19

Marydale was the only prisoner in the transport van. She fingered the cuffs of the suit Kristen had bought her until she felt a button start to loosen. She wished there were someone to distract her. Even an addict coming down in a spray of vomit would have been preferable to the rumble of the engine and the enormity of the thought: she might leave court a free woman, but she might just as easily return to Holten, change back into her prison uniform, and stay. For months…for years, if Gulu had her way.

When they arrived at the courthouse, a van from one of the television stations in Bend had parked outside the courthouse. The guard escorted her in, and Kristen met them in the lobby. She looked beautiful and impeccably coiffed, her soft brown hair swept up into a perfect French twist. She wore a different pair of glasses, their silver frames suggesting a powerful executive more than a sexy librarian. She squeezed Marydale’s arm.

Walking into the courtroom, Marydale was hit with a wave of recognition. Here was where it had all happened. She remembered everything: the faux-wood paneling, the wallpaper printed with Grecian columns. It looked like a movie set for a cheap thriller, everything pasted together and painted the color of something it wasn’t.

Aldean, Sierra, and her friends sat on one side of the aisle along with Grady, Neiben, and a few other townspeople. On the other side, like parties at a contentious wedding, Ronald Holten and District Attorney Boyd Relington sat in the front row, their backs glowering at her arrival. They had amassed their own small group of locals. One woman sat with her head bowed, one hand raised and the other on a Bible. An old man with a crew cut was furiously writing notes on a legal pad.

“She’s here,” someone said. There was a murmur of voices. Someone hissed, “Killer. Pervert.”

Kristen indicated a seat in the front and positioned herself between Marydale and the aisle. “It’ll be okay,” she said, but she kept opening and closing the leather portfolio in front of her.

“Who’s the judge?” Marydale asked.

Kristen hesitated. “The law is the law.”

“But it matters.”

Kristen put her hand to her own shoulder, as though to ease some tension that had gathered there. “Kip Spencer.”

“Spencer?” Marydale thought she had steeled herself for the possibility of a guilty verdict, but the disappointment she felt at hearing Spencer’s name told her nothing could prepare her. “He won’t let me out. Kristen, it doesn’t matter what the evidence says or the attorney general. You can’t hurt a Holten and get away with it.”

“But the attorney general isn’t going to respond, and that’s a good thing.” Kristen still looked worried, but there was a note of confidence in her voice. “It’s you against the state, and the state is represented by the attorney general. If he doesn’t respond, it’s like their key witness saying it didn’t happen. It means the attorney general doesn’t think there’s a case against your post-conviction relief. He’s basically saying you should never have been convicted, and he won’t oppose your release if the judge thinks it’s right.”

“But Kip Spencer…”

“We have to trust the process. He’s sworn to uphold the law.”

Eventually the door to the judge’s chambers opened. Judge Spencer appeared, older and thinner but with the same white handlebar mustache. He took a seat behind the bench, looking down at the room.

“All rise,” the bailiff said, and announced the case.

Judge Spencer motioned for them to be seated. “This is an open hearing on the post-conviction relief plea entered by Ms. Brock on behalf of Ms. Marydale Rae. As you know, a post-conviction relief hearing may reduce the original sentence or revoke it entirely. Given that Ms. Rae has already made parole, Ms. Brock is asking that the court void Ms. Rae’s sentence and erase her record. The attorney general has chosen not to respond. Ms. Brock, would you like to proceed?”

Kristen rose.

“Today I will show that Ms. Rae received incompetent council that led to her wrongful conviction for the murder of Aaron Holten. We have records here that indicate the police investigation at the time of Aaron Holten’s was…ambiguous. Some notes leading up to the final report suggest that Aaron Holten’s death was deemed self-defense.” She went on, running through several pages of her report. “Police now say there was no reason to expect that Aaron Holten was at Ms. Rae’s house under anything less than free will and that—”

“Get to the point. All this could have been determined at the time of the trial,” Judge Spencer cut in, “or at appeal.”

“And we have the testimony of Mr. Neiben.” Kristen paused.

Relington and Holten eyed Neiben with new interest.

