by John Grisham
"Herman. Don't know his last name. He's been digging graves here for forty years."
They watched Herman and the other two across the valley of tombstones. They could barely hear their voices as the men deliberately went about their preparations.
Lee stopped the sniffling and crying. The sun was well above the treeline, its rays hitting directly in their faces. It was already warm. "I'm glad you came," she said. "I know it meant a lot to him."
"I lost, Lee. I failed my client, and now he's dead."
"You tried your best. No one could save him."
"Maybe."
"Don't punish yourself. Your first night in Memphis, you told me it was a long shot. You came close. You put up a good fight. Now it's time to go back to Chicago and get on with the rest of your life."
"I'm not going back to Chicago."
"What"
"I'm changing jobs."
"But you've only been a lawyer for a year."
"I'll still be a lawyer. Just a different kind of practice."
"Doing what?"
"Death penalty litigation."
"That sounds dreadful."
"Yes, it does. Especially at this moment in my life. But I'll grow into it. I'm not cut out for the big firms."
"Where will you practice?"
"Jackson. I'll be spending more time at Parchman."
She rubbed her face and pulled back her hair. "I guess you know what you're doing," she said, unable to hide the doubt.
"Don't bet on it."
Herman was walking around a battered yellow backhoe parked under a shade tree next to the shed. He studied it thoughtfully while another man placed two shovels in its bucket. They stretched again, laughed about something, and kicked the front tires.
"I have an idea," she said. "There's a little cafe north of town. It's called Ralph's. Sam took me-"
"Ralph's?"
"Yeah."
"Sam's minister was named Ralph. He was with us last night."
"Sam had a minister?"
"Yes. A good one."
"Anyway, Sam would take me and Eddie there on our birthdays. Place has been here for a hundred years. We'd eat these huge biscuits and drink hot cocoa. Let's go see if it's open."
"Now?"
"Yeah." She was excited and getting to her feet. "Come on. I'm hungry."
Adam grabbed the headstone and pulled himself up. He hadn't slept since Monday night, and his legs were heavy and stiff. The beer made him dizzy.
In the distance, an engine started. It echoed unmuffied through the cemetery. Adam froze. Lee turned to see it. Herman was operating the backhoe, blue smoke boiling from the exhaust. His two co-workers were in the front bucket with their feet hanging out. The backhoe lunged in low gear, then started along the drive, very slowly past the rows of graves. It stopped and turned.
It was coming their way.
THE END
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