Jenna

THE COURTROOM

Friday we met with Gloria Miller, the prosecutor. She said she would have police cars bring us to court today, and they would take us in through a back entrance so we wouldn't have to talk to any reporters. When she said it I thought it was a stupid idea. So what if there were a few reporters around?

I couldn't believe it when we drove up this morning. There were tons of TV cameras set up out front, and I thought I recognized Audrey Perkins from Channel 6! She was interviewing Grandfather Eric and Aaron Mitchell, Dad's lawyer. While I wouldn't have minded seeing myself on TV tonight, I'm glad we didn't have to walk by all those reporters and cameras.

The courtroom is smaller than the ones on television. The judge's bench is to the left of where we're sitting. The place where the jury sits is to our right and directly across from the judge. There are two tables. Dad and Aaron Mitchell sit at the one closest to the judge. Gloria sits at the one directly in front of us. There're only about four rows on each side of the courtroom for spectators and most of those are filled with reporters. However, nobody else sits in the first row with me, Jeremy, Karen, Grampy, and Gran. On the other side of the aisle, behind the table where Dad is, Grandfather Eric sits by himself. I feel kind of sorry for him but not sorry enough to go sit with him.

Jeremy looks serious. He's staring straight ahead and clutching the backpack Mom made for him on his lap as if there's gold or diamonds inside. I asked him why he brought it but all he said was "Because." Sometimes he acts real smart and sometimes he acts like he's totally dumb.

When Dad was brought in by two guards, Jeremy gasped. Dad looks even thinner than the last time I saw him, this past winter, and he looks old. There's gray in his hair and his face is tight, like there's a string inside and somebody is pulling it. He didn't look at us. I feel kind of weird that he didn't, but then I think I would've felt weird if he had.

The jury is coming in, and I look at them and try to tell what they might be thinking and what they will decide about Dad. There're eight women and four men, and there's one big fat man whose hair is parted in the middle who looks like he would find his own mother guilty of something.

Things are moving along pretty fast. Gloria and Dad's lawyer start by telling the jury what each is going to prove. Gloria says the evidence will show that Dad was fighting with Mom in front of Sutter's, took out a gun, and shot her in the face twice. Why he did it didn't matter. "Nobody deserves to be shot in cold blood in the middle of the street at ten o'clock in the morning."

Aaron Mitchell is tall and blond and has a deep voice. He looks like a TV anchorman, and I bet if anybody can get Dad off, he can. He says the reasons do matter, that Dad was a battered husband who had been abused by Mom for years and had been pushed to a point where he snapped. All the while he's talking, though, Jeremy is muttering under his breath, "Liar. Liar. House on fire. Liar." He'd better keep quiet. Gloria told us that Judge Livingstone doesn't like talking in her courtroom.

After Dad's lawyer finishes, the first witness is called. It's somebody who testifies about talking with Mom in Sutter's that morning and seeing her walk out of the store. The next person says he was coming down the street toward Sutter's and saw Dad talking to Mom, saw him pull at her arm like there was something she had that he wanted, and then pull out a gun and shoot her in the face two times. Then, the man said, Dad reached down, and it looked like he took something out of Mom's bag or maybe one of her pockets, and ran away.

Gloria turns to Dad's lawyer and says, "Your witness."

Aaron Mitchell says, "No questions."

After that, the policeman who was the first to find Mom testifies about what he saw. When he starts describing the bullet holes and what they looked like, both Jeremy and I cover our ears. Gloria shows the jury some photographs of Mom lying on the sidewalk, and Jeremy and I put our heads down. We aren't close enough to see anything, but that doesn't matter.

Aaron Mitchell doesn't have anything to ask him, either.

Then another policeman talks about going to the house and finding Dad sitting on the front porch with a gun in his hand, saying he had shot his wife and was going to kill himself.

Next comes someone who says Dad's gun was the one that killed Mom. Somebody else testifies that he gave Dad some kind of test that showed he had fired a gun recently.

Then Reverend Edwards talks about what a good person Mom was, and after her, an art critic from New York talks about what an important artist she was. After he finishes, Gloria says, "The prosecution rests, your honor."

Judge Livingstone is young looking. She says that because the defense had no questions for any of the state's witnesses, that things are moving quickly and she wants to know if the defense is ready to put on its case. Aaron Mitchell says he only has three witnesses.

