I stand up, too, and the judge sighs. "All right, Mrs. Frost, you too." At the bench, he murmurs, "I'm going to give them an Allen charge. Any objections?"
"No objection," Quentin says, and Fisher agrees. As we walk back to the defense table, I meet Caleb's eye, and silently mouth, "They're hung."
The judge begins to speak. "Ladies and gentlemen, you've heard all the facts, and you've heard all the evidence. I am aware it's been a long haul, and that you have a difficult decision to make. But I also know that you can reach closure . . . and that you're the best jury to do it. If the case has to be tried again, another group of jurors will not necessarily do a better job than you are doing." He glances soberly at the group. "I urge you to go back to the jury room, to respectfully consider each other's opinions, and to see if some progress can't be made. At the end of the afternoon, I'm going to ask you to come back and let me know how you're doing."
"Now what?" Caleb whispers, from behind me.
I watch the newly energized jury file out again. Now we wait.
Watching someone tie themselves in a knot makes you squirm in your own seat, or so Caleb discovers after spending two and a half more hours with Nina while the jury is deliberating. She sits hunched forward on a tiny chair in the playroom, completely ignorant of Nathaniel making airplane sounds as he zooms around with his arms extended. Her eyes stare intensely at absolutely nothing; her chin rests on her fist.
"Hey," Caleb says softly.
She blinks, comes back to him. "Oh . . . hey."
"You okay?"
"Yes." A smile stretches her lips thin. "Yes!" she repeats.
It reminds Caleb of the time years ago that he attempted to teach her to water-ski: She is trying too hard, instead of just letting it happen. "Why don't we all go down to the vending machines?" he suggests. "Nathaniel can get some hot chocolate, and I'll treat you to the dishwater that passes for soup."
"Sounds great."
Caleb turns to Nathaniel and tells him they are going to get a snack. He runs to the door, and Caleb walks up behind him. "Come on," he says to Nina. "We're ready."
She stares at him as if they have never had a conversation, much less one thirty seconds ago. "To do what?" she asks.
Patrick sits on a bench behind the courthouse, freezing his ass off, and watching Nathaniel whoop his way across a field. Why this child has so much energy at four-thirty in the afternoon is beyond him, but then he can remember back to when he and Nina used to spend entire days playing pond hockey without tiring or getting frostbite. Maybe time is only something you notice when you get old and have less of it at your disposal.
The boy collapses beside Patrick, his cheeks a fiery red, his nose running. "Got a tissue, Patrick?"
He shakes his head. "Sorry, Weed. Use your sleeve."
Nathaniel laughs, and then does just that. He ducks his head beneath Patrick's arm, and it makes Patrick want to shout. If only Nina could see this, her son seeking out someone's touch-oh, God, what it would do for her morale right now. He hugs Nathaniel close, drops a kiss on the top of his head.
"I like playing with you," Nathaniel says.
"Well, I like playing with you too."
"You don't yell."
Patrick glances down at him. "Your mom been doing that?"
Nathaniel shrugs, then nods. "It's like she got stolen and they left someone mean in her place who looks just like her. Someone who can't sit still and who doesn't hear me when I talk and when I do talk it's always giving her a headache." He looks into his lap. "I want my old mom back."
"She wants that too, Weed." Patrick looks to the west, where the sun has begun to draw blood from the horizon. "Truth is, she's pretty nervous right now. She isn't sure what kind of news she's going to hear."
When Nathaniel shrugs, he adds, "You know she loves you."
"Well," the boy says defensively. "I love her too."
Patrick nods. You're not the only one, he thinks.
"A mistrial?" I say, shaking my head. "No. Fisher, I can't go through this again. You know trials don't get any better with age."
"You're thinking like a prosecutor," Fisher admonishes, "except this time, you're right." He turns around from the window where he is standing. "I want you to chew on something tonight."
"What?"
