Crush. Candy. Corpse.

by Sylvia McNicoll

  I nod. “Yes.”

  “Which are you sadder about?”

  I shake my head and shrug my shoulders. “Cole was my friend and I lost him that day.”

  “Aren’t you really just upset about having to stand and testify in front of all these people?”

  “No . . . I mean yes. All of it. Honestly, I didn’t even know I was crying.”

  The buzzard tilts his head in disbelief. “Do you always tell the truth?”

  I stare into the buzzard’s eyes for a few seconds and swallow hard to give the answer he doesn’t expect. “No.”

  The lady in the front row pulls back likes she’s been slapped.

  “On February 14, when you knew Cole had been in a serious accident, did you really give Mrs. Demers only one candy?” His buzzard eyes brand me.

  I answer quickly. “Yes.” I never gave her another butterscotch. After I held the unwrapped Werther’s in my hand for a moment, she kept up with the moaning, only louder. Then she reached over and, with her mouth to my hand, took the candy like a dog. Then she gestured for another. Mesmerized, I unwrapped it and she took it in the same way. I didn’t have a clear idea of what she was doing but I had a feeling. I think she would have kept asking for more but I ran out.

  “Do you expect the court to believe that this woman, who rarely spoke and couldn’t walk, suddenly reached over and took two more candies, unwrapped them, and stuffed them down her own throat so that she would choke?”

  “No. Yes. Maybe . . .” I begin to sputter now. This was so important for my mother, that I not be guilty.

  “Didn’t you, in fact, keep giving Mrs. Demers candy till she started coughing? Didn’t you then quickly walk away, hoping she would die? Thereby helping your friend Cole out with a promise to his grandmother that you knew he couldn’t keep?”

  I feel my skin heat up. Had I heard her coughing? There was a rasping sound, not unlike what that juror is doing right now.

  Heh, heh, heh!

  Johann used to cough like that. It could have been anybody. Did I think it was Cole’s grandmother? Doesn’t matter, I didn’t go back to check. “No!” My voice comes out whiny. I can’t admit any of my true thoughts. It might spoil everything. I don’t like the way everyone’s staring at me.

  “No further questions.”

  I know I haven’t done well. I can see the chubby guy rubbing his forehead. That man in the front is coughing again.

  I’d help you if you were choking, honest I would.

  But I also know my lawyer has one more witness to call. Everything now depends on my mother. “Your Honour, I call Ursula Ehret to the stand.”

  My mother gets up and walks to the front. She’s tall and long necked, graceful as a swan. Would that set her apart from the jury? What about that slight upper-crust Oxford accent?

  She places her hand on the Bible and swears to tell the whole truth.

  “How would you describe the way your daughter behaved at home?”

  “Sonja has been a delight since the day she was born. She adored and looked up to her older brother. She was never disobedient to my husband or me. Never sloppy. She always kept her room tidy. She did her own laundry and helped with chores. Always respectful, no problem with drugs or skipping school.” My mother lifts her hands and spreads them out like two birds flying away from her. “Never in trouble like some teenagers get into.”

  Is she forgetting our arguments over Donovan? Does she not remember when she was called in to Economart over the shoplifting incident? What about the report cards? She threw them to the table and huffed in disgust. “Too much time in front of the mirror.” What about the arguments over coming to help at the condo office like dear old Wolfie?

  Is my mother lying? I look into her tired blue eyes, tiny wrinkles crowfooting from around them. The blue looks as though it has faded, is fading, along with my mother. What will the doctor say about her cancer on Thursday? Remarkably, in that moment she smiles at me, like there’s a secret between us that she’s going to keep.

  “How would you say Sunny related to elderly people?”

  “She loved them. When we first came to this country, my husband and I worked such long hours, so we brought my mother over to help us look after the children. It was my mother who nicknamed our Sonja ‘Sunny’ because she always brought smiles and joy to everyone around her. Especially my mother.”

  In German Sonnenshein. I hear the music and her voice in my head.

  You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are grey.

  “How did she react to your mother’s death? She died of cancer when Sunny was six, correct?”

  “Yes. She didn’t understand. Maybe we should not have taken her to the funeral. She seemed lost and very sad. She drew pictures of her Omi leaving her in a plane and on a boat.”

  The music and singing stops.

  “Two summers ago, you fought a battle with cancer. How did this affect Sunny?”

  “We didn’t realize so much at the time . . . but she pulled away. She didn’t come to our family’s business office anymore. She started seeing this boy . . .”

  “Donovan Petrocelli?”

  “Correct. And we forbade her to see him because he got into trouble.”

  “Did she listen?”

  “No. But my husband and I let it go. We were busy with the hospital appointments . . . and the business. We didn’t ask her too much so she didn’t have to lie. We knew she was a smart girl and would figure it out for herself.”

  “What about the hair colouring? The pink streaks in her hair.”

  My mother smiles at me again. “That’s when I knew my Sunny was coming back to me.”

  “Could you explain?”

