The drive to the city for court is long. Dr. Greer said he would meet us at the courthouse. As we pull up, I see he’s already there, with Tom.
“How was the trip?” Tom asks as I open the door.
“Quick,” I lie.
“I boxed up your things,” Dr. Greer says. “Do you need me to arrange a storage unit?”
“Um, can I bring them upstate?” I ask. But the expression on Dr. Greer’s face and the way Tom looks at him reminds me why I’m here.
“Actually, a storage facility would be easier. Thank you,” I comply.
He nods, and I hear the voice inside my head remind me: You may not be going back upstate.
As we go inside, the men follow behind me the way camp counselors do so they don’t lose a wandering child. The courthouse is a huge, expansive mass of concrete and marble. It’s beautiful—the way the two large staircases meet in the middle reminds me more of a castle or European cathedral than a government building. I look around at the ornate details on the walls. For a moment I forget what this building means to my future. Of course, the metal detectors and airport-security-style entry process are harsh reminders.
As we pass different people, I wonder if they’re here for reasons similar to mine. A set of large wooden double doors bursts open, and a petite woman with medium-long auburn hair lets out large sobs. An equally small man bursts through the same doors moments later and chases after her. Through the closing doors, I see it’s a standard courtroom, several rows of seats. Then I see what must have caused the woman such suffering. A young man, probably eighteen, is handcuffed and being led by officers through a door to the right of the judge. I swallow hard and look away.
“I’ve arranged for us to have this room until they’re ready,” Tom says, and I turn to find him holding a door open.
“Shall we go through the plan again?” he asks once we’re all settled.
“I think I’m good,” I tell him.
“Do you want to practice the questions?”
“No, I know what happened. I know what to say.”
“Do you feel comfortable?” Dr. Greer chimes in.
“As comfortable as I can be, considering I’m on trial for murder,” I say with unintended sarcasm.
“Very well then,” Tom says. “Dr. Greer, will you join me in the hall for a moment?”
“Why can’t you talk in here?” I ask.
“We need to discuss …” He pauses, clearly unsure how to deliver his message.
“Beth?” I guess.
“I warned Tom that speaking too much about Beth, Curt, or anyone else you’ve lost could be a trigger,” Dr. Greer informs me.
“Oh. I see.”
“We don’t want the trial to interfere with the major strides you’ve been making upstate,” he clarifies.
“I get it. It’s just that I prepared myself to hear a lot of painful things during the trial, so what’s one more conversation in here?”
“Why don’t we just step out and let you have a moment alone before the chaos begins?” Dr. Greer offers.
“Okay.” I smile at him.
Once they step outside, I stare at the wooden walls. The paneling looks like something our forefathers stood in front of for portraits. It’s old. The whole building is so old. I wonder how many people have had their freedom or even their lives taken here. I know many of them probably deserved it. But what about the ones who didn’t? The ones where the jury got it wrong? I feel my pulse in my head, and I can’t shake the thought. What if they get it wrong for me?
A short while later, Tom pops his head through the door.
“They’re almost ready. Ten minutes,” he tells me before disappearing back through the door.
Ten minutes. I know that as soon as we are in the courtroom, anything can happen. Including the worst. Unlike most other times in my life, I will the seconds to pass as slowly as possible. I breathe deeply, trying to still my nerves, but the fear courses through me.
The door opens again.
“It’s time,” Tom says.