Blind Turn

by Cara Sue Achterberg

  I watch Jake nod to Bobby as they pass. Karen and Brian follow him. Jess doesn’t look up. She swallows hard. I pray she will not throw up again.

  The door opens, and the judge enters. She is an older black woman with a creased face and tightly curled hair dusted with white who doesn’t look any happier to be here today than she did yesterday. Everyone stands when she enters, and she waves at us to sit. Then she opens a folder and puts on her reading glasses.

  Jess is visibly shaking when she takes the stand. Kevin tries to calm her with some questions about how long she has been driving, her school records, the track team. He asks her what she bought me for Christmas and she says a headset because she doesn’t like it when I talk on the phone while driving. I brace for the questions he has warned us about—how much she loved Coach Mitchell, how well she knows that road, her friendship with Sheila.

  The other lawyer breaks in, sounding like an impatient child. He wants to know what any of this has to do with the case. Kevin explains he is providing context. The judge tells him to move along with his questions, but she is not unkind when she does.

  Kevin guides Jess through the day of the accident, asking her about when Sheila arrived at the house and how she got there, skirting around the DA’s objections. When he gets to the actual accident, Jess struggles.

  “What do you remember about driving Sheila home that morning?”

  “I remember getting in the car and arguing about what to listen to on the radio. But after that, I don’t remember anything clearly. I remember hearing sirens, seeing flashing lights, but I think I was in and out of consciousness.”

  “The hospital record says you suffered lacerations to your face and head and had a severe concussion.”

  Jess nods.

  “But you don’t remember hitting your head or anything else about the accident?”

  “I don’t.”

  He moves on to her relationship with Sheila.

  “She’s my best friend,” Jess says. I look over at Sheila who glances up at Jess quickly, then looks away.

  “So it’s fair to say you know her better than most people?”

  Jess says, “Yes.”

  Sheila rolls her eyes, but a moment later she wipes a hand under one.

  “And in the time you spent with Sheila, did you ever witness her lying?”

  The DA objects to the line of questioning. The judge sustains it.

  “Would you say that Sheila lies easily?”

  Jess says, “Yes,” at the same time that the DA objects again.

  The judge reminds Kevin that there isn’t a jury and we are dealing with juveniles here.

  Kevin asks Jess about Sheila’s boyfriend, the captain of the football team. He asks questions like, “How would the student body react to the news that Coach Mitchell was killed in a car accident caused by a student?” The DA objects and objects over nearly every question Kevin asks, but I know he is only asking them to plant doubt. He said that was his goal for today—to plant doubt. So that the judge—and this town—understand that many factors beyond the text message contributed to Robert Mitchell’s death. He wants to point out that Sheila is very capable of lying and had a motive to lie, to absolve herself from blame.

  Next, the DA questions Jess. He is gentle with her, talking softly, but his questions are tough.

  “Just before you left to drive Sheila home, did you receive some news?”

  Jess squints at him.

  “Did Sheila tell you that her boyfriend had informed her that Casey Miller would ask you out?”

  “She did,” Jess says.

  “Were you excited about the potential text message?”

  “Objection!” says Kevin. “Jess had no idea the question would come in a text message.”

  “Let me rephrase,” says the DA before the judge can rule on Kevin’s objection. “Were you excited about the possibility of Casey Miller asking you out?”

  Jess nods.

  “Is it fair to say you were very excited?”

  Kevin objects, the judge rolls her eyes, nods.

  “Jessica, have you ever texted while driving? And remember you’re under oath.”

  “No,” says Jess, glancing at Kevin. She remembers his definition of texting while driving.

  “You’ve never taken a quick peek when you’re on a familiar stretch of road?”

  “No,” says Jess firmly.

  “Admirable,” says the DA. “But your friend Sheila says you read a text message this one time. Is it possible that in the throes of your excitement over this boy, that, just this one time, you loosened your own standards?”

  I want Kevin to object, but he is still, waiting.

