After a month-long trial, it took the jury just a few hours to find Gypsy guilty. Now she is back in court for sentencing. She sits with her state-appointed lawyer at the defendant’s table. Aleah, sitting just a few feet away in the front row, hardly recognizes the friend she’d spent so much time with. In place of her ridiculous hat with the dangling pompoms, Gypsy has a full head of spiky black hair. Her posture is straight and strong. No oxygen tank, no tubes, no wheelchair. And her clothes—even her orange prison jumpsuit—no longer hang off her body like drapery.
The bailiff demands the room’s attention as Judge Raymond Parnell takes his seat. He is past middle age but still young for a judge, with close-cropped salt-and-pepper hair and very fine, almost feminine hands. He does not smile, does not so much as glance at Gypsy or make eye contact with anyone in the court. Instead, he slips on a pair of glasses, takes up a single sheet of paper, and begins reading. Gypsy remains motionless. Aleah shuts her eyes, listens.
There is a brief preamble concerning the facts of the case and the options available to the court before Judge Parnell arrives at his decision: “In light of the long history of abuse endured by the defendant at the hands of the deceased,” he begins, “in light of the sequestration, if not downright imprisonment, that robbed her of anything resembling a proper childhood, and in light of the legitimate if misguided fear she undoubtedly felt for her own life, it is the ruling of this court that Gypsy Rose Blancharde shall serve the minimum sentence permitted by law, which is to say no more than ten years and no fewer than seven.”
Aleah has to clasp her hands over her mouth to keep from cheering. There are tears in her eyes, but when she looks at Gypsy she sees nothing: no joy, no anger, no sadness. Not even resignation.
A female bailiff signals for Gypsy to stand, then cuffs her hands behind her back and begins to lead her from the courtroom. They are within inches of Aleah before Gypsy spots her friend. She smiles, and Aleah notices for the first time that Gypsy has been fitted with new teeth.
“Can I get just a second?” Gypsy asks. The bailiff nods, takes a single step back. Gypsy turns toward Aleah.
“It’s real good of you to come,” she says. “I ain’t seen you in a while. You been all right?”
Her voice is lower-pitched and more relaxed than Aleah remembers.
“Who cares how am I?” Aleah says. “How are you? That’s good news you got today. At least, compared to what it could have been.”
Gypsy starts to answer, then sees that Aleah is crying, or maybe trying hard not to.
“What’s wrong?” she asks.
“It’s just…I don’t know. I miss you. I wish you could come home now. And I feel…God, I’m so sorry, Gypsy. I had no idea. If I’d known—”
“It’s OK, Aleah,” Gypsy says. “It’s all OK.”
“But how? How can it be OK?”
Gypsy smiles.
“I’m at peace now,” she says. “I’m freer than I’ve ever been in my whole life.”
“Yeah,” Aleah says. “I guess you are.”
She leans forward, gives Gypsy a quick peck on the cheek.
“We’ll go paddle boating on the lake when you’re out,” she says. “The two of us. And I’ll teach you to drive.”
The bailiff tugs on Gypsy’s arm. Gypsy looks over her shoulder as they walk off.
“I hope to God you’re far away from here by then,” she says. “But wherever you are, I promise I’ll come visit.”