by Annie Jocoby
Slade nodded his head and looked at the wall. His hands were clasped in front of him as he just stared. “I was afraid of that,” he said softly. “Mom was changed so much from her last prison term. She went into prison a loud, fun and lively woman. She loved to cook and she loved to paint and sing. She was very young, you have to remember, when she went to prison. She had me when she was only 15, and she was 22 when she killed my father. It was hard for her to be behind bars for all those years. Especially since I was never allowed to visit her.” He shook his head. “Damn Helen for keeping me away from her all those years.” He got quiet as he looked at the wall some more. “Damn her. Anyhow, when my mom got out, she was a different person than what I remembered. That was why it was so important to me to keep Charlotte in check all those years.”
“I understand it was hard for you,” I said, putting my arm around Slade. “And for your mom.”
“Yes,” Slade said, but I could tell that he wasn’t really into talking about this situation anymore. “Well, do what you can do,” he said lightly. I knew that his wall was up, his emotional wall that held back all the tragic things that had happened in his life. Slade was a master at covering up what he was really feeling. I’ve known that from the start, which was why I was forever grateful for those moments when he became vulnerable to me. Those moments meant the world to me.
“So, I guess I need to get to work on Margot’s case,” I said. “And I have to eventually get back to San Diego. I do need to go to Malcolm’s funeral, even if that’s the last place I want to be.”
“I need to go into my office today, so it’s just as well that we stay here for awhile. I need to speak with my team about my transitioning back to full-time soon. After all this bullshit is over, I’m going to get back to it, and, I have to say, I can’t wait.”
Later on that day, after Slade called the movers for his mother’s new home in San Diego, and preparations were made to move her into the home, I got in contact with Dr. Sanderson. I didn’t go into the office, preferring to work from home. I wasn’t quite ready to be in the presence of Derek again. To my relief, Dr. Sanderson had an opening for me to talk with him and brief him on Margot’s case. I wanted to pick his brain and see if this was a case that seemed to be one that we had a chance on, and then I wanted him to actually evaluate Margot.
I parted ways with Slade that morning, as he went into the office to have his meeting with his team. He was going to be going back in the near future, and the company wanted to make that happen as soon as possible.
I still felt vaguely uncomfortable about all of that and about my future with him. I constantly felt slightly off-balance with Slade, and it was a feeling that I hated. He was going to return to live in LA, at this house, and he refused to discuss what was going to happen with us if he did so. I wanted to take the bull by the horns and just force him to tell me what he thought was going to happen with us, but I couldn’t bring myself to.
So, I ended up not talking to him about that, again, and went about my business. I was an independent woman, goddammit, and I didn’t need a man to validate me. Not even a man like Slade. I loved him deeply. I probably loved him more deeply than I had ever allowed myself to love anyone, and there would be an irrevocable hole that would be left in my heart if we ever broke up. But I had to put that feeling aside and simply take things as they came.
I got to Dr. Sanderson’s office at 10 AM. It was a beautiful office downtown in one of the high-rises, and it was right down the street from my own office. When I arrived, I didn’t have to wait. The receptionist, Dawn, explained to me that Dr. Sanderson was waiting for me and that I could go on back.
“Thank you,” I said, as she led me behind the door and down the corridor to Dr. Sanderson’s office. It was a gorgeous office with wood paneling and a mahogany desk. The lighting was soft, and the carpet in the office was plush and new. It even had a new-carpet smell.
Dr. Sanderson stood up when I went through the door. “Hello, Ms. Roberts,” he said to me, extending his hand. “It’s so good to see you again.”
“And you,” I said, taking a seat on the leather couch that was at the outer-edge of his office.
“I understand you have a case for me to evaluate,” he said, getting out his pen and paper. “Tell me about that.”
“Her name is Margot. She’s 43 years old and she has a checkered history, to say the very least.” I then told Dr. Sanderson all about her – about her abusive marriage, her stint in prison, her rapes by prison guards, and how that all led into her shooting Hugh. The doctor listened carefully, while he made copious notes.
When I finally finished telling Dr. Sanderson the basics about his future client, he was quiet for a few minutes. He made a bridge with his hands as he appeared to contemplate what I had just told him. He finally just took a deep breath and blew it out. “I’ll evaluate her. I was just thinking that I’ve had a similar case as this. I gave expert testimony on Battered Wife Syndrome and PTSD. It was one of the most difficult cases of my career, unfortunately.”
“Why was that?”
“Well, of course, in the case of Battered Wife Syndrome, the direction of the violence is from the abused to the abuser. The classic case is where a woman, or a man, kills his or her partner after years of physical and/or mental abuse. It’s a difficult defense, even if that is the case. My other case, the one that was like yours, was eerily similar. It was a woman who was abused by multiple men in her life, and she killed somebody who she felt had threatened her. She was in the throes of flashbacks when she did it.”
“Was that case successful?”
“Unfortunately, no, it wasn’t. Well, that’s not entirely true. She was charged with first-degree murder, but was convicted of manslaughter. So, it was a partial victory.”
