A Healing Justice

by Kristin von Kreisler

  Now as Andie watched Justice exploring the beach, she felt emotionally spent but also purged. And she felt lighter and freer because the heft of her complicated feelings weighed down the letter instead of her heart. It was as if psychological Merry Maids had shown up and dusted, mopped, and scoured her heart till no dirt or cobweb of hate could be found. Internally, Andie was cleaner. It was time to scrub away the letter too.

  She began ripping up her five single-spaced pages and dropping the pieces onto a slowly growing mound between her rubber boots. On the ragged paper scraps, she could still make out a few words—“unfair,” “hell,” “pain”—but they no longer belonged in sentences, and every yank of her fingers eviscerated the damage behind them. As she worked, she thought that she was also eviscerating her own misery of the last four months—and she snatched and attacked the paper till nothing was left but a pile of bits. She wadded it in her fists, got up, and started toward the water.

  Justice, who always seemed to grasp when something significant was happening, bounded over to her. As she sloshed into the shallow water, he sloshed, semper fi, beside her. Unlike before, he did not back up when waves threatened his paws. He stuck to her like a faithful barnacle.

  In an act of celebration, Andie raised her fists into the air and hurled the paper toward the sky. The pieces flew away like confetti thrown from windows onto a victory parade, and the wind swept them over the waves. Finally, they landed in Puget Sound, which would take them to the ocean. There they would dissolve in the great pool of life.

  But suddenly in horror Andie shouted, “Yikes!” The waves were returning the scraps to shore. Barking, Justice ran with her as she scrambled around, frantic, catching as many as she could and tossing them back into the water.

  No matter how far she threw the pieces, they kept bobbing back. She realized that the waves were an incoming tide. She and Justice could chase and rail at the paper for the rest of the afternoon, but that would do no good. They were up against a natural force; the tide would not go out until the moon said so. Dismayed, Andie called Justice, and they made their way back to the log.

  As wind blew tiny paths through Justice’s fur, he sat in his maharaja position, his bottom on the pebbles, his regal face toward the water. Andie put her arm around his back and, together, they watched the soggy paper pieces litter the beach. Something she’d wanted so badly to let go of refused to do her bidding. Like most everything else in life (except your attitude, she heard Dr. Capoletti say in her head), she had no control over the tide. It was almost comical, how insistent the little scraps of paper were.

  Andie was not sure how long she and Justice sat there, but just as surely as the waves rolled in, so did her thoughts.What slowly came to her was that maybe expecting to be done forever with shooting Christopher was too much to ask. Maybe she wasn’t supposed to close a door on his death and walk away. Maybe she needed to learn that he was a fact of her life—perhaps the fact of her life—and she must accept and work around it, and bravely play whatever cards the Vanderwaals dealt.

  Surrounded by pieces of a letter she’d hoped would rid her of Christopher and his parents forever, Andie admitted that nothing ever would. They’d always be a part of her. She said, “Justice, I’m not going to fight anymore.”

  When he panted, he exposed the heart-shaped spot on his tongue. It reminded Andie that all the thinking in the world wasn’t going to solve her problem; it was her heart she needed to worry about. In other words, as Dr. Capoletti had said, she needed to forgive—just as she’d begged Christopher and the Vanderwaals to forgive her in the letter.

  Andie could never hug and kiss the Vanderwaals, but in her heart she could cordially shake their hands and wish them well. As for Christopher, she’d take a lesson from Justice; she’d let go of that horrible night and move on. When Christopher inevitably turned up in her thoughts, she would picture him, his knobby knees at odd angles, riding a celestial bike along a celestial tree-lined street—heading toward a loving home. That would be the best way for her as the victim to bestow forgiveness.

  But what about her as the offender? How was she supposed to receive forgiveness when it could never come from Christopher and would likely not come from his parents in her lifetime? Andie decided that it was up to her to go whole hog and set right everyone’s offenses, including hers, in her own heart.