The first two are psychiatrists who talk about something called battered husband syndrome. It doesn't make sense to me. It's not like Mom was beating him up like some men do women. But both psychiatrists say Dad was afraid of Mom, afraid she was going to leave him for somebody else. Sure, Mom yelled a lot, but that was just her. She could yell one minute and be fine a couple of minutes later. That was one good thing about Mom. When she was angry, she let you know it and then it was over with.

Dad has just been sworn in and is sitting in the witness chair. He still doesn't look at us, but turns partway toward the jury and he's smiling just a little bit. It's like he's trying to charm the jury. He crosses his legs and from looking at him you'd never know he'd shot somebody. He doesn't look like a murderer. God, I bet he's going to talk his way out of this.

"Dr. Richards, would you begin by telling us something of your background?" his lawyer asks.

"Certainly. I have a bachelor's degree in psychology and a Ph.D. from Columbia. I have published widely in a number of psychology journals and given papers at conventions."

"Where were you employed?"

"I was chief psychologist at Birchfield College for almost twenty years. And I also have—had—a small private practice."

"And clients came to see you from places other than just Birchfield?"

"Yes. I had clients who came from Montreal and several over the years who would fly up once a week from New York to see me."

"When did you meet Rachel Pierce?"

"Rachel and I met in nineteen-eighty. She was artist-in-residence that year, and we met at the opening of an exhibition of her work We seemed to like each other and I invited her out for a drink, as I recall, and things developed from there."

"And how soon after that did you marry?"

"Two years later."

"Why the long wait?"

"Well, I had observed signs of what seemed to be psychological instability in her."

"Such as?"

"Her moods. One minute she could be very angry and the next she would be like nothing had happened. Quite frankly, her temper frightened me. She could fly into rages that were terrifying. After we had children, she would go into these tirades against our daughter, and poor Jenna would come to me, crying."

"That's a fucking he!" I whisper to Jeremy.

"Objection!" Gloria shouts, jumping to her feet

"Sustained," the judge says.

"What just happened?" Jeremy wants to know.

"I'm not sure. I think the judge said Dad couldn't talk about me. Especially since that never happened."

"Then tell the judge," Jeremy says. "Tell her."

"You can't do that in a trial, Jeremy. Shh. I want to hear what Dad's lawyer is saying."

"Did your wife seek psychological or psychiatric help?"

"I begged her to, but she couldn't see that she had a problem."

"And yet, you married her?"

Dad looks at the jury and smiles. "I loved her. And I thought that over time I would be able to help her. I also thought that having children would work a change on her over time."

"Did anything change?"

"Unfortunately, no. It was as if she now had another target for her unbelievable rages."

"And who was that?"

"Our daughter. I became fearful for our daughter's emotional health and developed a very close relationship with her to protect her from Rachel."

Dad is looking just at his lawyer as he says this. I think he's afraid to look at me and say that.

"You have a son?"

"Yes. I was afraid for him also, because he was so close to his mother. The two were inseparable. I didn't think it was a healthy relationship, but I did not intervene for fear that he would turn against me."

"Did you have other fears?"

"Well, yes. It is difficult to say this and I was ashamed for even thinking it then, but I wondered if she might be abusing him sexually."

"No way!" Jeremy says under his breath.

"Your honor!" Gloria screams, jumping to her feet "This is outrageous!"

"Your honor," Aaron Mitchell says calmly, "the witness is not asserting that his wife was abusing their son. He is testifying to his fear. His statement goes to his state of mind."

"I'll allow it," the judge says.

"Your honor," Gloria begins in a pleading voice.

"Sit down, counselor."

This is bullshit! I can't believe the judge is going to let him get away with saying stuff like that. He's lying, and Jeremy and I are the only ones who know it. But we can't say anything or the judge will throw us out. I've never seen Jeremy so upset. He's mumbling to himself and clenching his fists. I grab his hands and squeeze them tightly to try and calm him down.

"What led you to think your wife might be abusing your son?" Dad's lawyer continues.

"This past summer she moved out of the house and into her studio, a barn we had converted into a wonderful space in which she could paint. She moved her things out there and announced she was going to be living there from now on. And, to my consternation, Jeremy, our son, began sleeping out there also. I seldom saw either of them anymore, except at dinnertime."

"What happened that morning last October?"

