Wavering Convictions

by Erin Dutton

  “What room are you in right now?”

  “I—uh, I’m in my bedroom.” Ally cleared her throat. “The master bed and bath were my first reno project. It’s my sanctuary. I’ve got a king bed with the best mattress I could afford, because my old body is starting to resent all my physical labor.”

  “Mine protests all the sitting I do.” Maggie didn’t have an eye for decorating. She’d never changed the plain beige walls in her one-bedroom apartment. When she’d first moved in six months ago, her heart crushed from a breakup, she hadn’t wanted to make it feel like home.

  “I did the bathroom in cool colors—white, light blue, and shades of gray. My bedroom is done in medium shades of the same colors. I like things that feel airy. Sometimes too much warmth can make a room seem heavy.”

  While Ally described the room around her, Maggie imagined her there. She didn’t ask what Ally was wearing. That would maybe cross a line. But she pictured her lounging in bed in comfortable sweatpants and a soft cotton T-shirt.

  “Where did you live before you bought the house?”

  “With my partner and her son. We split up and she kept our condo.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. How long were you together?” Maggie asked.

  “Four years.”

  “I recently went through a breakup, too. Though I can imagine yours was more complicated, with a child involved. The house we lived in was hers. So we only had to decide who would keep the cat.”

  “Her son was seventeen when we got together. He and I weren’t close. He never liked me. And now, at twenty-one, he won’t leave the nest. Honestly, that part of the separation was a bit of a relief. What about you? Did you get the cat?”

  “No.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. The little monster always loved her more anyway. He’d wait for me to walk by, then attack my calves with his razor claws.”

  Ally chuckled.

  “It’s not funny. I couldn’t even wear shorts in my own house.” This only made Ally laugh harder.

  They talked until Maggie’s eyes grew heavy, and even then, she didn’t want to hang up. She thanked Ally for distracting her. Ally’s soft “good night” was the last thing she remembered as she drifted off.

  Chapter Four

  Friday morning, Maggie pulled into the courthouse parking garage with a sense of déjà vu and the same foreboding shadow she’d had earlier in the week. This time she didn’t even pretend that she could brave the garage elevator. She hurried up the stairs behind a young couple, telling herself she was safe because anyone watching might think she was with them.

  At the security checkpoint, she filled the plastic bin with her belongings and passed through the metal detector without incident. She debated a cup of coffee in the café, but it wouldn’t be the same without Ally. So she continued to the elevators.

  Outside the courtroom, she unexpectedly caught sight of Ally down the hall with the attorney she’d seen her with Tuesday. She wanted a moment to thank her for last night. No amount of extra makeup this morning could hide the evidence of her lack of sleep. But at least instead of restless dreams, she had pleasant conversation to blame. She didn’t want to interrupt what was probably a private conference, so she headed for the restroom instead.

  While she was still in the stall, she heard the door open and the sound of footsteps on tile. A phone rang and a woman answered it. Maggie had never understood why people talked on the phone in the restroom. More than once, she’d heard someone have an entire conversation while in the stall next to her.

  “Mom, I can’t really talk right now. I’m about to go into court.” The same voice Maggie had listened to for hours the night before echoed through the room. Maybe she would get a few minutes to talk to Ally before entering the courtroom.

  “What more do you want from me? I’m being as supportive as I can. But if he did something wrong—no, I know he’s my brother.”

  Maggie flushed the toilet, then cringed at the sound that no doubt carried through Ally’s phone call. But why should Maggie be embarrassed? Ally was the one having a phone conversation in a bathroom. She straightened her clothes and had her hand on the door when Ally spoke again.

  “I have to go. Yes, I’ll tell Carey you love him, if I even get to talk to him.”

  Did she say Carey? Suddenly, the coincidental timing of their court dates made far too much sense. The courtroom had been filled with people who weren’t there for Maggie’s case, and she’d just assumed Ally was one of them. Her head felt heavy and she became nauseated. She walked out of the stall as Ally disconnected the call, turned toward her, and jerked to a stop.

