by Nancy Moser
“How old is your son?” Mary asked.
“Grown.”
“Well then,” Jack said.
Just the way he said it made Ken swing around to face them. “So because he’s grown it doesn’t count?”
Jack’s head shook back and forth in short bursts. “No, I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Yes, you did,” Ann said. “Because face it, there’s something more poignant about a child dying rather than an adult.”
Bobby shook his head. “A son’s a son.”
“What’s wrong with him?” Gus asked.
“How much time does he have?” Jason asked.
Susan jumped on him. “That isn’t a polite question.”
Jason shrugged. “I was just wondering. I mean, if Ken has to leave the jury to go be with him or—”
“He probably has years,” Ken said. “He has HIV. He might have years.”
Silence.
“He’s not gay. He was into drugs.” As if that made it better?
“My brother’s gay,” Susan said.
“You want a medal?” Joe said.
Susan sighed. “Never mind.”
“At least he’s not dying soon,” Jack said.
Jack’s words rekindled Ken’s anger. He returned to his seat. “Just because it’s not happening tomorrow doesn’t mean I can’t be upset.”
“Of course not,” Abigail said. “But the crisis is somewhat. . .”
“Diluted,” Gus said. When he received a glare from Ken, he added, “What? We all could be dead in years, disease or no disease.”
Philip had said virtually the same thing.
Bobby nodded. “You have now. Now is what’s important.”
Abigail clapped her hands. “Enough, everyone. Let’s get back to the matter at hand.”
“We have gotten off track,” Gus said.
“For good reason,” Ann said. She offered Ken a wistful smile. “I’m sorry for your bad news, Ken. What’s your son’s name?”
“Philip.”
She swept the table’s occupants with a look. “We’ll certainly say some prayers for Philip.”
Ken was surprised when most heads nodded. In fact, all but Joe, Deidre, and Abigail made the nonverbal commitment to pray for his son. Maybe it was a good thing he’d slipped and brought it up.
Maybe it was a God thing.
***
I should have nodded.
When Ann asked people to pray for Ken’s son, Deidre was caught off guard. By the time she noticed that almost everybody agreed to pray, it was too late.
That truck driver, Joe, that redneck…he hadn’t nodded either. Deidre didn’t want to be lumped in with him. The only other juror who’d remained still was Abigail. Deidre liked Abigail. She was a woman of zest and spunk. That she hadn’t nodded saved Deidre from total humiliation.
But a question niggled at her mind: why hadn’t she nodded? She prayed. Sometimes. And when Don had been sick she’d certainly been the recipient of prayers—not that they’d done much good. When Sig had performed surgery on Nelly she’d prayed during the operation. And that had turned out okay.
I’m a foul-weather prayer.
She didn’t like the idea of it, yet couldn’t the same be said about most people? Didn’t most people coast along on their own until some crisis made them doubt and seek help elsewhere? Wasn’t that why Sig wanted to go to church yesterday?
I don’t feel good enough to pray. I’ve done so much wrong. So terribly—
Deidre must have shook her head because Jack said, “No, Deidre? You don’t want to discuss the vote?”
She sat forward, pushing thoughts of Sig and prayer and her own lack of faith aside. She had to pay attention. It was time to come to a verdict. It was time to be alert and make things go the way they needed to go.
She hoped God wouldn’t notice.
The image of a toddler covering her face with her hands came to mind. Daddy, you can’t see me.
***
Ever since Ann brought up prayer and suggested they pray for Ken’s son, Bobby had felt guilty—for not praying for his extended family. When was the last time he’d prayed for his brother or sisters? Until Cass had come to town, when was the last time he’d even thought about them?
Some brother he was.
They’d grown up without his care or his prayers. They’d gone through good times and bad without his knowledge. And by keeping their existence from his wife, he’d even prevented her prayers on their behalf. “The earnest prayer of a righteous person has great power and produces wonderful results.”
Ah. There was the problem. He was far from righteous. So what good would his prayers have done anyway?
He pressed a finger onto his napkin, capturing a flake of fallen glaze from his donut. He licked it, slightly amazed that even such a small bit could carry so much taste.
Like a small bit of prayer.
“Bobby.” Abigail drew him out of his reverie. “Tell us why you think Patti is innocent.”
He didn’t like their attention, the way Jack’s arms were crossed, ready for confrontation, or the way Deidre kept turning her pencil over and over, point to the table, eraser to the table, as if ready to write down the flaws of his opinion. When he looked to Mary and Susan—who’d started out on his side but who had defected to the guilty bench—they looked away. Even the eyes of his fellow innocent-voter Joe were full of challenge, as if a threat were present: Don’t blow this. We have to convince the others. Only Letisha and Ann offered looks of compassion.
“Come on, Bobby,” Letisha said. “You go first; then I’ll have my say.”
He wished it were the other way around.
“You go, Letisha,” Jason said. “Bobby’s not ready.”
Was his face that transparent?
Transparent or not, Bobby was glad to let someone else go first.
Letisha shuffled her shoulders and took a big breath, clearly ready to give her opinion. “I think Patti’s innocent because that two-timing, no-good Brett was the one who had the power. He conned her. He wasn’t going to marry her. No way, no how.”