  “Jessica?” asks the DA again.

  Jess is crying. She is looking down at her hands. Her shoulders shake. Finally, she says, “I don’t know.”

  The DA asks again, but Kevin objects and says he is badgering. The judge tells him to move along, but the DA says he has nothing further.

  It is over. Because this is a juvenile case and not a jury trial, Kevin has told me the closing statements will be brief. He will try to weave an alternative story, to be certain there is room for reasonable doubt.

  The judge writes something, then takes off her glasses before looking at Jess. Her look is hard, but on the very edges, I see sadness. She is probably someone’s grandmother. Maybe a girl like Jess. A good girl who is not infallible, who is only a child.

  The judge lifts a heavy folder, all the papers and character references Kevin has gathered. There is one from Jess’ track coach, a few of her teachers, Ellen Schultzman, Avery, and Mrs. Katz across the street.

  “I have had to do more than my share of reading for this case. You have both laid out your cases concisely and I appreciate that. I would ask that you also keep your final comments brief. This case has gone on longer than it should have considering it involves a minor. I would like us to bring it to its conclusion today.”

  I cannot tell from the judge’s face whether that means she is eager to get Jess behind bars or she is tired of hearing about it or if, maybe, she thinks Jess is innocent.

  The DA goes back through the facts. He says Jess is obviously a good kid, but sometimes good kids make dumb choices. It is the nature of a teenager to put herself before others, he says. As he says these things, fear grips my heart. He is smooth, persuasive; he is paving the way for the judge to decide Jess is guilty of this crime without saying she is a terrible person.

  “Robert Mitchell deserves justice and everyone, regardless of their age, must be held accountable for their actions.”

  He nods at the judge and takes his seat without looking at Jess or me. Bill Monroe has been here the entire time, sitting like a statue beside the DA, taking notes, rarely looking up. The last time I saw Bill Monroe was in July. I ran into him in the produce section of the grocery store and helped him find cilantro. He was doing the shopping for Linda for a dinner party they were hosting. He would have gone home with parsley if not for me.

  Now it is Kevin’s turn. He stands, buttons his jacket.

  “Your honor, I am not arguing that Jessica Johnson did not hit Robert Mitchell with her car, causing his death. But I would argue that she did not hit Mr. Mitchell because of her recklessness. She was not texting and driving. Her passenger was the person who opened and read the text. Jess was not distracted. As she approached the bend in the roadway where Mr. Mitchell was walking his dog, a series of unforeseeable and perhaps unavoidable circumstances came into play.

  First, at that time of day, the sun was hitting her windshield at an angle that makes it difficult to see, even i
f she was wearing sunglasses, which she was. The lacerations on her face attest to that fact. Second, the bend of the roadway prevented Jess from seeing Robert Mitchell far enough in advance to move her car further into the roadway to avoid him. And third, Robert Mitchell was walking his dog in the lane of traffic because there was not sufficient room on the shoulder.

  Jess is not at fault here. If we must assign fault, it would have to be on the county that did not provide a shoulder on this busy road or on the victim himself. Had there been a sufficient shoulder or had Robert Mitchell moved to the other side of the roadway to avoid the blind turn, this tragedy could have been prevented.

  I would ask that you not allow this tragedy to have more than one victim.”

  Kevin sits, and the courtroom is quiet. The judge looks through her paperwork, occasionally making notes. She does not look up for what seems like an eternity. Kevin has told me she may make her ruling right away or she may take a day or longer to think about it.

  “Before I make my ruling, would anyone from the Mitchell family like to speak?”

  We all turn to look at the Mitchells in the back of the courtroom. Bobby, Brian, and Karen sit in a row with Karen’s husband.

  I look at Jess, tears are brimming her eyes. Kevin hands her a tissue, and she blots her eyes. Karen Wilcox stands and walks to the front of the room. She is shaking as she unfolds a piece of paper. She turns to address Jess.