  “Hey, Maggie. I didn’t know you were in here.”

  “No.” She barely got the word out past the sharp taste of bile in her throat. She hesitated, uncertain if she should run back into the stall and wait for Ally to leave.

  When Ally reached for her shoulders, she flinched. Carey Rowe’s face flashed through her mind, as she’d seen it that night—darkened by shadows.

  “Maggie.”

  She leaned against the wall next to the paper-towel dispenser and forced herself to stare at Ally until her features came into focus. Maybe she had this wrong. Ally didn’t look anything like Carey Rowe. “Who is Carey?”

  “My brother.”

  “Your last name is Becker.” She cleared her throat when her words came out as if through gravel. Had she imagined the moment’s hesitation before Ally spoke, as if Ally already knew the distress her words would cause?

  “He’s my half brother.” Ally nodded slowly, her expression flooded with sympathy that Maggie did not want to see. “Carey Rowe is my half brother.”

  “No.” Maggie turned to face the row of sinks and braced her hands against the counter. She met Ally’s eyes in the mirror, but having the reflection between them did nothing to dull the spike of pain driving into her gut. Ally had known before Maggie said anything. She’d already been aware that her brother was the man who robbed Maggie. “When did you know?”

  “I promise you, when we met, I didn’t realize you were the woman who—”

  “When?”

  Ally closed her eyes, and when she reopened them, she stared at the counter beside Maggie instead of meeting her gaze. “While we were on the phone last night.”

  “And you didn’t think you should tell me?”

  “I planned to—I would have.”

  Everything they’d talked about—all the personal details Maggie had shared—she’d given freely to the sister of the man who robbed her. She was still processing this realization when Ally’s words from earlier replayed in her head. Anger crashed into her anguish like the tide colliding with jagged rocks on the shore. “You said if.”

  “What?”

  “On the phone just now. If he did something wrong.”

  “I—”

  “You don’t believe it was him? Or you don’t even believe it really happened to me?” She didn’t wait for an answer to either question before shoving off the wall and glancing at the door, her escape route.

  “No. I—that was my mother on the phone and—God, Maggie, I don’t know what to say.”

  “You don’t have to say anything more.” She hurried from the restroom, down the hall, and into the courtroom. She’d rather flee the building entirely. But at least inside the courtroom, Ally wouldn’t be able to talk to her.

  This time she slid onto the most crowded bench she could find so Ally couldn’t sit near her. Nausea still churned in her stomach, and the buzz of conversation going on around her grated on her building headache. Ally. The woman she’d connected with in the café less than a week ago, the woman who’d offered her more comfort than anyone else had, was also the sister of her attacker. No matter how many times she laid out the details, she couldn’t reconcile that relationship in her mind.

  When the judge entered the courtroom, she barely managed to get to her feet. The chatter of the gallery had ceased, but she still couldn’t follow the proce
edings around her. She didn’t look for Ally but stared ahead at the wall behind the judge instead. The clerk read the docket, which the ADA had told her was like a roll call to check the status of each case. Any pleas or continuances that could be quickly disposed of were handled during this phase. The attorneys for the rest of the defendants indicated they were ready to proceed with a hearing, including the man Maggie now knew to be Carey Rowe’s representation.

  Maggie glanced across the aisle. Ally sat over there, in the row ahead of Maggie’s, staring back at her. Maggie fixed her expression into what she hoped was one of indifference instead of the confusion roiling inside her, then looked away, once more toward the judge’s bench. On the phone last night, she’d tried endless times to imagine Ally’s face while she spoke. Were her lips curled upward when she chuckled gently in response to something Maggie said? Did she narrow her eyes slightly as she tried to recall a detail in a story she’d told? Would her eyes warm as she expressed sympathy for what Maggie had been through? Now, Maggie wished she hadn’t noticed that Ally’s eyes telegraphed her every emotion. Or that right now, they were filled with grief, worry, and sorrow.

