

  Joe glared at Deidre. “Did you tell your husband about this trial?”

  Deidre blushed—which to Abigail seemed an odd reaction. “I did not. And I resent you putting me on trial. I haven’t done anything wrong.”

  “But your husband did wrong,” Joe said.

  Mary pushed at Joe’s arm. “You leave her alone. This has nothing to do with her or the trial. My Orlando is going to get the surgery he needs because of her husband. That’s a marvelous thing, not some conspiracy against you, Joe Krasinski.”

  “She’s right,” Ann said. “You’re overreacting.”

  Joe leaned back in his chair as if giving in. “Well, anyway, talk about an impossible coincidence.”

  Mary raised her chin. “There’s no such thing as a coincidence. It’s a miracle.”

  The way Mary looked at Deidre, with a new kind of respect in her eyes, was almost as if Mary was transferring Dr. Kelly’s smarts to his wife. Abigail did wonder if Mary could be swayed to vote like Deidre was voting, just because of this new respect.

  Gus pointed at Deidre, but his eyes were on Mary. “Not that I buy into anything Joe is saying, but when you first found out Deidre’s husband was this famous surgeon, why didn’t you just ask him to operate?”

  Mary raised her right hand, fending off the question. “I heard his name but I didn’t know who he really was. What he really did. How he could help my Orlando—for free.”

  Abigail stood. “Come on, people, we’re getting off track.”

  Joe shook his head. “We’re totally on track if she changes her vote to guilty because of this.”

  “So now I can’t change my vote?” Mary said. “Ever?”

  Joe cocked his head. “Not and make me believe it wasn’t influenced by the chance for your kid to get an operation.”

  “One has nothing to do with the other,” Mary said.

  “In your dreams.”

  It did sound very ... convenient. And the idea of a rich doctor at a garage sale ... even his wife sounded skeptical.

  “Let’s take a vote right now and see how Mary votes,” Joe said.

  “You’re not the foreman, Joe; Abigail is. You can’t call a vote.”

  Joe looked to Abigail, who at that moment would have gladly relinquished the position. What had she been thinking taking on the job? Why did she always put herself out front?

  She opened her mouth to speak, but Ken interrupted. “I agree we need a vote first thing. We’ve had the whole weekend to think about things. Maybe some of us have changed our minds.”

  “Have you?” Letisha asked.

  “No.”

  “Well, neither have I.”

  Abigail crammed half a donut in her mouth, hoping a surge of sugar would get her through this. “I do think a vote is a good way to start.”

  “Ballots,” Mary said. “I want ballots.”

  Joe pointed at her. “Because you’re changing your vote!”

  “Because we voted by ballot last time and I think that’s the way we should do it.”

  “That takes too long,” Ken said.

  Ann pointed toward Abigail. “You’re the foreman. What do you think?”

  I think I want to get fired. But Abigail said, “Pass out the paper and pens. Let’s do this thing.”

  ***

  Sig talked to Mary about operating on her son? He’d met her at her garage sale?

  Deidre wrote Guilty on the slip of paper and folded it in two. She waited for the basket to come around.

  Even though she didn’t like Joe, he was right about one thing: it was too much of a coincidence to be believed.

  Which meant Sig had sought Mary out. But why?

  The only reason that made any sense was that Sig had meant to influence Mary into changing her mind. But how did he know how she was voting?

  She stopped with her coffee cup halfway to her lips. The list I made and put on his pillow. He got the information from me.

  Suddenly Deidre remembered something Sig said last Saturday at Audrey’s. He’d mentioned doing something stupid—nearly doing something stupid. Had he truly set out to contact the jurors in order to sway their vote? Had he contacted any others? No one had said anything. Not that they would have dared after Joe’s third degree.

  Deidre looked around the table at the others who’d previously voted innocent: Bobby, Joe, Ann, and Letisha.

  Mary was hesitating writing down her vote. Deidre pretended not to look but could tell by the length of the word Mary wrote that she’d changed her vote to guilty.

  Chalk one up to Dr. Kelly, savior of children.

  ***

  Ken wasn’t there. Not really. He wrote his guilty verdict on the slip of paper and put it in the basket, but if someone would have pressed him to vote innocent, he knew it wouldn’t have taken a lot to make him
change. Guilty. Innocent. Who was he to judge Patti McCoy when he himself was so guilty? The more he thought about it, the line that separated the two verdicts was blurred. Who wasn’t guilty? Who was innocent?

  Certainly not him.

  Abigail read the ballots. “We have eight guilty and four—”

  Joe slapped one hand on the table while pointing at Mary with the other. “You changed your vote! You can’t do that.”

  Gus intervened. “Actually, someone has to change or we’ll be here forever. This is all about compromise.”

  Ann shook her head. “No, it isn’t. It can’t be. We can’t compromise in regard to Patti’s life. It’s not like compromising on whether we’ll have sandwiches or pizza for lunch.”

  Jack raised a hand. “I vote for pizza.”

  “Me too,” Jason said.

  “Me three,” Letisha said.

  Ken let his mind wander. What did he care about food? His son was going to die, maybe later rather than sooner, but still…

  “Ken?”

  He looked up when he heard Abigail say his name. By the way people were staring at him it wasn’t the first time she’d said it. “Yeah?”

  “Is something wrong?” she asked.

  “You don’t seem all here,” Susan said.

  “What’d you do this weekend?” Letisha asked. “Bogeyed instead of boogied?” She laughed at her own joke.

  “Actually I found out my son is going to die.”

  Silence.

  He hadn’t meant to say it out loud. The words had entered his mind as a private aside. No one had been more shocked to hear them than Ken.

  “What does that mean?” Deidre asked.

  Although he usually loved attention, their curious and kind eyes made him get up from his seat to fill his nearly full coffee cup. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he said to the wall while pouring. He added a packet of sugar though he usually liked it black.