  “I’m sorry,” she says. “I wanted to say a lot of things, but now I can’t.” She wipes her eyes. The judge hands a tissue to a police officer who takes it to Karen. She blows her nose.

  “Take your time,” the judge says.

  I look at Jess. Her eyes are on Karen, but I see her fingers moving through the same nervous routine they have had since she was little. She pinches them together in succession. First thumb and pointer, then thumb and middle finger, then thumb and ring finger, and last thumb and pinky. Then she starts over. She used to do this whenever Jake and I started fighting.

  Karen looks at her paper and then up at Jess. She smiles through her tears. “When I heard how dad died, I was mad for a long time. Furious, really. But then my mom said to me, ‘What would your father say if he was here?’” Her voice cracks, and she has to take a moment to wipe her eyes again. She takes a deep breath and then looks at Jess. “He would say you’re just a kid who made a mistake.”

  Karen looks back at her paper. Jess is crying now.

  “My dad was the most amazing man,” Karen reads. “Not just at your school, but in my life. He dressed up as Santa for my kids last year. He loved people, especially young people. He would never want to ruin your life.”

  “But I ruined his,” Jess says and her words seem to echo through the courtroom.

  “Counselor,” says the judge, nodding at Jess and Kevin whispers to Jess. She is not allowed to speak.

  Now Karen seems to soften. She addresses Jess. “No, Jessica, you could never ruin his life. He had a wonderful life. And it would ruin his life if this accident ruined yours. I know if he were here, my dad would want us to comfort you. And I want to do that, but I’m not sure I’m ready to do that yet. I’m still comforting my own kids and trying to help my mom. But I need you to know I don’t condemn you.”

  She folds up her paper and walks back to where her brothers sit.

  “Anyone else?” the judge asks, but both men shake their heads.

  She clears her throat, takes off her glasses, looks at Jess.

  “This has been a hard case for me. There is much of me that sees you as just a little girl—unformed and uninformed, and yet when we give young people the right to drive, we must hold them to the same laws that we hold adults to. Jessica Johnson, regarding the charge of reckless driving, I find you not guilty. Regarding the charge of criminally negligent homicide, I find you guilty—while it is clear that you had no intention of doing harm in this situation, your actions resulted in harm.

  However, there are many, many contributing factors here. I believe you were not the only one at fault. Because of that, I don’t believe it warrants jail time. Instead, you will be on probation until you are twenty-one, you also may not drive a motor vehicle until that time. You will serve one hundred hours of community service in the form of educating others regarding the dangers of distracted driving.” She nods and gives Jess a tight smile. “Let’s see if something good can come of this.”

  The breath I am holding releases. I want to shout for joy, but I know that would be inappropriate considering the Mitchell’s pain. Karen’s words and their presence have been a glimpse into the nightmare they have been experiencing. There has been no room for it in my heart.

  None of us move as the judge leaves, followed by the DA and his people. The Mitchells are next to leave. As they walk past us, Bobby nods at Jake. We get up, but Jess remains seated, frozen. I crouch down beside her, look her in the eye, and take her hand.

  “It’s over,” I say and she nods. I pull her to her feet and wrap an arm around her. Jake takes her other hand. Kevin leads us out the side of the building again to avoid reporters.

  Standing in the parking lot, Jake asks, “Now what happens?”

  “Now we wait to see if there’s a civil suit. Frankly, I’m a little surprised they’ve waited this long to file one. All we can hope is that this guilty verdict will be enough,” says Kevin.

  54

  JESS

  For some reason, I assumed that when the trial was over our lives would be different. I mean, for months it’s all Mom has talked about, but afterward, we just go home and eat leftovers. Dad stays over on the couch because while they don’t say it, both my parents know this town won’t be satisfied with the judge’s decision. Sure, she said I was guilty, but she isn’t putting me in jail or in the electric chair like some people hoped. It’s like I got away with something, only I didn’t. It’s cool, really cool, that I will not go to jail, but talking in front of high school students about the accident seems scarier right now. Jail might be better. I have no idea what I will say. When I mention this, Dad says, “You’ll think of something.” Seriously, not helpful.

