I draw away to look at his face. That bow of a mouth, the slope of his nose. His eyes, preserving memories like the amber they resemble. Keep them, I think. Watch over them for me.
By now, I am crying hard. "I promise, it won't be forever. I promise that you can come see me. And I want you to know every minute of every day that I'm away from you . . . I'm thinking of how long it'll be before I come back."
Nathaniel wraps his arms around my neck and holds on for dear life. "I don't want you to go."
"I know." I draw back, holding his wrists loosely.
"I'll come with you."
"I wish you could. But I need someone here to take care of your father."
Nathaniel shakes his head. "But I'll miss you."
"And I'll miss you," I say softly. "Hey, how about if we make a pact?"
"What's that?"
"A decision two people make together." I try for a smile. "Let's agree not to miss each other. Is that a deal?"
Nathaniel looks at me for a long moment. "I don't think I can do it," he confesses.
I pull him close again. "Oh, Nathaniel," I whisper. "Me neither."
Nathaniel is glued to my side the next morning when we walk into the courthouse. The reporters that I have almost become accustomed to seem like a cruel torture, their questions and their blinding video cameras a modern gauntlet I have to survive. These will be my Before and After pictures; DA-cum-convict. Print your headlines now, I think, since I am going to jail.
As soon as I reach the barrier of the double doors, I hand Nathaniel to Caleb and make a dead run for the restroom, where I dry heave into a toilet and splash water on my face and wrists. "You can get through this," I say to the mirror. "You can at least end it with dignity."
Taking a deep breath I push my way out the swinging door to where my family is waiting, and see Adrienne, the transsexual, wearing a red dress two sizes too small and a grin as large as Texas. "Nina!"
she cries, and comes running to hug me. "Last place I ever thought I'd want to be is in a courtroom again, but honey, I'm here for you."
"You're out?"
"Since yesterday. Didn't know if I'd make it in time, but that jury deliberation's taking longer than my sex change operation."
Suddenly Nathaniel has wormed his way between us, and is doing his best to climb me like a tree. I heft him into my arms. "Nathaniel, this is Adrienne."
Her eyes light up. "I have heard so much about you."
It is a toss-up as to who is more stunned by Adrienne's presence- Nathaniel or Caleb. But before I can offer any explanations, Fisher hurries toward us.
I meet his gaze. "Do it," I say.
Quentin finds Fisher waiting for him in the courtroom. "We have to speak to Judge Neal," he says quietly.
"I'm not offering her a plea," Quentin answers.
"And I'm not asking for one." He turns, heading for the judge's chambers without waiting to see if the prosecutor will follow.
Ten minutes later, they are standing in front of Judge Neal, the angry heads of safari animals bearing witness. "Your Honor," Fisher begins, "we've been here so long; it's clear that the jury is going to hang.
I've talked to my client . . . and if Mr. Brown is willing, we'd like to submit this case to Your Honor and have you decide the facts and the verdict."
Well, if Quentin was expecting anything it wasn't this. He looks at the defense attorney as if the man has lost his mind. Granted, nobody likes a mistrial, but to let the judge rule is to adhere, strictly, to the letter of the law-something far more beneficial to the prosecution, in this case, than the defense. Fisher Carrington has just handed Quentin a conviction on a silver platter.
The judge stares at him. "Mr. Brown? What would the state like to do?"
He clears his throat. "The state finds this perfectly acceptable, Your Honor.''
