Waiting for Morning

by Karen Kingsbury

  Finch stood up straighter and hiked his suit pants back into place. “What happened between the bar and his front door was not something Mr. Wesley intended. So what was it?” He paused. “It was an accident. An accident.” Finch’s expression was one of great regret. He shook his head sadly. “Yes, Mr. Wesley made poor decisions. And yes, as a result, there was an accident.”

  Finch scratched his forehead absently, as though momentarily lost in thought. His hand fell back to his side and he stared at the jurors. “If you decide that drunk driving is akin to first-degree murder, you must understand that the next person involved in such an accident might be you, or the guy next to you. It might be the PTA mother out with the girls, or maybe the hardworking father sharing a few drinks with his buddies over an afternoon football game.”

  Carol shook her head angrily and leaned toward Hannah. “Like that would make it okay?”

  Before Hannah could agree, anger filled Finch’s voice. “You and I know the truth, don’t we? We don’t need three weeks of evidence. Lumping someone who makes a mistake, someone who drinks and then drives, into the same category as gun-wielding bank robbers and vicious gang members is ludicrous. Utterly ludicrous.”

  Tears filled Hannah’s eyes and she hung her head. She could see Tom and Alicia and Jenny as they’d loaded the Explorer with sleeping bags and coolers and fishing poles. They’d been so happy, laughing and teasing each other about who was the best fisherman. She remembered hugging them, feeling them in her arms before they pulled away, one at a time, and began the journey that would destroy their family forever.

  Brian Wesley was an intentional killer, and Hannah wanted to tell that to the jurors before they forgot everything Matt had already said.

  Unable to bear it, she wept softly, covering her face with her hands. As Harold Finch took his seat, Carol placed an arm around Hannah and rubbed her back gently. Distantly Hannah heard the judge dismiss the court until later that afternoon. Then before she could collect herself, Hannah heard Matt’s voice … felt his tender hand on her shoulder.

  “Hannah …”

  She looked up and accepted a tissue from Carol. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to break down.”

  “You have nothing to apologize for.” Matt removed his hand and stooped down to her level. “Don’t worry, Hannah. Finch didn’t say anything I didn’t expect.” Hannah sighed and adjusted the photo button on her lapel. “Did they get a good look at Tom and Alicia?”

  Matt nodded and Hannah saw the sadness in his eyes. “They did.” He hesitated. “Come on. Let’s get a bite to eat. I need to get back in an hour to meet with the first few witnesses.”

  As she rose to follow Matt and Carol from the courtroom, Hannah thought about calling Jenny … but there wasn’t time. Her closest friends in this, her new world, were waiting for her; and so, anchored by their support, she walked past the pay phone without a backward glance.

  Twenty-six

  Even when I call out or cry for help he shuts out my prayer.

  He has barred my way with blocks of stone; he has made my paths

  crooked. Like a bear lying in wait, like a lion in hiding, he dragged

  me from the path and mangled me and left me without help.

  LAMENTATIONS 3:8–10

  Court resumed at 2 P.M. and Matt called his first witness.

  Rae McDermott, the waitress from Sal’s Diner, took the stand. She related the events that led up to the accident. She told the court how she was getting ready to leave for the day when she spotted a white truck speeding east along Ventura Boulevard, approaching Fallbrook.

  “From where you stood, were you able to see the traffic signal, Ms. McDermott?” Matt spoke from a place midway between the jury box and the witness stand. He looked down, apparently checking his notes.

  “Yes, I could see the traffic signal clearly.”

  He nodded. “What color was it?”

  “Red. It was a red light.” Rae glanced disdainfully at Wesley. Hannah could have hugged her.

  “So … you watched the defendant, Mr. Wesley, drive his white truck through a red light, is that right?”

  Finch was on his feet. “Objection, your honor. Prosecutor is leading the witness. She said the light was red when she looked out, not when the defendant passed through the intersection.”