“Today,” Kristen continued, “I will prove that defense attorney Eric Neiben failed to participate in voir dire, failed to mount a defense of self-defense, failed to request the charges be reduced to manslaughter, and did not petition to have vital evidence entered into the record. What is more, Mr. Neiben is here to state that he failed in these duties deliberately and at the behest of Ronald Holten, Aaron’s uncle, and that Ronald Holten in fact paid him ten thousand dollars to lose this case.”

“That’s bullshit!” Holten stood up. His ruddy complexion paled. “You know it! Throw this shit out, Kip!”

Spencer adjusted his mustache. “Ronald, this is my courtroom.”

“It’s lies. Fucking lies! My nephew was a decent man. And she…she lured him into her sick little world and killed him because he wouldn’t make a decent woman out of her.”

Kristen shook her head, and the anger Marydale saw in every muscle of Kristen’s face calmed her racing heart just a bit. At least Kristen knew the truth.

Relington joined in. “I prosecuted that case. I stand by my record. Just because she hired some big-firm lawyer to represent her—we don’t do loopholes around here. You know that, Kip!”

Judge Spencer placed both hands on the table. “Boyd.”

“Kip, the record stands! This is slander!” Holten said.

“Then let it stand. If it stands, it won’t matter what we hear from Mr. Neiben.”

“I can’t believe you’d listen to this,” Holten fumed.

Judge Spencer slowly shuffled his notes into a stack and pushed them aside. He propped his elbows on the table. “Ron, you know Boyd is a damn good attorney. He’s served this county for years, and his father did, too, and his grandfather.” He looked at Relington. “And we know what the Rae girl did, so let’s settle this once and for all, hear them out, and decide.”

Marydale wanted to sink her head into her hands.

“Ronald Holten is a good man,” Relington said.

“I know. He ran my campaign,” Judge Spencer said.

“You don’t have to hear this petition. You can throw it out,” Relington said.

Spencer ignored him, turning his gaze back on Holten. “I remember, Ron, you said you were glad we elected judges in the state of Oregon. That was the only way to get a fair hearing. We put your name up on this courthouse, and I stand by that. But, Ronald, I know your boys get rough from time to time.”

“That’s family business,” Holten said.

“I agree. But fair is fair. I’ve kept a lot of stuff out of court for you. Now the Rae girl wants to be heard. We’re going to hear this petition, and we’re going to hear from Mr. Neiben.”

“That man is a liar,” Holten said, backing away from the bench and glancing at the exit. “I’m calling my attorney.”

Kristen touched Marydale’s hand.

“You’re making a mistake, Kip,” Relington said before following Holten toward the door.

When the door closed behind them, Judge Spencer said, “Now, Mr. Neiben, if you’re ready, come forward.”

Neiben walked slowly down the center aisle, his feet barely lifting off the worn carpet. He took the stand like a man on the gallows.

“I am.” He wiped his forehead, then rubbed his hand on his pants.

“How are you related to the case?”

“I was Marydale…Ms. Rae’s public defender.”

“And in that capacity, did you do your due diligence to effect a positive outcome for Ms. Rae’s case?”

Neiben looked around the courtroom. Marydale felt his gaze dart away from her. Above Judge Spencer’s head the wall clock froze between seconds. Eric Neiben was going to lie. Marydale’s head throbbed. Her ears rang. She wondered if the adrenaline coursing through her body could actually poison her. There was no proof. There was no paperwork. No one wrote a receipt for a bribe. Neiben would say no, and the judge would believe him.

Then Kristen would clutch her hand, not knowing when they would touch again, or maybe she would just look down at her papers. Neither of them would cry. It was all too big, too final. Kristen, Portland, the distillery, the Tristess: Marydale felt it all slipping away. In their place was a cell and then life in a county where she’d be lucky to find someone willing to rent her a filthy apartment at double the price because no one wanted a felon living around decent, law-abiding citizens.

She hung her head. The second hand strained, then clicked forward. Neiben cleared his throat.

“I took a bribe to lose Marydale Rae’s case,” he said.

Marydale looked up sharply. She waited for a clue that she had misheard. Kristen mouthed, Yes.

“And who offered you that bribe?” Spencer asked.

“Ronald Holten.”

“How do you know it was him?”

“I met him. He gave me five thousand dollars in cash before the case went to trial and again after Marydale was convicted. My daughter was…She’d been in an accident. We needed the money.”

“Can you describe how you perpetrated this fraud on the court?”