  “As I was going through treatments for breast cancer, Sunny did not want to be around me. I thought she was angry with me for becoming sick. But she could not talk about it. When she put the pink streaks in her hair, I didn’t ask. I didn’t have the strength to discuss and argue. But then her friend Alexis explained.”

  “What did she say to you?”

  “That Sunny thought I was leaving her just like her grandmother. That Alexis tried to get her to do the Run for the Cure but she couldn’t do it. Instead she dyed her hair pink at the front almost like the ribbons they give out.”

  The lady with the soya sauce down her front turns slightly to look at me. She smiles.

  Anybody can spill sauce, I think.

  “What about Sunny’s volunteer work at the home?”

  “My husband and I thought it was the best thing for her. We weren’t sure when Sunny attended the funerals at the home. But then we could see that maybe it even helped her. She realized that people are . . .” my mother hesitates and makes a quick eye contact with me again, “mortal, through no fault of their own. They do not die to leave someone.”

  “Mrs. Ehret, do you believe she might have wanted to aid in a mercy killing or suicide last February 14?”

  “Absolutely not. I feel she was very upset by the accident. That she was in shock and could not react and behave normally.”

  “Do you think she walked away as Helen Demers began choking to death?”

  “No, no, no.” My mother rubs at her eyes and when she looks up again, they are tear filled. “It doesn’t matter how upset she was, she would not leave this woman to die.”

  “Thank you. No further questions.”

  “Mr. Dougal, do you have questions for the witness?”

  “No . . . wait. Yes, Your Honour.” The buzzard flies up and faces my mother.

  I sit back, knowing there is nothing he can say to rattle or trip her up in any way.

  “Mrs. Ehret, we can tell that you love your daughter and that you are proud of her.”

  My mother smiles and nods.

 
; “Would you say that you would do anything in your power to protect her?”

  “Yes, yes but . . .”

  “No further questions.”

  The lady in the sweatsuit frowns and looks as upset as I feel that the buzzard cut Mom off. My mother would lie for me, that’s how it sounds. How can Michael McCann ever get the jury to acquit me if they think even my mother lies? I sit waiting for the judge to call it a day but then, surprisingly, my lawyer stands up again.

  “Your Honour, we would like to ask the court’s indulgence. We want to call one last witness up. We were uncertain whether he would be physically capable of testifying but it now appears he can. We call Cole Demers to the stand, please.”

  Mrs. Johnson gasps. A surprise witness. For once we both feel the same about something: shocked. There’s some murmuring between the reporter and Mrs. Demers.

  The judge calls for order. “Members of the court are reminded that their reactions can influence the jury and therefore should be reserved for outside this room. Otherwise, they could be used as a grounds for mistrial.”

  Meanwhile, a tall, pale boy I hardly recognize makes his way slowly to the front. Cole looks heavier than when I last saw him and he drags his left foot slightly. When he finally sits down in the witness box and faces me, I see a zipper-like scar stretching from the corner of his left eye to his upper lip.

  I swallow hard, but then he smiles. The smile doesn’t make it up to his eyes, but they take me in.

  I smile back. His hair doesn’t stand up anymore at the top but it’s grown really long and shaggy. I could so fix that for him.

  Cole doesn’t stutter when he swears on the Bible but there are gaps in his speech.

  “Thank you for coming today,” my lawyer tells him. “The court understands that you are still recovering from your accident last year. For the record, have you spoken to the defendant, Sonja Ehret, since then?”

  “No.” Cole furrows his brow. “Conditions for her bail are . . . no contact.”

  He was in a coma for two months after the accident, but I couldn’t visit him. I heard from Alexis when he opened his eyes, but I wasn’t allowed to send him a note. I found out about him speaking a month later, but I couldn’t call. There was no way to tell him how sorry I was about everything. I hadn’t heard he could walk.

  My lawyer didn’t know whether he would call Cole to the stand or not. He wasn’t certain which way his condition might swing the jurors.

  Michael must feel desperate.

  He doesn’t sound it, though. He leans on the podium and speaks in a casual tone. “Can you tell us what your relationship was with Sunny?”

  “We were . . . friends.”

  “Boyfriend-girlfriend friends?” Michael smiles.

  “I’d hoped.” He smiles back and that gives the jury members permission to titter and grin.

  The judge doesn’t say anything about the reactions this time.

  Michael continues. “About your grandmother’s pink streaks, could you tell the court how they came about?”

  “Sure. It was . . . Grandma’s birthday present. Sunny did them for her.”

  “Did she steal money from your grandmother’s drawer to buy the dye?”

  “No! I gave her the mo. . .ney. I asked her to streak Grandma’s hair . . . because she liked Sunny’s.”

  “So you didn’t go along with her idea. It was your decision to colour the hair.”

  “Yes. My idea.”

  I watch for the jury’s reaction. The guy with the crooked glasses nods. I think he may be shifting to my side.

  My lawyer straightens and gestures to Cole with an open palm. “I know how difficult this is for you, but could you tell the jury how your grandmother felt about her Alzheimer’s?”

  “Yes.” Cole pauses a longer while.

  The bearded juror with the piercings shifts in his chair. The woman formerly of the sweatsuit leans forward. Yes he can, or yes he will, everyone must be wondering from the long delay.