  I may never know if I did the right thing, she thought. She might die still wondering if shooting Christopher had been a mistake and wishing she’d handled him better. Still, on the night she’d killed him, she knew with rock-solid certainty that she’d done the very best she could. She’d never ever wanted to hurt anyone.

  She would forgive herself.

  CHAPTER 48

  TOM

  Tom parked on Main Street a block from the Barkery. He intended to walk to the library, because the librarian wanted to talk with him about participating in an identity theft workshop. He locked his car, stepped onto the sidewalk, and started down the block past Woof Gang Pet Store and the Chat ’n’ Chew Café.

  He stopped. The librarian said she could meet anytime from ten till noon, and it was only ten fifteen. No rush. What if he went to visit Brady for a minute first? He hadn’t seen her since they’d washed dishes together last month, and she’d been on his mind. More than he liked to admit.

  Would it be right to show up for no reason? asked a cautious streak in himself.

  Hell, yes, answered his red-blooded all-American male.

  What if she’s baking something and doesn’t have time to visit?

  It wouldn’t hurt her to take a break.

  Tom couldn’t remember a time when he’d been so circumspect about a woman. Sure, Andie had broken their date years ago and wounded his pride. But today it seemed to him like more than that. Maybe he’d invested feelings in her. No maybes about it—he had—and now he had something to lose.

  Tom’s red-blooded male grabbed his arm and walked him back toward the Barkery. At this hour of the morning, commuters had left on the ferry, mothers had dropped off their children at school—and shoppers, coffee klatchers, and delivery people had taken over downtown. A man in a fedora was studying a map in front of Rainier Bank, and a mailman was stuffing envelopes into the Family Smile Dentist’s box. Tom’s red-blooded male escorted him past DIY Hardware and Village Vittles Kitchen Store and stopped him in front of the Dip-pity Creamery.

  Bring her an ice cream, the red-blooded male ordered.

  Nobody eats ice cream for breakfast, argued Tom’s cautious streak.

  So you think ice cream hours are from exactly two to ten p. m. ? You get fined if you eat Rocky Road in the morning? Loosen up. Brady will like a surprise.

  A pervasive but pleasant smell of milk hung in the air. Written on a chalkboard were the day’s flavors, and Tom pondered Going Nuts and Peppermint Kiss but finally settled on Industrial Chocolate because every woman in her right mind liked chocolate. From a girl with a gold stud in her tongue, he ordered two cones, two scoops each. Since chocolate was bad for dogs, he also asked for a small cup of Vanilla Bean for Justice.

  How am I going to open the Barkery’s door if I’m carrying all that? wondered Tom’s cautious streak.

  Cool it. You’ll figure it out.

  * * *

  A woman in an iridescent orange coat was leaving the Barkery with her Pomeranian as Tom arrived, and she held the door open for him. When Andie heard the cowbell’s clang, she stopped wiping off a table, looked up, and smiled a warm, welcoming smile.

  “Hello there,” she said.

  Tom didn’t need Lisa’s mood ring to conclude that Andie was glad to see him, and his cautious streak took a hike. He held out the cones, still pressed against the cup for transport. “You’d better get going on one of these before it melts. They’re Industrial Chocolate.”

  “What a treat!” Andie smiled again and worked a cone out of his full hands.

  Justice’s champion sniffer informed him that ice cream had entered his domain, and he g
ot up from his morning glory bed and moved in for the kill. He planted himself in front of Tom and gazed in a way designed to force him to submissive knees. Surely you intend to share that, said the bead of drool about to drip from Justice’s tongue. You would not be cruel and heartless and ignore me.

  “I’m sorry. He’s a beggar,” Andie said.

  “That’s why I brought him some Vanilla Bean.” When Tom set the cup in front of Justice, he shoved his muzzle into it, and with ebullient licks he scooted the cup across the floor.

  “You look different,” Tom told Andie.

  “It’s the same me.”

  “No, you seem taller and straighter. It’s hard to explain.”

  “It could be the Industrial Chocolate. It does that to people,” Andie said.