Eric Neiben took an index card out of his shirt pocket and proceeded in a monotone. His explanation took a long time. “Any good defense attorney would have called for a forum non conveniens…have investigated the police department’s reports on the case…”

While Marydale did not understand all the terminology, she understood the story.

“Intent was determined based on Ms. Rae’s alleged invitation…Her seduction of Aaron Holten was no more than hearsay…If she had taken the stand…”

When Neiben had finished, Spencer asked, “I find it hard to believe that Mr. Holten specifically told you to lose. He’s a man of his word and a pillar of this community.”

Neiben checked his index card. “He said he wanted the right result. He made it really clear what that was.”

“Do you think you achieved the right result?”

Neiben’s voice grew rough. “I always thought Marydale was the victim, not Aaron.”

“That is also what your written testimony suggests,” Spencer said. “Mr. Neiben, you may sit down.”

Kristen stood up quickly. “Your Honor, may I question Mr. Neiben?” Kristen asked.

Judge Spencer held up his hand. “I think you’ve done enough, Ms. Brock.”

“Your Honor, I have a right to—”

“Hold your horses, Councilor. Sit down.” Judge Spencer took out a laptop from beneath his table and typed something.

“I will file a due-process complaint,” Kristen said.

Marydale felt Kristen clutch the back of her chair.

Judge Spencer closed his laptop and propped his elbows on the table in front of him.

“Ms. Rae?” he began, looking directly at her.

“Yes, sir?”

“Stand up when I’m talking to you.”

Marydale stood up.

“Aaron Holten was a young man. He wasn’t a perfect man, but he was a young man with a future ahead of him, and you took that from him. He never had a chance to raise a family, to carry on his name, to make amends. Do you understand what that means?”

Marydale lifted her chin, feeling her hair drape over her shoulders, unkempt but golden. She could feel Trumpet’s saddle beneath her. If you lose, she heard her mother whisper, you ride out tall. She took a deep breath. She knew what happened in courts, in jails, in prisons, in one parole office after another.

“Yes, sir,” she said.

“And your…ways, your life choices, made it very difficult for some people in this town to accept you. You can’t burn a flag or spit on a Bible and not expect someone around here to step in and say that’s just plain wrong.”

“I would never burn our flag,” Marydale said. “And I would never defile a Bible.”

“Oh, I think a lot of people would say you already have, Ms. Rae…metaphorically speaking.”

Judge Spencer paused, looked at his laptop, then hit one more key. “But,” he added with a sigh. “The law is the law, and I am sworn to weigh the facts and make just findings given the evidence presented.”

He looked past Marydale to the small group of people assembled behind her. “And while I know there isn’t one father or uncle out there who wouldn’t do what Ronald Holten did to get justice for that boy, I find substantial denial of Ms. Rae’s constitutional rights. On account of her attorney’s failure to provide effective council and in light of Mr. Neiben’s confession of tampering with the court, I hold the original verdict in the State of Oregon v. Marydale Rae void. Ms. Rae, your post-conviction relief is granted. You are released from your obligations to the state. I will draft my official statement by the end of the week. You are now free to go.” He nodded to the transport guard from the penitentiary. “I have alerted Holten Penitentiary that you will be returning without Ms. Rae.”

The guard rose, thanked Judge Spencer, and walked out. The judge gave a curt nod and stood up. A moment later he had disappeared into the judge’s chambers. The court was silent.

“Is that it?” Marydale asked. She was waiting for Spencer to reappear, to say that there was an exception, a loophole, a technicality. She was still guilty. Holten Penitentiary owned her, and they were taking her back

“Yes,” Kristen said, and hugged her. Marydale could feel her strength and smell the faint hint of sweat. “We did it,” Kristen said, her voice warm with tears. She pulled away. “Thank you,” she said to Neiben.

He sat facing the bench, his index card clutched in one hand. He glanced over. “I’m sorry.” Neiben sank his head in his hands.

“What’s going to happen to him?” Marydale asked quietly.

Kristen put her hand on Marydale’s back. “Come on,” she said. “He did what he had to do.”

A moment later, Aldean and Sierra and her friends crowded around them.

“We won!” Kristen said.

Aldean flung his arms around Marydale. “Star of the show,” he said. “Just like old times.”

Beside them, Sierra hugged Kristen. “I knew you could do it,” she exclaimed.