  Judge Horowitz looked bored by the interruption. Hannah could have hugged him, too. “Overruled. Continue Mr. Bronzan.”

  “Thank you, your honor.” Matt glanced back at the witness. “What color was the light when the defendant drove his truck through the intersection, Ms. McDermott?”

  She jutted her chin out and spoke in a clear, condemning tone. “The light was red. It was red as he approached, red when he drove through, and red when he barreled into the Explorer. It was red the whole time.”

  She shot Harold Finch a glare, and Hannah almost burst into applause.

  “And after the impact?” Matt asked.

  “I hurried toward the Explorer and began working with two other motorists to help the victims.” She shook her head, clucking sadly. “That poor little girl—”

  “Objection, your honor!” Finch bellowed. “Please ask the witness to confine her answers to the questions asked!”

  The judge nodded and looked at Rae kindly. “The witness will please answer the questions and refrain from elaborating.”

  Rae smiled up at the judge. “Whatever you say, your honor, sir.” Then she shot another glare at Finch.

  Matt stared down at his notes again, and Hannah thought she caught a glimpse of a smile. But when he looked up, he was all business. “At some point did the defendant exit his white truck and make his way toward you and the two motorists?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did anything about the defendant suggest to you that he’d been drinking?”

  Finch jumped up. “Objection! The defendant had just been involved in a severe traffic accident. It would be impossible for a bystander to know whether the defendant had been drinking or whether he was merely injured in the accident.”

  Judge Horowitz considered that. “Sustained. Rephrase the question, Mr. Bronzan.”

  Matt moved closer to the woman on the stand. “What do you remember about the defendant when he approached you after the collision that afternoon?”

  “He stunk.”

  Rae’s answer brought a few muffled giggles from the jurors. Hannah glanced at the panel. Good. They liked Rae McDermott. Matt waited for the court to be silent again. “He … stunk? Can you elaborate for the court, please?”

  “Sure.” She flipped her hair back. “I work at a diner, serve drinks to half the people all day long. Heck, done so all my life. The defendant—” she cast another contemptuous glance at Brian—“smelled like booze.”

  “Booze as in alcoholic beverages? Wine …? Beer …? That kind of thing?”

  She nodded firmly. “He smelled like beer. In fact, if I were a bettin’ woman, I’d say he’d had himself a case of beer before getting in that truck.”

  “Objection! Your honor, there’s no way this witness can possibly know how much alcohol, if any, the defendant consumed before getting in his truck.”

  Judge Horowitz looked slightly amused. “Sustained. The jury will disregard the last part of the witness’s answer.”

  Hannah drew a deep breath and felt a wave of exhilaration. The judge’s warning was too late. The jury already had the image in their minds—Brian Wesley stumbling out of his car, reeking of alcohol. There was nothing a judge could say to undo the mental picture.

  Matt continued. “Ms. McDermott, can you identify the man you saw that day, the man who drove through the red light, crashed into the Explorer, exited his truck, and then made his way toward you and the two motorists. The man who smelled like beer.”

  “Sure thing.” Rae pointed toward Brian Wesley. “He’s sitting right over there.”

  “Thank you, no further questions.”

  When Finch was through cross-examining, it was four o’
clock, and Judge Horowitz dismissed court until Monday. Hannah stood—and suddenly she was surrounded by members of the media, many whom she recognized from her work with victim impact panels. A chorus of voices vied for her attention.

  “Hannah, was there anything that surprised you about the opening statements?”

  “Do you have any comments on Harold Finch’s suggestion that a guilty verdict would set a dangerous precedent?”

  “Are you happy with the prosecutor’s approach?”

  “Do you have any predictions about a verdict?”

  She had become a media darling, and she handled their questions like a professional, understanding why they were drawn to her. The media saw her as the beautiful, angry widow with a cause. They liked her, and they played her point of view perfectly in the press. She took time with them gladly and left only when Matt appeared in the distance and motioned for her.

  He smiled at her. “Do you have a few minutes?”