“How do you know?”
“Because he’s just like my Raymond.” She snapped her fingers. “Been there, done that. One kid. No father.”
“You had a kid by a guy who wouldn’t marry you?” Susan asked.
“He’s ten now. Cute as a button, but unfortunately he has Raymond’s charming smile. I’m going to have to watch that boy, that’s for sure.”
Gus shook his head. “I still don’t see why Brett’s character—or lack thereof—would have anything to do with why you think Patti is innocent.”
Letisha tapped a fingernail on the table. “It’s that prosecutor too. That Jonathan Cummings—not Jon, mind you, but Jon-a-than, all fancy-schmancy. A slick talker. Reminds me of Jordie.”
“I thought his name was Raymond,” Susan said.
“Different guy, but two peas in a puny pod. Both of them scabs on the sore of my love life.”
Ann laughed. “Any boyfriends named Brett?”
“Not yet.”
Joe took the floor. “My wife worked in a restaurant kitchen once, just like Patti. She used to have people treat her like scum, just like Brett treated Patti. And you would never believe the filth she had to clean up for horrible pay. Brett took advantage of Patti, just like my wife’s bosses took advantage of her.”
“But that has nothing to do with the trial,” Deidre said.
Ann interrupted. “Maybe not, but Patti being pregnant and Brett being the father has everything to do with why I think she’s innocent. I have four kids. I would never hurt their father. Never.”
“Even if he refused to marry you?” Mary asked.
“We’ve been married fourteen years.”
Letisha shook her head. “Brett wasn’t going to marry her. Ever..”
Bobby thought of something. “My mother’s name was Patricia.”
When no one said anything he realized what a dumb stat
ement he’d just made.
Jack pounced. “So you think because your mother had the same name as the defendant she couldn’t be guilty?”
Joe waved his hands by his head. “It’s a sign from God!”
Bobby crossed his arms. “Never mind. It was just an observation.”
“A stupid one,” Joe said.
“Hey, be nice,” Susan said. “We’re just talking here.”
“Talking baloney.”
“And your reason was better?” Gus said. “Patti is innocent because your wife worked in a restaurant?”
Abigail clapped her hands, taking control. “We appreciate hearing why you believe Patti is innocent, but your reasons are wishful thinking. You want her to be innocent, but your decision has nothing to do with the evidence. It’s based on your own prejudices.”
“I am not prejudiced,” Joe said.
“I am,” Letisha said.
That got everyone’s attention.
“Well, I am. We all are in our own way.” She sat forward, spreading her hands on the table. “Personally, I don’t care if you’re white, green, or plaid, but I do have a problem with men who treat their women badly. I’m the biggest bigot there is against bossy, bullying, brutal men.”
“What about Brett being treated badly?” Jack asked. “He’s the one who’s dead.”
“Well...that’s not good either.”
People laughed.
“You know what I mean,” she said.
Jack shook his head. “This isn’t supposed to be about feelings. Feelings are what got us off track. This is about facts. Evidence.”
“And gut instincts,” Susan added.
Jack shrugged.
Abigail took advantage of the pause. “So what are the facts?”
Deidre held up her notepad. “I have all the forensic evidence written down.”
“Go for it,” Ken said.
Deidre read through the evidence. When she was through, Mary said, “But as for motivation we go back to Patti being a woman scorned.”
“We don’t know that for sure,” Ann said. “That’s what the prosecution wants us to believe. Before going to his house, Patti hadn’t told Brett about the baby. Maybe she never did. You’re guessing.”
“They argued a lot. They had a history of fighting,” Susan added.
Ken, who’d been oddly quiet, spoke next. “She was the last one there. And she ran.”
“Only guilty people run,” Gus said.
“I don’t know about that,” Joe said. “One time when I was coming out of a bar, when some cops started coming toward me, I ran.”
“Why?” Mary asked.
He shrugged. “I dunno. I hadn’t done anything wrong.”
Bobby found that hard to believe. Joe seemed the type who always skirted the edge of the law.
Deidre said, “I don’t believe Patti’s a cold-blooded killer, nor that she meant to kill Brett. It just happened.” She cut marks into the side of her empty Styrofoam cup with a fingernail. “It was a crime of passion. People can get caught up in a moment and act like they’d never act normally.” She put the cup down. “I truly believe that.”
There were nods around the room. Then Abigail added, “It makes sense. She goes over there, they argue, he shuns her, she sees her entire future go down the tube, he gets cocky or rude and says something horrible. She’s embarrassed and hurt and grabs the handiest thing—the bottle. She wants to shut him up, make him stop ruining her grand plans. Just seconds after she hits him, she regrets it. She screams. She thinks, Oh no! What have I done? And when she hears the sirens she realizes how it will look and runs.” Abigail took a fresh breath. “It makes sense.”
“It does,” Deidre said.
Ann put her hands over her face. “I know it does. I wish it didn’t, but it does.”
Jack perked up. “So you’re changing your vote?”