  Finally Cole speaks again. “She asked me to help her . . . die.”

  Michael nods. “And did you agree?”

  “Yes.”

  Someone on the jury gasps.

  “Did you tell Sunny about your grandmother’s request?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you remember what she said?”

  “I think . . . I think she told me to forget about it. Not to feel . . . bad. It wasn’t a reasonable request.”

  “Did you give your grandmother candy at the end of every visit?”

  “Yes. Other times, too. She liked . . . sweets.”

  “You left Paradise Manor before the Valentine’s party. Why?”

  Cole shuts his eyes for a moment. “I was . . . angry. I thought Sunny was bringing Donovan . . . I couldn’t stay.”

  I cover my face. If I had just told Donovan he couldn’t drive me that day, none of this would have happened.

  “Was it Sunny’s fault that you had your accident that day?”

  Cole shakes his head. “No.” His face turns red, he looks too upset to continue.

  Michael watches him and waits patiently.

  Cole starts again. “I rode a bike in February. I didn’t wear a helmet. I was . . . stupid.”

  “Do you think Sunny gave your grandmother candies till she choked and then just walked away?”

  “No.” He shakes his head. “Never.”

  “Thank you. No further questions.

  The judge asks the Crown whether he has any questions. I can see the buzzard think for a moment.

  “Yes, Your Honour. I do.” He stands and turns towards the witness box. “Mr. Demers, you have suffered through severe brain trauma, is that correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you said just now that you think Sonja Ehret told you to forget your grandmother’s request. Is that right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is it not true that memory lapses are a symptom of brain trauma?”

  Someone groans in the jury.

  “I’m sure . . . she told me not to help Grandma. Just not sure about the wording.”

  “Answer the question Mr. Demers,” the buzzard snaps. “Are memory lapses symptoms of your condition or not?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “No further questions.”

  I stare at Cole and wish for the millionth time that I could just talk to him.

  He returns my stare. Suddenly he winks and that makes me feel a whole lot better. Then he gets up and slowly limps out of the courtroom.

  I want to jump up and chase after him, but I know I can’t.

  The judge clears his throat as he looks at his watch. “The time is now three p.m. We shall adjourn till tomorrow for the final summations.”

  We do the whole standing-up routine for the judge who leaves by his side entrance. Then my parents and I walk out the front.

  “Don’t worry. Everything went well,” Michael tells me, grabbing my hand and squeezing it. “Tomorrow it will be my turn. Go home and try to forget about the trial. Have a nice family evening.”

  Mom nods and Dad agrees out loud as we slip our coats on. The surrounding cement walls are heavy and claustrophobic, and I feel as though everyone is looking at me. Quickly, I lead the way down a couple of flights of stairs and through a double set of doors. Finally, I take a deep breath outside. It’s February. A warm one like last year when it happened, but still grey and bleak.

  On the way to the car, Mom calls Wolfie on her cell. She tells him about how today went for us and asks him if there are things that need their attention at the office. “Okay, then we will come.”

  A nice family evening performing condo management duties.

  “Wait, Mom!” I catch her arm before she gets into the ca
r.

  She hesitates, one hand still on the door.

  “Did you mean what you said on the stand back there?”

  “Sunny! Of course. Every word.”

  “But it wasn’t all true. I was trouble for you and Dad.”

  “You are our daughter, no trouble to us.”

  My mother has a different way of speaking and I want so badly to understand.

  “What if I am guilty?”

  She sighs. “What is guilty?” She reaches out and touches the left side of my chest with one hand. “Your heart is good. I know this. Your father and your brother know this, too.” She looks into my eyes and grabs my forearms “When I am old, you will dye some of my hair pink too, yes?”

  “Sure Mom.”

  “You are never guilty.”

  I put my arms around her. She’s thin and breakable. It does too matter what the stupid people decide. Her eyes and smile will fade. Her bones will crumble, she’ll turn to dust and blow away. I want to say more to her, to be the kid I used to be when I was little, all adoring.

  But I let her go and we all get into the car.

  When we get to the office, Wolfie tells me that Alexis called. “She said Mr. Brooks is bringing the whole class tomorrow.”

  “Don’t look that way,” my father says. “Your friends wish to support you.”

  “Yeah, but it’s not like a basketball game where they can cheer.”

  He tilts his head. “Nevertheless, it’s nice.”

  “No homework either for the weekend,” Wolfie tells me.

  “Now that’s nice.”

  “I want to come too,” my brother suddenly announces.

  Dad glances at Mom.

  “It should be the last day.” She answers his unspoken question. “We can close the office. I will have news from the doctor tomorrow morning, too.”

  Discussion over, we settle into our usual routine. I open the mail, stamp it, circle amounts, and pass it to Mom. Dad calls a few contractors. This is what our family does together, office work. I smile, looking at my mother. She believes in me.

  The routine is comforting but when our pizza comes it’s hard to eat. Did I say the right things? What could I have done differently? The jury knows I lie sometimes. I admitted it myself. Will that be enough to convict me?