"The children had left for school. I was sitting in the kitchen going over some case files of students I would be seeing that day when Rachel walked in. I was surprised. Rachel has always been a late sleeper and so for her to be up and about at eight o'clock in the morning was unusual. She said that we needed to talk. Then she proceeded to tell me that she wanted me out of the house by five o'clock that evening, that she was filing for a divorce. When I asked her why, she said that she had fallen in love with someone else. I wanted to know who. She wouldn't tell me, but finally she admitted that it was another woman."

I gasp aloud and just as I do, Jeremy pulls his hands out of mine and leaps to his feet and starts shouting, "That's a lie! That's a He!"

"Order! Order in the court!" the judge shouts, banging her gavel.

"I can prove it. He's lying! He's lying! I have proof! He's lying!" Jeremy shouts at the top of his voice, tears pouring down his face but staring straight at Dad. Frantically he reaches inside his backpack and pulls out a book with flowers on it, flowers like the ones on the web page.

"I have proof!" he says again, and holds up the book

"What is that, young man?" the judge wants to know.

"My mom's diary. It proves that he's lying!"

Dad's lawyer jumps up and starts shouting, "Objection! Objection!" and Gloria is on her feet shouting something, which I can't hear because everybody in the courtroom is talking. Dad's mouth is hanging open and he's staring at Jeremy like he wants to kill him. I can't see Jeremy's face, but I think he's staring back at Dad in the same way. Grampy has put his hand on Jeremy's shoulder and is squeezing it as if to let him know that he's proud of him, and the judge is banging her gavel real hard and fast and shouting, "Order! Order in the court!" until it gets quiet.

"Your honor, this is ridiculous!" Aaron Mitchell says loudly. He's so angry his face is turning red. "If you recall, judge, I expressed to you in chambers my concern about the attendance of the children at the trial. I was afraid something like this might happen."

"Sit down, counselor! I am not certain yet what has happened. Young man!" She's talking to Jeremy and she doesn't look very happy. "Is this some kind of joke?"

"No, ma'am," Jeremy says firmly. "I wouldn't joke about my mom."

The judge's face softens. She is looking at him and he's looking back at her. After a minute she says, "Very well. I want to read what you say is your mother's journal. And it had better be everything you say it is. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"I would certainly understand if you got upset by some of the things you've heard this morning, and I could excuse your outburst. I could not excuse your misleading this court or falsifying evidence. Do you understand what I mean by 'falsifying evidence'?"

"I think so. Would that be like in the O. J. Simpson trial when his lawyer said the police made up evidence?"

The judge smiles a little. "Yes. I guess you could say that"

"This is really my mom's diary. You'll see."

"Very well."

"Your honor!" It's Aaron Mitchell. "This is highly unusual. There is no way to authenticate this diary, and it has not been introduced as evidence."

"Keep your shirt on, Mr. Mitchell," the judge says, "This is an unusual case, a tragic one. And there are children involved. You opened the door, counselor, when you led your client to make certain claims about their mother, claims she is not here to verify or refute, claims which will be all over the news tonight. We're dealing here with the reputation of a well-known artist and the mother of these children. This diary may be her only chance to be heard."

Aaron Mitchell is still upset. "If you admit this—this unverified document into evidence, I will file an appeal."

"I would expect nothing less, counselor. Court will reconvene at two o'clock."

I've been looking at Dad, who's still sitting on the witness stand. After glaring at Jeremy when he first stood up, Dad's head dropped. He looks like a balloon that has had all the air taken out as he gets up, and a guard comes and takes him out a side door, his lawyer and Grandfather Eric following.

"Where'd you find that?" I ask Jeremy.

"In the back of the bottom drawer of the file where Mom kept all her drawings."

"Why didn't you tell me, you creep?"

"I didn't tell anybody. I was afraid somebody would take it from me."

"What did Mom say?"

A man in a uniform comes over and asks Jeremy for the diary. Jeremy gives it to him. "It's my mom's," he says solemnly.

He smiles. "I'll tell the judge to take good care of it"

"Thanks."

As soon as the guard starts to move away, reporters rush up to where we're sitting and start shouting at Jeremy.

"What's in the diary?"

"Where did you find it?"

"How old are you?"

"Do you want to your father to go to prison?"

Gloria Miller hurries over and pushes herself between us and the reporters. "The family doesn't want to talk to the press. Sorry, guys."

Gloria signals for one of the guards, who comes over and starts gently moving the reporters out of the courtroom. Jeremy is still standing. He looks like he's in a trance.