  That was an actual joke. A first. Something’s changed. Tom started on his own cone with a smile.

  “Any word about the laptop and cell?” Andie asked.

  “Not yet, but the lab’s working on them. I’ll let you know when there’s news,” Tom said. “So how’s it going?”

  “Better since you came.”

  The red-blooded all-American male high-fived Tom. What did I tell you?! Chortle, chortle.

  “Customers hassling you this morning?” Tom asked.

  “No.” Andie licked a drip that was about to slide onto her thumb. “I’m glad you stopped by because I needed a boost.”

  “For what?”

  “A deposition. At one thirty the Vanderwaals’ lawyer officially starts coming after me.”

  “Wow. Nobody’s wasting any time.” From a Barkery dispenser, Tom pulled out two napkins, handed one to Andie, and wiped his mouth with the other. “I didn’t expect any discovery for another few months at the least.”

  “The sooner the lawyer piles up billable hours, the better for his bank account,” Andie said.

  “You scared?”

  “Yes. It’s taking all my courage, but I’m not as afraid as I’d have been a month or two ago.”

  “What’s the difference now?”

  Andie licked another drip. “I guess I know whatever happens, I’ll survive somehow.”

  “You’ll be fine,” Tom said. “The last I heard, thumbscrews were outlawed. Nobody can demand strips of flesh to pay for damages.”

  Andie laughed.

  “And you’re laughing on a day like this,” Tom said. “A few months ago you didn’t have a laugh in you.”

  “I’ve been working on my attitude.”

  “Good for you.” Tom had to hand it to her. She’d always been tough, but now she seemed easier in her skin. He liked the change. “You go tell that lawyer you did what you had to do. You’ve got truth on your side.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  Justice, who’d given up trying to lick a hole through his cardboard cup, looked like he would now angle for Industrial Chocolate. He abandoned the cup under a table, cocked his head, and fixed Tom with keen eyes. You still have ice cream. I want ice cream. Can you spare a lick for a hungry dog?

  Tom tried to ignore him, but he felt his eyes bore into him. “Is Justice going to the deposition with you?”

  “Ron Hausmann said I could bring him for moral support.”

  “Good. Follow his example.”

  “You mean by being brave?”

  “Definitely that. But look at him.”

  Justice’s gaze threw spears at Tom and pinned him to the wall. The intensity in his eyes was meant to make Tom fall down and crumble before him.

  “See? Justice will never give up,” Tom said. “After Christopher stabbed him, he could have moped around, scared, for the rest of his life, but he’s probably stronger than ever. And he knows it. Ain’t nobody gonna mess with him.”

  “You think I should be like that too?”

  “You already are,” Tom said. “This afternoon let it show.”

  CHAPTER 49

  ANDREA

  Ron Hausmann was waiting for Andie outside the entrance to Twombly and Fixx’s law firm, which was located on Main Street in a white Victorian house. He leaned against the porch railing and waved to her and Justice, climbing the steps toward him. “Are you ready?”

  “As ready as I’ll ever be, I guess,” she said.

  Hausmann reached for the front doorknob, embossed with a lion’s face. “Remember what we talked about. This is a deposition. You’re not here for a chat.”

  “I know.”

  “Norm Fixx is going to dig for things to use against you in court. Stay focused on the questions, and say the minimum. Don’t give him rope to hang you.”

  “I’ll try.”

  Andie remembered Tom’s suggestion that she follow Justice’s example. He not only tried; he never gave up, and he was confident and strong. That would be her goal today. The Dr. Capoletti in Andie’s mind reminded her, You can’t control what happens, but you can choose your attitude toward it.

  * * *

  The fluorescent lighting in the reconfigured breakfast nook bleached out the face of Norm Fixx. He pumped Andie’s hand like he was after well water. His self-satisfied smile hinted of the Laser Lady’s Alistair, surrounded by canary feathers.

  “Mr. Hausmann said it would be okay to bring Justice,” Andie said.

