“I hope it works out, Molly, if you really care about him,” Lourdes says instead, feeling cowardly.
“I do. I feel more alive when I’m with him. I like that other women look at him. The sex is phenomenal.” Lourdes had heard these exact words from Molly about other men. She sounds more like a teenager than an adult with a responsible job. She hopes Molly doesn’t go into any other details about her sex life.
“You and Carlos still at odds over the abortion decision?”
“He’s threatened to tell my parents.”
“That’s horrible. You should never have told him anything or if you did, lie.”
“I wouldn’t lie to Carlos.”
“You shouldn’t have to, but he’s acting like an ass. What will your parents say?”
“Probably they’ll be angry. More than angry. My mom’s not pro-choice. My dad’s worse. We’re supposed to go to lunch at their house tomorrow. Believe it or not Steve’s bringing a girlfriend home.”
Molly laughs. “I can’t believe it. But good for him. You’ll have to tell me all about it.”
“I will, but I’m worried that instead of having a good time and meeting her, Carlos will decide to tell everyone about my abortion case and all hell will break loose.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
After meeting Molly and doing some errands, Lourdes has the rest of the day free. Carlos isn’t there when she gets back. No note. She should finish working on Monday’s sentencings. She doesn’t. She reads some. Worries about what will happen tomorrow. Can’t believe Carlos will tell her parents anything. Who knows what Carlos will do these days.
Saturday night. Not a word from Carlos. She’s happy to be home alone. Decides to order a pizza, and watch TV. Enjoy some perks of solo living. If Carlos were here, he’d want sausage, pepperoni, or bacon. She likes mushroom, onions and peppers. That’s what she’s going to have. She changes into more comfortable clothes, pours a glass of wine and defrosts some lemon bars.
Another perk. She can watch Law and Order. Comfort TV. Makes her laugh even if or because it gives people the wrong idea about how courts function. Carlos is the only one she knows who doesn’t like Law and Order. He never forbade her watching it, but he’d sulk or make nasty remarks. She doesn’t like football, but she’s a grown-up. She either watches it or goes in another room. She never tried to make him turn it off. Why had she let him decide what she watched?
Her cell rings. Carlos? Not a number she knows, not the police with a warrant request. “This is Lourdes.”
“Lourdes, it’s Rick Diaz, Carlos’ mate.”
Her heart sinks. “Oh my God, is he okay? Hurt?” She pictures him bloody and bruised lying in his wrecked car. She puts down her wine, hands shaking.
“He’s fine. Well, he’s not fine, but he’s not hurt or sick or anything. He spent last night at my place, crying. Not the first time.”
Lourdes doesn’t know what to say. Carlos crying in front of Rick? That’s not the man she knows. At least he wasn’t with a woman. Maybe she hasn’t paid enough attention to him. Maybe she’s too concerned about her new job.
“I’ve been worried about him and I’m more worried now that I realize you two aren’t gettin’ along.”
“Has he told you what’s going on?”
“No, but any idiot can tell something is.”
“We’ve been arguing a lot. He drinks too much. Drinks and drives. At first when you called I thought he had an accident.”
“I make sure he doesn’t drive when he’s drunk. He drinks because he’s in a lot of fuckin’ pain.”
“Do you think he’s using drugs, too?”
Rick doesn’t answer. “What I’m trying to say, is, Carlos isn’t okay. He has PTSD. It’s hard to understand unless you’ve been there. Being in a foreign place, people trying to kill you, every day, every night. Seeing buddies blown up. Trying to keep it together.”
Lourdes knows he has PTSD. But no idea what to do about it. “I’ve tried to get him to go to counseling, but he says he can handle it.”
“That’s how most guys handle it. They don’t.”
“Doesn’t the VA have counseling specifically for PTSD?”
“The VA doesn’t know shit. I went to what they called a ‘support group’. They tried to forced me to talk about what happened over there. Made me listen to other people’s horror stories. I quit after two. Had nightmares every night for months. Fuck the VA.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be fuckin’ sorry for me. Worry about Carlos.”
“I don’t know what happened to him there. He won’t tell me anything. Not during, not now. What am I supposed to do if he refuses to talk or admit anything’s wrong? All he ever says is, ‘I’m fine’. ‘Leave me alone.’ Or he just sits around and drinks.”
“It’s hard to discuss that shit with civilians. Especially your wife. You’re supposed to protect her. You need to understand Carlos isn’t some asshole who drinks too much. He’s sick. He cares about you. I hate to see him losing it. The worst thing that could happen now is if you leave him.”
“What do you mean?”
Rick raises his voice. “Don’t act stupid. He needs your support. He needs you to act like a wife. People with PTSD kill themselves. You don’t want that on your conscience.”