She peeked out from between her fingers. “Probably.” She put her hands down. “If I let myself think logically and just think of the evidence, she’s guilty. She has to be.”
Jack clapped once. “Yee-ha! Another one bites the dust.”
“Can it, Jack,” Joe said.
Susan raised a hand. “I think it comes down to this: unless someone else just happened to have a reason to kill Brett Lerner on that particular night and had impeccable timing to do it just before his girlfriend was coming over, it looks like the only possible killer is Patti.”
Deidre looked to Letisha. “Right?”
Letisha sat back and waved her hands in surrender. “He still deserved it.”
Deidre turned to Joe. “Right?”
“Maybe she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time,” Joe said.
Jack rolled his eyes. “Oh, please.”
“Fine.” Joe sighed. “I’m not dumb. I do see your point.”
Deidre took a cleansing breath and Bobby felt her eyes. He was the last holdout. “Well, Bobby? What do you say?”
Jason laughed. “Other than his mother and Patti sharing the same name?”
Bobby ignored him. Although he didn’t want to believe Patti was guilty, given so much evidence, and applying common sense. . .
“I guess I see your point too.”
“Yee-ha again!” Jack said. He looked at Abigail. “Another vote is in order.”
***
Deidre never believed it would be so easy. A verdict already?
Now came the hard part: being in the courtroom and seeing Patti get the news.
“Will the defendant rise?”
Patti’s lawyer had to help her stand. He kept hold of her arm.
The judge looked to the bailiff. “Bailiff, the verdict please?”
The bailiff took the piece of paper from Abigail and brought it to the judge. Even though Deidre knew what it was going to say, her stomach clenched horribly. So much depended on this decision. Months of worry could be set aside. She’d gone through hell waiting for this day. This moment.
“The jury finds the defendant, Patricia Jo McCoy, guilty on the charge of voluntary manslaughter.”
Patti fainted.
So be it.
It was finished.
***
Becky met Bobby at the door with a kiss and a hug. “I’m so sorry you had to find that poor girl guilty. So sorry.”
Her compassion did not take away his own guilt. Although he’d offered sincere votes—both innocent and finally guilty—it had put him in a position he hoped to never repeat. Let God do the judging. Bobby had had enough.
“How are you doing, Beck? You look a little flushed.”
Becky grinned. “I’m doing fine, and the flush is from excitement.” She linked her hand through his arm and drew him toward the kitchen. “We have a surprise for you.”
We?
Once in the doorway, Bobby saw Cass seated at the computer. “Hello, Brother. Guess what we’ve been doing.”
Uh-oh. This sounded ominous.
“Look,” Becky said, pointing to the computer screen. “Cass has created a website for your furniture.”
There, before him, were professional-looking photos of the hutch in their dining room and the rocking chair he’d made for the kids—one photo with Teresa seated in it, one without.
“I put her in the picture for scale,” Cass said.
“You took these?” Bobby asked.
“It’s not that hard. I used your camera.”
Not his camera. Becky was the one who always took the pictures in their family. She let go of his arm and retrieved their digital camera from the kitchen table. “Cass showed me how to crop and make pictures lighter or darker. It’s not hard at all.”
“Which means she can keep adding pictures as you make new pieces. And look at this one.” She clicked on something. There was a photo of a dresser he’d made for the principal of the high school two years before.
“How did you get this?” he asked.
“Becky called them up and asked if we could come over. People were happy to
help.”
“People?”
Cass clicked through more webpages. “We got four more photos and four testimonials about how wonderful your work is.”
Bobby was appalled. “You asked our friends to say nice things?”
“We didn’t have to ask, hon. Once we went to their homes, they practically oozed about your work. In fact, the principal’s wife, Dora, is interested in having you make them a matching headboard.”
“Here,” Cass said, scrolling down. “I put the testimonials below the photos.”
“And I can answer e-mails and take the orders,” Becky said.
Orders?
“Don’t give me that look, Brother. There will be orders.”
He felt weak and took a seat at the table. “When and how am I going to complete these orders?”
Becky’s face fell. “You said you were quitting one of your jobs so you’d have more time.”
Caught by his own words. “It sounds great, and I know you put a lot of work into it, but I need to make a living. I have a family to support.”
Becky moved directly in front of him and lifted his chin with a finger. “There is no mortgage. We have enough to get by without you killing yourself by working three jobs.”
“Jobs you don’t like,” Cass added.
“Besides, it’s time you stopped avoiding the inevitable.”
He hated when she looked at him like this. She was way too lovely. “And what’s inevitable?”
She bent low, her eyes inches from his. “That you stop playing the part of a nobody and accept that you are somebody. You’re an artist and have a God-given talent that will bring joy to many people. It’s your life’s work. And it’s time you realized it.” She kissed him.
Bobby’s throat tightened. “This isn’t fair,” he said. “You are not fair.”
Becky cocked her head and nodded. “But I’m right.”
And she was. Except on one point. His furniture might be more important than his day jobs. But it was not his life’s work.
***
Deidre pulled into the garage and turned off the car. She sat in silence, not at all eager to go inside and have Sig congratulate her on a job well done, a verdict well placed. Would he want to go out to celebrate?