I picked up a paper weight on his desk. It was an absent-minded thing that I tended to do when I was feeling stressed. This doctor wasn’t giving me confidence that Margot’s case was winnable.
“I know what you’re thinking,” he said. “But that other case wasn’t the same as this case. Your client has the added stressor of having been in prison after killing her prior abuser, and being re-victimized while she was there. That could very well tip the jury in her favor. I’ll be honest, though, it’s a long-shot.”
“A long-shot, but not impossible, right?”
“Not impossible. Nothing is ever impossible. I need to see her right away, though, and evaluate her. When can she come in?”
“Anytime. She doesn’t work. She’s moving into a new home today, but, other than that, I think that she should be free.”
“Make an appointment with my receptionist on your way out. I’ll evaluate her and then I’ll give you my honest opinion on whether or not I can do justice for your client.”
“Thank you. That’s all that I can really ask.”
I shook his hand, and stood up to leave.
“Thank you for considering me again,” he said. “I have enjoyed working with you in the past, and I hope that we can be successful with this case.” He was referring to the fact that I had secured him for another case that our legal team actually won.
I hoped and prayed this case would be just as successful.
After I left Dr. Sanderson’s office, I felt slightly emboldened. I went across the street to a deli and got a veggie sandwich and I realized that I was just running and avoiding. It was human nature to run and avoid difficult situations, so I wasn’t beating myself up about that, exactly. What I was doing, however, was thinking about how I could beat the demons that Derek represented in my life. Could I confront him and stand up to him? Could I show him that I wasn’t afraid of him? Could I convince him, and myself, that he didn’t beat me?
I didn’t know, but I was going to find out soon. I was going to have to see him at Malcolm’s funeral, and then I was going to have to go back to my own home. I had to be strong and face my fears about him. I couldn’t give him power over my life. I refused to give him this power. I saw what
happened when you give up your power – you end up like Margot, beaten down by the world. I didn’t want the same thing to happen to me.
It wasn’t going to happen to me.
When I got back to Slade’s LA home, I found him and we packed up to go back to San Diego. I was nervous, so nervous about the fact that I was going to be seeing everyone from my office and was going to have to face them. Nervous about seeing Derek.
“Don’t worry,” Slade said, putting his arm around me. He seemed to read my mind. “It’s going to be okay.”
“The funeral is tomorrow. It’s going to be a huge affair, I would imagine. Malcolm knew a lot of people.”
“But that’s not what you’re worried about.” He punched me lightly on the arm. “Who knows? Maybe that bastard won’t be there at the church. After all, he didn’t know Malcolm at all. Why would be pay his respects to someone that he didn’t know?”
I had to admit, Slade had a point. I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t know. What I do know is that he’s an ass-kisser. He always was in school, anyhow. He’ll probably go just to save face with his new co-workers.” I tried to make light of the situation, as Slade always tried to with every serious situation. “And he’ll probably be there just to torment me.”
We made our way to Slade’s SUV, and packed it up, along with the two dogs, who were eager to get into their carrier. They associated their carrier with going someplace new, so they usually were excited by the prospect of traveling in the car. Our plan was to go back to Slade’s house, spend the night, and go to the funeral in the morning.
The next day, I dressed in a black dress and Slade put on a dark suit. He sighed. “I hope that the media isn’t going to be there,” he said. “I don’t want to mess with that today.”
“One would think that they would be respectful, but, then again, they’ve never been respectful to you the entire time your case was going. Why would they start today?”
“You’re right about that.”
He held my hand and we made our way to his Tesla after I put Bella and Gigi out in the backyard. They were getting so big and they entertained me so much. Nothing gave me joy like watching their two little fat bodies running after a lizard or chasing each other around. Of course, being with Slade also gave me immense joy, so I had to count my blessings. I had to think of these happy thoughts for when I eventually had to face Derek.
We got to the church, and, just like I feared, Derek was standing out in front with some of my other co-workers, including the repulsive Cindy. And, just like Slade had feared, the media was out in force. Malcolm’s death was at the center of this huge story about Jordan’s death. When it was revealed that he did it, the media frenzy went into overdrive.
As we approached the church, St. Paul’s Episcopal, which was a large traditional church downtown, there was a buzz amongst the reporters who were camped out just beyond the church property. I felt sick. These people were such vultures. How dare they show up to a man’s funeral? In fact, they weren’t just there to take pictures of Slade, they had news teams camped out front as well. I saw several men and women with microphones and cameras trained on them. They weren’t on the church property, of course, as they weren’t allowed. They therefore had to give us a wide berth, but, when Slade and I approached the front door of the church, they immediately started shouting to him to make a comment.
Slade just shook his head and ushered me into the heavy wooden doors of the church.
I went up to the casket, and looked in. I immediately thought about my mother. I didn’t go to her funeral, because I just couldn’t handle it. I told my family that I was getting my nails done, because I was covering up my true feelings. I really went to the woods that day and tried to forget about the fact that I had lost my mother in the most devastating way possible. Even the fact that the media was here at Malcolm’s funeral brought me back to my mother’s death, because the media was all over my family for awhile as well. After all, the McDonald’s massacre was huge news, and my mother was the last person killed. They didn’t leave my poor father alone. I hated them for that, and I hated them for being at this funeral.