  * * *

  “Do you understand that by entering a guilty plea you are waiving your right to a trial?”

  The handcuffed man in the orange jumpsuit with DCSO emblazoned on the back glanced at his lawyer, then back at the judge. “Yes, Your Honor.”

  The defendant, who had assaulted someone with a knife during a Lyft ride, stared at his feet while the judge informed him regarding his plea. Ally had heard his attorney stress that he’d allegedly committed assault. But the prosecutor didn’t appear to harbor any doubt about his guilt, and Ally’s gut agreed.

  The judge multitasked while he spoke, robotically, as if he’d recited these instructions many times before. He passed file folders and papers back and forth with his clerk, stopping occasionally to sign one of them.

  Ally had already studied every inch of wood molding around the judge’s desk, the witness box, and the low divider behind the attorney worktables, as well as each gold and glass light fixture. She couldn’t find a scrap of sympathy for this man who got drunk, then started an argument with his Lyft driver, which had escalated into a physical altercation. What kind of guy pulled a knife on a man who’d tried to provide a sober ride home? She guessed somewhere in the galley, the driver waited his turn to testify if needed, but the defense attorney had negotiated a plea deal for his unfortunate client. Apparently, his charge of aggravated assault would be reduced to simple assault. From what Ally gathered, the lower, misdemeanor charge would garner him eleven months and twenty-nine days in jail. But lucky him, he’d get credit for the time he’d already spent locked up waiting for this hearing.

  Ally couldn’t imagine making a mistake that would ruin her life like that. But then, Carey had done exactly that, and they were raised together—same nature, same nurture. So she couldn’t be that far removed from the kind of person who was capable of such a misstep.

  The reminder that this guy wasn’t that different than her own brother forced her to look more closely at him. Thirtyish, white, with sandy-blond hair that didn’t seem to have been washed lately. This guy didn’t look like a scary dude. Yet, based on her thoughts moments ago, if Ally sat on his jury, she’d have locked him up for the felony.

  She’d judged this guy so quickly. Granted, he’d pled guilty. Though she didn’t have much legal knowledge, Ally figured pleas weren’t always about facts or character, but rather what the ADA could make a jury believe. All of this made her very nervous for Carey. He wasn’t a bad guy. And she still couldn’t get her head around what he’d done. Allegedly. She had even less doubt about Carey’s guilt. And he still had to face a jury of his peers. She glanced around. If his peers were anything like her, he didn’t stand a chance.

  She believed Maggie. Despite being unable to reassure her earlier while in the restroom, she somehow knew Maggie’s account of the incident would prove accurate. Her brother was capable of such an act, even if out of desperation. He’d been stealing from her and their mother for months before his arrest. She’d even started manufacturing reasons why they should meet in public, to keep from having to let him inside her house.

  She’d heard the anguish in Maggie’s voice while they were on the phone. She’d known Maggie for a matter of hours. Why did she so easily take her at her word?

  Across the aisle, Maggie’s gaze flitted around the front of the courtroom, and her brow furrowed as if she had trouble following the action. Ally had zoned out a time or two herself. Why did she have to sit here through the whole docket? She’d rather have come in just when Carey’s name was called. There had to be a better way than to have a courtroom full of people who weren’t related to a case bear witness to each defendant’s fate.

  Ally’s stomach clenched as Carey was led into the courtroom in an orange jumpsuit and directed to stand next to Jorge. She hadn’t seen him in several weeks, even before his arrest. He’d grown noticeably thinner since she last ran into him at their mother’s house. His perpetual five-o’clock shadow had turned into scruff. He usually kept his hair, the same almost-black shade as hers, cut short, but it too had gone shaggy. She made a mental note to talk to Jorge about getting him to clean up before his next court appearance.

  She wanted to catch his eyes, to let him know that she was there, but he stared at the table in front of him. Given the spiral he’d been on lately, she should have expected this day would come. But knowing he was in trouble hadn’t prepared her for seeing him this way.