He’s suicidal. What can I do about that? I was right about no guns. But for the wrong reason. They need to be away from him. A gun safe won’t help. How can I get them out of our house? If I got a domestic violence protective order, I could ask the judge to have him surrender the guns. Not sure I have enough evidence to get one, but this is one time being a judge would be in my favor. He’d be so angry. That might end our relationship. Can’t do it. Why is Rick yelling at me?
“How do you know I don’t act like a wife?”
“He’s sleeping in my house, not your bed.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
Lourdes woke up Sunday with a feeling of dread. Again no Carlos. First time he’s been gone two nights in a row. At least, she knows where he is. Better Rick’s than a woman’s. She still has no idea if he will join her at her parents’ house. She isn’t sure she wants him to. She prefers making up some lame excuse about why he couldn’t come instead of sitting there waiting for him to drop the bomb.
She hasn’t finished preparing for Monday’s hearings. She planned on finishing them last night. She’s almost ready to blame her procrastination on stress. Lourdes had previously pooh-poohed the idea that stress causes headaches, stomachaches and procrastination. Tough people can handle stress.
Lourdes had assigned Becca to work on Rule 32s, Petitions for Post-Conviction Relief. When she started Lourdes read the petitions herself, did the research, and made her ruling. Then she would give it to Becca to write it up. After a while, Becca had asked if she could do it all. Lourdes would still review it, make sure Becca hadn’t missed any issues, and made the decision Lourdes would have.
Lourdes had rarely done appellate work in her career. At the PD’s office, there was a special division for that. Some lawyers enjoyed writing and not having to go to court or have face-to-face meetings with clients. Lourdes and Molly both enjoyed interaction with people and the adrenaline rush of trying a case. Not to mention occasionally winning.
A Petition for Post-Conviction Relief is usually the defendant’s last shot. There are several grounds, but most common is ineffective assistance of counsel. In layman’s terms, the lawyer screwed up. Lourdes is shocked by some of the shoddy petitions she receives from private lawyers. A high school student could do better. She’s used to public defenders who take these petitions seriously and do a quality job.
Some families let their wives, husbands, or kids rely on public defenders for trial even if they can afford a private lawyer. When they’re found guilty and sent to prison, relatives fall prey to sleazy lawyers who convince them, for tens of tho
usands of dollars, they can get the case reversed on appeal.
They rarely mention that only about three percent are reversed on appeal, and even if a case is reversed, it doesn’t mean the person will go free. The state will retry the case if it can. Sometimes too much time has passed and they may not be able to find witnesses. Sometimes when a case is reversed, the judge rules some evidence can’t be used and the state can’t make their case without it.
Most defense lawyers are reputable and if they take the case on appeal they have reasonable grounds. Lourdes passionately believes most public defenders are terrific lawyers. They’d even be fabulous if they had money to hire investigators and experts of their choosing and manageable caseloads.
Lourdes also has to finish preparing for three sentencings—an aggravated assault, a felony theft, and a probation revocation. Ironically, the most difficult concerned Crystal Lewis, who had admitted she violated her probation by missing counseling. Normally she would continue a defendant with this violation on probation. Maybe a weekend in jail, maybe not. But this is the fifth time Crystal’s PO has filed a petition to revoke.
Crystal is nineteen, looks fifteen. Petite, she has long brown hair that surrounds her small face and big blue eyes. She always admits when she uses or messes up. She cries and promises to do better in a small, sad voice.
Crystal, like many of the addicts she’s sentenced, had a horrendous upbringing. Her dad was never in the picture. Her mom was a heroin addict and had a series of men in and out of the house who both sexually and physically abused Crystal. Neither her mother nor any other family member had protected her. In spite of all the violence she has a sweet and trusting personality.
Lourdes receives a pre-sentence report from a probation officer every time she sentences someone. A first-time offender’s report is long, detailing family and marital status, education, any mental or physical health issues and a detailed social history. Crystal’s newest report is short. Her fourth petition to revoke was only a few months ago. Little has changed. Lots of reading. The original probation report and four additional ones from each time her PO filed a petition to revoke.
Crystal had lucked out. Her PO, Jim Ronstadt, is the most lenient in the department. Even he’s fed up with Crystal. She expects his recommendation will be six months jail or maybe prison.
Lourdes looks at the clock and realizes it’s time to get ready to go to her mom’s. She’ll have to finish her work later. She puts on a pair of black capris, a black and white patterned tunic and the earrings Carlos had given her. Where is he?
Just as she’s about to leave Carlos walks in. “I’ll be ready in a few.”
“Okay,” Lourdes says.