  Nothing happens Friday except I don’t go to school and Dylan comes over in the afternoon. We play scrabble in the living room because Mom doesn’t want us to be on the new porch. We’re still kind of in lockdown. I wonder how long we can live in this bubble before it bursts. Mom goes to her room, and Dad watches basketball. When the phone rings, which it does all day long, no one answers it. When there’s a knock at the door, we ignore it. Only a handful of protestors show up, and the reporters don’t hang around long. The plus is that whoever dumps trash on our yard won’t do it with an audience, so no trash this week. The internet is all in a flurry and the newspaper has plenty to say, but at our house all is quiet. Mom and Dad are painfully polite to each other and no one mentions Kevin. I’m bored out of my skull and jonesing for a run. I haven’t mentioned Helen Mitchell or her dog to anyone, not even Dylan, but I wonder if she was expecting me.

  Saturday morning after Dad finally leaves, Mom goes on a cleaning tear. She sorts out every drawer and closet and cleans the house to within an inch of its life. The phone still rings, and we still don’t answer it. The newspaper columnists are happy that I am guilty, but they are mixed in their feelings about my sentence. Several are still calling for my head. I try not to think about the judge’s words, “find some good in this.” I still have no idea what I will say if I really have to talk to other kids.

  Mom says, “Let’s not think about that yet, okay? Let’s just be happy this weekend.” As if she is happy in any way, shape, or form.

  Dad brings pizza over on Saturday night and we play poker with peanuts (his invention). When Dad finally asks about Kevin, Mom says, “I don’t want to talk
about it.” He wiggles his eyebrows at me, and I laugh. I think Dad has a crush on Mom, but he is blind if he can’t see that she is miserable without Kevin. Not just miserable, but maybe a little nuts too. I don’t know what the man did, but I sure wish he’d apologize.

  After all the lead up to the trial, it feels foreign not to have it hanging over our heads and odd not to hear from Kevin. It’s almost as if it was all one long, terrible dream.

  On Monday, school is no different. I don’t know why I thought it would be better. People still stare, there is some fresh graffiti on my locker, and Ms. Ellen still wants to know how I feel. After practice, I ask Mom to drop me off at Ms. Helen’s house.

  “Why?”

  “I have to walk Sherman.”

  “Who’s Sherman?”

  “Mrs. Mitchell’s dog.”

  “Why do you have to walk Mrs. Mitchell’s dog?”

  I shrug. “I just want to.”

  “Is she expecting you? Jess—what is going on?”

  “Nothing. It’s nothing. I just told her I’d walk her dog.”

  “Does Kevin know about this?”

  “No. Why would Kevin know?”

  “We need to ask him about it. It might jeopardize the civil suit. Let’s clear it with him first.”

  “Fine,” I tell her, but when I go out for my run, I go directly to Ms. Helen’s.

  — — —

  When I’m with Ms. Helen, it’s on her agenda, not mine. I’m willing to do anything she asks, but so far all she wants is for me to walk her dog and listen to her stories. Mom says no more about it, but she doesn’t ask Kevin about it either. With no trial, there’s no reason to talk to him, and she goes back to work at Morningside.

  Each day Ms. Helen is waiting for me on her porch. She tells me more about Coach Mitchell. He volunteered to go to Vietnam but got turned down because of an irregular heartbeat. One year there was no money in the school budget, so Coach Mitchell bought the jerseys for the team. The school board president asked Coach to consider going to graduate school so he could earn the qualifications to be a principal, but he said no, he liked coaching football more. Coach Mitchell drove a snowplow in the winter to make extra money when his kids were in college. He loved model trains, and he set up a train display at the retirement community where Mom works. I’ve seen it. The residents love to tinker with it. I wonder who will take care of it now.