  “Mr. Rowe, how do you plead?”

  “Not guilty.” Hearing Carey deliver the words clearly and without hesitation should have eased Ally’s mind. But she knew what a good liar Carey had become. He’d lied just as smoothly when confronted with irrefutable evidence that he’d stolen from his own family to buy drugs.

  The ADA called a police officer to the witness stand. He described being dispatched to the parking garage to find a distraught Maggie along with the woman who’d made the 9-1-1 call. Next, the detective who arrested Carey swore an oath and stepped into the witness box. He explained how a citizen had found Maggie’s purse dumped in an alley nearby. A fingerprint, later determined to be Carey’s, was found on the purse strap. When the same detective took Carey into custody, he had the gun, which fit the description Maggie gave, still on his person.

  The prosecutor didn’t call any more witnesses. Jorge had warned her that the ADA would present only enough evidence to get Carey’s case bound over to the grand jury, so that he wouldn’t reveal everything he had to Jorge until the discovery phase of the trial.

  When it was Jorge’s turn, he questioned the witnesses as to the timeline of events. But he’d already told Ally that the robbery report and arrest were likely enough for the judge to send the case to grand jury. He focused instead on making sure Carey would go to the recovery house, and then, if he was indicted, he would fight the charges at trial.

  As Jorge expected, the judge determined that the state had met the burden of proof for probable cause. After a short bond discussion, during which the ADA agreed to a lowered bond if Carey was released to the rehab program under strict supervision, the judge instructed his clerk to set a status court date, in sixty days, to assess Carey’s compliance with his bond conditions.

  The clerk gathered some paperwork and passed it through the court officer to Carey’s attorney. Carey signed, agreeing to his bond. Jorge had helped Ally contact a bond agent who was prepared to make the arrangements. When a deputy led Carey back through a door off the side of the courtroom, Ally glimpsed a cell with several other jump-suited men all awaiting their fate.

  The clerk called another name, and Ally stood and met Jorge’s eyes. He’d told her Carey would be taken back through the sheriff’s department holding area before being released. Jorge would drive him to rehab himself and said she could talk to him for a few minutes before they left. He’d told her to wait outside. As she turned towar
d the door, she saw Maggie slip out of the courtroom and rushed to catch up to her.

  * * *

  “Maggie.”

  Maggie heard Ally calling her name, but she kept moving. She had to get out of this building. When every muscle in her body screamed to run, she’d forced herself to sit through Rowe’s hearing. She’d kept her eyes on his back, as if daring him to turn and look at her, but he never did. She both wanted to see his face and dreaded it at the same time, as if testing herself. Would the rage simmering in her swell up and fill her? Or would her nausea eclipse it? She never answered those questions, and now she gave in to the need to flee.

  “Maggie, please, wait.”

  Ally sounded like she was gaining ground, but Maggie didn’t turn around to look. She arrived at the bank of elevators and stepped inside one, thankful to find it empty. Now if only the doors would close before—

  “Maggie, I know you heard me.” Ally slid between the doors just as they closed.

  Refusing to feel trapped, Maggie forced herself to look at Ally’s face. Her stomach twisted when she realized she was searching Ally’s features again for a resemblance to Carey Rowe. She gasped and turned away.

  “Please, let me—” When Ally moved toward her, Maggie jerked back and pressed tightly to the elevator wall. “I’m sorry.”

  Ally’s apology ignited Maggie’s anger. She refused to let one more member of this family make her feel like a victim. “For what? What are you sorry for?” She spun and took two steps, backing Ally up to the opposite wall. Ally’s eyes moved over her face, then dropped to her mouth, and Maggie hated that her body reacted even when she was so mad. If she surged forward, only a few more inches, she could kiss Ally. She stepped back, reclaiming her side of the small space. Her ping-ponging emotions left her struggling to speak, and Ally took advantage of the silence.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you as soon as I figured it out. I was shocked. I finally meet someone I—who I can—that I like talking to and—”