  “Why, sure! Justice looks like a fine dog!” Fixx said. “I love German shepherds. They’re remarkable animals. You know, I had one as a kid.”

  In that case, he should have known to hold out his hand for Justice’s get-acquainted sniff, but he bonked Justice on the head as insensitively as Chief Malone had, right on the star, exactly where Justice did not like to be bonked, and especially not by a clearly unpalatable stranger like Fixx. Justice’s glower told him that he was as worthy as smog. I’d like to introduce you to my teeth, you reprehensible slug.

  Indeed, a slug might have occupied a prominent place in Fixx’s gene pool; one glance at him and you’d expect spiked antennae and a trail of slime. His hair, combed back in a European style, was on the oily side, as was his skin. The crest on his pinky ring might have represented the barony of Sing Sing.

  A court reporter in wire-frame glasses swore in Andie, and everyone took a place around a former built-in breakfast table. Fixx began, “As you know, the Vanderwaals are litigating against you and asking for six million dollars to compensate for their son’s death.”

  Before, whenever Andie had heard that sum, her heart would buckle over in a swoon. But lately her heart had been stouter. Today she quickly gathered her grit and told herself to stay focused. The Stalwart Cookie cheered her on.

  Fixx flipped open a folder of notes and fired preliminary questions: What was Andie’s name, age, and address? What was her employment history? How long had she been on the force? That groundwork laid, he turned the page and said, “Let’s move on to that night.” He grilled her about exactly what had happened.

  “How long did it take the deceased to run from Justice to you?” he asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Andie said.

  “One second? Two? Three?”

  Andie shrugged. Don’t let him stress you. “He walked a step or two toward me, and then he started to run. I didn’t have a stopwatch. Maybe five seconds, but I don’t know.”

  “As he came toward you, what expression did he have on his face?”

  “I couldn’t see. I don’t know.”

  “Was he laughing? Crying? Any signal of his feelings?”

  “She told you she couldn’t see his face,” Hausmann said.

  “What about his posture? Any sign there?” Fixx asked.

  “I’m not sure. I didn’t have time to evaluate it.”

  “Did he say anything?”

  “Not that I heard.”

  “Could he have whispered?”

  “I don’t know if he whispered or not.”

  “Tell us what you do know about Christopher approaching you, Ms. Brady.” Fixx’s arched eyebrow was doubtless intended to intimidate her as readily as his barrage of unanswerable questions.

>   Andie sat up straighter and reminded herself that she did not need a carapace of toughness to protect herself from a slug. All she needed was a strong heart. “I do know I came home from work and Christopher . . . the deceased . . . was waiting there,” she said calmly.

  “Of all the things the deceased might have done that night, why do you think he chose to come to your yard?” Fixx asked.

  “Objection. Speculation,” Hausmann said.

  “All right, then I’ll ask this way.” Fixx turned the page. “Tell me, are you divorced?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why did you divorce?”

  “Incompatibility,” Andie said to keep the answer short.

  “I don’t understand.” Fixx acted like “incompatibility” was too complex a term for a simple man like him. “Explain. What do you mean by that?”

  “What other people mean by it. Our marriage didn’t work out.”

  “Were you faithful to your husband?”

  “Objection. Irrelevant,” Hausmann said.

  Andie pierced Fixx with her eyes and said anyway, “I was faithful.”

  “Have you ever had a relationship with a much younger man?” Fixx asked. Heh-heh. His smile exposed yellow teeth.

  “Objection! Ambiguous.What do you mean by ‘younger’? Younger relative to what?” Hausmann said.

  “I’ll rephrase,” Fixx said. “How friendly were you with the deceased?”

  “I hardly knew him.”

  “How did you know him?”

  “I saw him around the neighborhood. He knocked on my door one day and sold me a raffle ticket.”

  “Oh, really?!” Fixx’s well-practiced eyebrow arched again, this time suggesting that buying a raffle ticket was a dangerously salacious act.

  “Yes, really.” You’re trying to fluster me, but I won’t let you.