  She was breathless from speaking before the television cameras, rocked with feelings that ranged from anxious anticipation over the trial, bitter hatred toward Finch and Brian Wesley, and a cavernous sense of loss.

  What she should do was go home. Spend time resting … time with Jenny. Still …

  Spending time with Matt was extremely appealing. He was safe and kind and on her side. He didn’t fault her for her involvement with victim impact panels, and he didn’t badger her to read Scripture. He was her friend, and now—in the wake of a flood of emotion—she wanted nothing more than to find a quiet place and talk with him.

  She glanced at her watch. “I’ve got time, why?”

  “I thought we could talk, brainstorm about how the trial might go and how things went today.” He began walking down the corridor, and she fell into step beside him.

  “Okay. Let’s go outside though. It’s stuffy in here.”

  Matt nodded. “You’re right. We’ll spend enough time inside over the next few weeks.”

  They headed for the stairs, and as she had earlier, for a moment Hannah considered Jenny, home alone, despondent. A nagging voice reminded her that she should go home and try to make amends in their relationship, but she had no patience for Jenny’s self-pity. She was tired of trying and too busy fighting the war for justice. The trial would be over soon enough. There would be time then for mending the bond between them.

  “Thinking about Jenny?” Matt gazed down at her as they moved out into the courtyard.

  How could a man who barely knew her be so perceptive. He’s a Christian. The thought came before she could stop it. He’s an attorney, she silently retorted. “Yeah. She should be here.”

  “You’re angry with her, aren’t you?” Matt lowered himself onto a graffiti-smattered cement bench, leaving plenty of space for Hannah. She sat at the other end and turned to face him.

  “Sometimes I think I’m mad at everybody.” She studied him. “Everyone but you and Carol. I wouldn’t have made it this far without you two.”

  “Jenny’s pulling for you, too.”

  Hannah huffed softly. “She has a fine way of showing it.”

  “May I say something?”

  Hannah sighed. “What?”

  “Be careful. Don’t let her think this trial … anything … is more important than she is to you.”

  “It’s not that. She has to understand—”

  “Hannah.” Matt’s interruption was gentle. “Long after this trial is over, whether we win a conviction or not, there will be you and Jenny. Don’t lose sight of that.”

  “We will win a conviction.” Hannah crossed her arms.

  “If it isn’t God’s will, it won’t happen.”

  Hannah sighed and looked skyward. “Please. Don’t start talking about God’s will. If it was his will to allow Tom and Alicia to die, then certainly it would be his will to allow Brian Wesley to go to prison for the rest of his life.”

  “Not necessarily.”

  A pang of doubt hit Hannah. “Matt … is there something you’re not telling me?”

  He shook his head. “No, nothing like that. I feel confident about winning a conviction.” His gentle eyes scanned her face. “I just don’t want us to put all our hope in that. The true hope comes from knowing that you and Jenny will be all right, that God has a plan for your life long after this trial is over and forgotten.”

  She bit her tongue to hold back the bitter retorts she could have said. Matt was her friend and he didn’t deserve her anger. Instead, she directed the conversation back to the trial, asking Matt how he thought the day had gone and what they could expect in the weeks to come.

  He answered her questions, but she could see in his eyes that he knew what she was doing. And she was grateful to him for letting her get away with it.

  The day had gone too well. She simply couldn’t bear to have it—or her time with Matt—ruined by talk of a God Hannah could no longer trust.

  By the time Hannah got home it was dark, and the lights in the house were out. She tiptoed up to Jenny’s room and opened the door. The girl was asleep in bed.

  Jenny doesn’t need me.

  Hannah was hit by a sudden, powerful urge to kiss her little girl, to brush her blond bangs off her forehead and pray over her as she had done all her life before the collision. But everything had changed now. Jenny didn’t want to be kissed, didn’t like her mother touching her forehead. And Hannah knew better than to pray.

  She sighed, shut the door, and made her way to her bedroom. Jenny didn’t need anyone. She had survived one of the worst traffic collisions in the history of the San Fernando Valley. Certainly she would survive another few weeks without Hannah’s undivided attention.