Malcolm looked peaceful, surprisingly enough. There wasn’t any reason for a closed-casket thing, as he had hanged himself. Well, he was hanged. Whether or not he did it was another matter.
Slade was right behind me, and, when I turned around, I saw the widow and the three girls in the front pew. My heart went out to them. How must his poor widow feel, knowing that her husband did all that he did? Did she have any inkling that he was living a double life, or was she completely blind-sided? Was she being harassed by the media night and day?
I closed my eyes and concentrated on her. I seemed to get my answer to my questions. She was heartbroken, absolutely heartbroken. It showed on her face, as she had all the tell-tale signs that she hadn’t gotten much sleep in the past few days. She had bags under her eyes that she had tried to cover up with makeup, and she was very pale. She hung her head and her shoulders slumped. A daughter was on either side of her, and she was gripping their hands tightly. They were very young, less than 10, and they were crying.
My heart went out to all of them. It made me sick that they were yet more victims of Charlotte’s craziness. What other innocent people were going to be devastated because of that woman? Jane, Margot, Malcolm’s widow and children, me…not to mention Slade. So many devastated people and all because of one psychotic bitch who needed to be put in her place.
I went up to her and I kneeled down and put my hand on her shoulder. I tried to communicate to her without a word that she wasn’t alone. She nodded her head and tried to hold back more tears. “Thank you,” she said. She seemed to understand what I was trying to convey, and that heartened me.
I stood up and Slade was waiting for me. We took our seats in our pew and, after about another half hour of people proceeding past the casket, the minister started his sermon.
While the minister was speaking, I kept looking over at Slade. He was an atheist – was he thinking that this guy was full of it? After all, the sermon was all about God’s love and grace. I closed my eyes and Slade didn’t seem to be cynical about it. He was listening intently and didn’t seem to be bored. For some reason, this made me love him all the more. He showed that he could be respectful when he really needed to, even when he was presented with situations that should have made him feel uncomfortable.
I felt some tears coming to my eyes. I was surprised how affecting this sermon was. Maybe it was the words that the minister was speaking, maybe it was the fact that I really was mourning Malcolm more than I acknowledged to myself, or maybe it was that everything was still so chaotic in my life. Probably a combination of all of these things were making me feel devastated. Slade noticed my tears and he put his arm around me while he listened to the minister speaking.
He gripped my hand tightly, and I felt comforted.
The service was over after about an hour of the minister speaking, and I wanted to get out of there. It was a touching sermon, but I didn’t want to face my co-workers, especially Derek. Slade and I high-tailed it out of there, as opposed to standing around and talking with everyone. We also didn’t go to the reception that was happening afterwards. I just wasn’t mentally ready for any of that, and I didn’t want to face questions about my punching Derek just yet. I thought that I would just be a distraction anyhow. We therefore left right away, after ignoring the reporters who were still camped just outside of the church property.
On the way back to Slade’s home, he took my hand. “That was a nice service,” he said.
“It was. Did it make you uncomfortable at all?”
He shook his head. “No. I mean, I don’t believe in all of that, of course, but I know that people take comfort in their beliefs, so I think that these services provide something good for the survivors of tragedy.”
We were quiet for a little while as I watched out the window and Slade concentrated on the road. I eventually decided to bring up a
delicate issue, although I was apprehensive about doing so. “Did you go to your father’s funeral?”
Slade took a deep breath. “No. I was only 7, but that was when I decided that there wasn’t a God. I used to say my prayers every single evening, and I always prayed that my father would stop beating my mother. Nobody ever heard me. Then, when my mother went to prison, I knew that there wasn’t anybody listening to me. How could there be when that was the outcome?”
I had to admit that he made a lot of sense. “So you didn’t go to the funeral because you felt that it would be a sham?”
“Yeah. Even at that age, I knew that it would be a sham. Besides, I was happy that my father was dead. I didn’t want to pay my respects, so to speak. I told the social worker who was assigned to my case in foster care that I refused to go to that funeral, and, to her credit, she didn’t force me to. So, I haven’t ever been to a funeral until just now.”
All at once, I saw behind his façade. Slade had such a careful armor around him that it was difficult for me, a natural empath, to really understand what was underneath. He had so many carefully constructed walls that made sure that he never really absorbed negative feelings. I now knew that, underneath it all, he was still that scared little boy who was angry with the world. He probably learned to stuff down his feelings when he was in foster care and, especially, when he lived with the icy Helen. It was a wonder that he was as well-adjusted as he was.
I took his hand and kissed it. He smiled at me, but he couldn’t hide the small tears that had formed in the corner of his eyes. I ran my fingers through his hair and he shook his head. “I didn’t think that I would have been affected like that,” he said. “I didn’t realize that going to a funeral of a slimeball would be so moving.”