I do not remember half of what I say. I remember only the tremor of my voice at the beginning, the way it smooths into something more certain as I see, out of the corner of my eye, James’s look of approval. I remember the faces of the jurors, suspicious, and then softening just slightly towards the end. I remember my clients next to me, their nerves painted on their knotted faces.
I return to my seat.
The defense’s closing is a measured exercise in boredom, the attorney’s words trailing off like smoke, and when it ends, I can’t tell if I’ve won or lost, only that I have survived. The judge gives the jury instructions, and then they are gone.
Twelve strangers, each carrying some fraction of my future in their hands, march into a side room to render judgment on my clients and, by extension, on me.
There is nothing to do but wait. James and Nash hover behind me, not saying a word. There’s nothing to say. We all know that the next hour (or ten) will stretch out every nerve beyond its limit.
After two hours, the judge returns and excuses us.
This jury deliberation is taking a long time, and I can’t tell if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.
We return the next morning for the jury deliberations, and while my anxiety is still running high, I at least have the reprieve of not having to do anything but continue waiting.
The jury returns at 11:26 a.m.
They carry their verdict in a sealed envelope. The foreman, clutching it with both hands, as if it could detonate if held wrong. I watch the foreman’s throat work as he stands, as he reads theverdict form. For an instant, the world narrows to the space between his lips and the air itself.
He reads: “We, the jury, find in favor of the defendant.”
The rest is a blur.
Mrs. Wilkinson releases a soft, wounded noise like a balloon losing air. Her son’s jaw flexes, and for a moment I am sure he will cry, but he balls his hands into fists so tight his knuckles turn white.
The judge thanks the jury for their service.
The defense attorney crosses the aisle and shakes my hand. Her palm is cold and dry, and her smile is a single, sharp line.
“You did well,” she says, and I want to spit, or run, or scream.
That’s it. Four days of testimony, three years of agony for a grieving family, and just seconds to erase it.
The rest of the words are just noise.
“Not proven by a preponderance of the evidence.”
“No damages awarded.”
“Jurors are excused with thanks.”
I leave the courthouse, unable to look or speak to James or Nash, knowing I won’t be able to do either without crying, and I go home.
Chapter 19
Idrive home with the radio off, windows up.
The world could be ending all around me with flaming meteorites crashing down and I probably wouldn’t notice. It’s the kind of drive where, when you finally get where you’re going, you have no idea how you arrived safely because you were dissociating the whole time.
By the time I reach my apartment building, my hands are sore from gripping the steering wheel so tight.
I ride the elevator up in silence, staring at my own reflection in the metal doors. My suit still looks perfect: jacket, skirt, crisp white blouse, not a wrinkle or a smudge.
And for a moment, looking at my reflection, I imagine what I’d be doing right now if I had won. I’d probably be hugging my clients so tightly that we squeeze the breath out of each other. I’d be out for drinks with the team to celebrate. I’d be reading congratulatory texts from my colleagues.
Those daydreams are interrupted when the elevator doors slide open.
My bag is dead weight on my arm as I step inside, dropping it just past the threshold. Salem meows from the couch and scurries over to me. I drop to my knees and bury my face in his fur, finally allowing my tears to fall. Salem indulges my sobs for a moment before squirming out of my arms and sauntering off.