  Before turning off the light, Hannah spotted Tom’s old, leather Bible, still sitting atop his dresser. Nearly a year had gone by, and Hannah had packed away most of Tom’s and Alicia’s belongings. But Tom’s Bible had been so dear to him, his faithful companion each morning in the early hours, long before Hannah or the girls were awake. Other than photographs, Tom’s Bible was the only reminder that he once had lived there, once had shared a room and a life with Hannah.

  The worn Bible called to her at times like this, times when the echoes of another endless, lonely night ricocheted off her bedroom wall making it nearly impossible to sleep.

  Back in the days when she could sing “Great is Thy Faithfulness” and mean every word, back when she and Tom shared and lived their beliefs, she would occasionally pick up his Bible and scan the pages, enjoying the notations he’d written in the margins.

  But Scripture held no hope for Hannah now. She turned her back so that the Bible was out of view, and fell asleep dreaming of the way things used to be.

  Twenty-seven

  He drew his bow and made me the target for his arrows.

  LAMENTATIONS 3:12

  After her mother left for court Monday morning, Jenny dressed, pulled her mountain bike from the garage, and set out for the cemetery. It was four miles away, but Jenny knew a shortcut. With school out and the verdict still two weeks away, she knew exactly what she wanted to do. She hopped on her bike and set out.

  Twenty minutes later she pulled up to the spot where Dad’s and Alicia’s tombstones lay on a grassy knoll. Jenny climbed off her bike and dropped down crosslegged next to the stones.

  “Hi, Dad. Hi, Lecia.” She wrapped her arms around her knees. A warm, summer breeze drifted through the nearby trees, and Jenny wondered if she should have worn sunscreen. She planned to be here all day.

  “I can’t believe it’s been almost a year. Gosh … if you guys only knew how much I miss you.”

  A pair of swallows sang out from opposite trees, but otherwise there was silence.

  “Mom is so freaked out. All she cares about is the guy who hit us and getting him into prison. She spends all her time on it.”

  Jenny examined the tombstones closely. “I’ll be with you guys pretty soon … I’m waiting for the verdict. That way Mom will be finished with everything all at once. T
he trial, the guy who hit us, and me. I’m only in the way.”

  With no other visitors around to bother her, Jenny began to cry. Her chest convulsed, and she sobbed like she hadn’t done in weeks. Not for her father and sister because she would see them again soon. She cried for her family, for the way they had been before … the way they would never be again. When her sobs slowed, she stretched out along the ground, closed her eyes, and placed one hand on her father’s stone, the other on Alicia’s. She fell asleep that way, tears still drying on her cheeks, reaching out to the only people she knew loved her.

  Across town at the Criminal Courts Building, Hannah watched Matt speak with a bailiff and then head toward her. He appeared upbeat and full of energy.

  “I’ve reviewed the list of witnesses.” He smiled. “Depending on cross-examination, I should be finished by the end of the week. Finch doesn’t have much. If everything goes right, he’ll be done Wednesday. That could mean a verdict as early as Friday or the following Monday.”

  A swarm of butterflies invaded Hannah’s stomach. “That soon?”

  Matt nodded and gently squeezed her hand. “In a case like this, the sooner we make our argument the better. Juries get bored with statistics and redundant testimony. Two weeks is perfect.”

  She nodded and spoke in a choked whisper. “Go get ’em, Matt.”

  The first witness of the day was Sgt. John Miller. He testified about the accident scene, how everything had appeared when he arrived, how badly the Explorer was damaged, and how Brian Wesley had failed two field sobriety tests.

  The next witness was Dr. Larry Keeting, head of the crime lab and the person responsible for the results of the blood alcohol test.

  Matt immediately took the offensive on the issue of timing and how quickly alcohol absorbs into the bloodstream.

  Hannah kept her eyes trained on him, trying to see the scene through the eyes of the jurors.