As the group congratulated each other, Marydale slipped out the side door, unconsciously scanning the area for Gulu or Holten or a guard. She knelt down to touch the brown grass that pushed through cracks in the pavement, then pulled a blade and touched it to her lips.

Kristen appeared at her side. “I told them you might need a minute,” she said.

Marydale wanted to tell her how grateful she felt and how stunned. She felt like she could breathe in the whole sky, and she felt like she should sit down lest she fly away into the atmosphere. But she didn’t have the words, so she flung her arms around Kristen and squeezed her and picked her up for a second.

“I can’t believe it,” she said.

  

Half an hour later, Marydale rolled down the window of Kristen’s car. There was a spring dampness in the air. In a few weeks the wildflowers would bloom on the Summit, hidden among the rocks where the frost didn’t reach them. The birds would migrate through the wetlands on the Harney County line. Then would come calving season, then the rodeo. She could see her mother riding out on Trumpet, his white tail swirling behind him.

They said nothing until they reached the Firesteed Summit and the world stretched out beneath them like a quilt.

“This is where we released my father’s ashes.” Marydale felt the wind blowing up through the gorge. “He said you can’t bury a cowboy in the yard behind the church. And Aldean and I…we threw my mother’s ashes here, too.”

Tentatively, Kristen slipped her fingers through Marydale’s.

“I think Tristess is changing,” Kristen said. “No matter what Ronald Holten thinks. I don’t think what happened to you would happen again.”

“I don’t know,” Marydale said.

“Do you ever want to move back?” Kristen asked.

“I was seventeen when I was convicted,” Marydale said. “I don’t even know who I’d be if I was still here.”

Kristen squeezed her hand. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s life,” Marydale said. “‘The past is the past,’ that’s what my mother used to say.” She picked through the words carefully, trying to remember the saying her mother had stitched onto a sampler in the living room. “‘The present is a gift…’”

When Marydale looked over, Kristen was crying.

“What is it?” she asked.

Kristen dropped her hand. “Don’t you see?” Kristen’s tears were at odds with the perfect whisper of blush on her cheekbones, her perfect taupe lipstick, her tiny pearl earrings, everything controlled and arranged.

“See what?”

“I should have stayed.” When Marydale didn’t speak, Kristen said, “If I’d have stayed, maybe you wouldn’t have had to go through all this. I should have fought for you then. Maybe we could have done all this five years ago.” She took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes, smearing her perfect makeup.

Marydale put her hands on Kristen’s arms, holding her and holding her away at the same time. She examined Kristen’s face, her thin lips, her restrained beauty, like the tiny wildflowers, at first indiscernible and then breathtaking. Then she pulled Kristen close.

“We don’t know what would have happened.”

Kristen leaned into Marydale’s embrace. “When I first got back to Portland, I had this clock in my mind,” she said. “A day. I knew you could forgive me for leaving for a day. Maybe a week? I don’t know when it tipped, but one day I was running down by the river. It was rainy. Everyone was out, biking and running with their dogs. And it hit me. I’d waited too long. I can’t even remember how long it was. Three months? Six months? I just sat down on a bench and cried. And now you can have any life you want. You can go anywhere you want.”

Marydale stroked Kristen’s hair, gazing over her shoulder out across the land. “I’ve been to Nevada. I’ve never even been to Vancouver, Washington.”

“It’s not great,” Kristen said.

“But you are,” Marydale said. “You were meant to be a lawyer and not here in Tristess. We don’t know what would have happened if you’d stayed. Maybe we would have been totally dysfunctional. Maybe we’d have adopted a couple of babies and then decided we hated each other. Maybe Eric wouldn’t have come forward. Maybe Judge Spencer would have said no. Maybe we wouldn’t have won five years ago. We don’t know.”

“But…” Kristen began.

“You lost your job. You were going to be partner.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does,” Marydale said. “You did that for me. You beat the odds…for me.” She leaned in and kissed Kristen gently. “You’ve already put in a day’s work. How about we crash at the Almost Home and then head back to Portland tomorrow?”

Kristen hesitated. “Sierra told me something,” she said. “We don’t have to do this, but the couple who bought your house, they’ve turned it into a bed-and-breakfast. It just opened, and they’ve invited us all to stay.”