The car’s atmosphere is tense. Neither speaks. Carlos puts on some Mexican music and he sings almost unconsciously with the music. The ride between Lourdes and Carlos’ home to her parents home takes only ten or twelve minutes on a Sunday, but today seems longer. She’s glad to get there.
Carlos follows Lourdes up the concrete path that leads to her parents house. It’s a small adobe on the Southside. Before Lourdes can open the door, the smell of Mexican food greets them. Her brother Steve followed by a lovely girl—young woman opens the door and gives Lourdes a big hug. When he lets go, he introduces her. “Lourdes, Carlos, this is Maricela.”
“Hi, Carlos, Lourdes, it’s a pleasure to meet you both.” Lourdes is glad to see she has no visible tattoos or piercings. Her parents are probably swooning because she’s Latina.
“It’s great to meet you. What are you studying, Maricela?”
“I’m not sure yet. Just taking basic undergrad classes.”
“I told you she’s just a normal person,” Steve interrupts. “Maricela is intimidated by you because you’re a judge.” Maricela blushes.
“Don’t be,” says Lourdes. “Please.”
“Carlos is a security guard at the Raytheon plant,” adds Steve.
“Nothing compared to being a judge,” Carlos says, sarcasm evident in his voice.
Dad—who’d walked into the kitchen after a quick hello—comes back into the living room. He gives Lourdes a big hug. “Carlos, want a beer?”
“Sure.”
“Anyone else?”
No one answers. Why does he have to drink?
Her dad returns with the beer for Carlos, and the two of them talk and laugh. Since the night at the hospital when Carlos talked him into staying at rehab, they’ve been closer. She’d always wanted the two of them to have a better relationship. Why did it take so long? Why couldn’t they have gotten along years ago? Lourdes isn’t sure she cares, now. She tries to listen to their conversation worrying about what she might hear.
Steve and Maricela sit down on the couch, Lourdes takes the chair closest to Dad, but all she hears is sports talk.
“Where’d you two meet?”
“We had a class together,” Steve answers. “I noticed her right away. She’s so gorgeous. I tried to sit close to her, but she ignored me. I’d walk out of class with her and she’d hurry off. I’d almost given up when I ran into her at the Student Union eating lunch. I asked her, no told her, I was joining her for lunch and that was that.”
“I wasn’t ignoring him. I wanted to meet him. He said impressive things in class. I’m just shy. As soon as I like someone I start acting strange.”
“My brother said impressive things in class?”
“Lourdes, can you come in the kitchen and help me for a minute,” her mom calls.
Lourdes walks into kitchen. Her mother has pots on every burner and something in the oven. She gives Lourdes a hug.
“How can I help?”
“You can’t. I wondered what you think of Maricela?”
“She seems very nice. They seem to care about each other from the little I’ve seen.”
“Dad and I like her. She’s polite. Steve says she’s a good cook. Her dad’s a cop and her mom takes care of the kids. I can’t wait to meet them.”
“Maybe it’s a little early, Mom. It’s not like they’re engaged.”
Mom ignores her. “Maybe I’ll finally be a grandma.”
TWENTY-NINE
Lourdes rises with the alarm. Carlos is in bed beside her. He must have come home late from wherever he was. She’s relieved he behaved at her parents. Joked with her dad, complimented her mom on the lunch, and was friendly to Steve and Maricela. He did not mention the word “abortion”.
Shortly after dessert, he had said to Lourdes, in front of everyone, “I’ll see you at home later. I’ve got to go to that meeting.” And left. She had no idea what meeting and doubted there was one. Her parents seemed to believe him.
Again Carlos slept, or pretended to until she left. She’s ready for today. After leaving her parents she went home and finished preparing. She’d even slept okay. Sadly, she is getting used to falling asleep without Carlos.
Morning court starts smoothly. She saves Crystal’s sentencing for last, but can’t put it off any longer. Crystal’s PO, Jim Ronstadt, had finally had it. “I hate to give up on Crystal. But five petitions? If she were a man or a less fragile woman I’d have recommended prison two petitions ago. How about six months jail? Maybe after three let her out for school and counseling.”
“State of Arizona versus Crystal Lewis CR 20194290.” When the formalities are done, Lourdes advises both sides that probation is recommending six months jail. “State’s recommendation?”
“State concurs with the PO, Your Honor. I don’t think I’ve seen anyone with so many revocations and no real punishment. Six months in jail is lenient with her history. State also recommends the court designate her offense a felony. She was given a chance on probation and totally blew it. She’s earned a felony.” This is the state’s standard argument.
“Ms. Holman, do you and your client wish to be heard?”
“Yes, Your Honor. I’ll begin. Cryst
al will speak after me. I know that five petitions is too many, and that you’ve been more than fair with Crystal. What good is jail? Judge, you know what’ll happen if you kick her out of Drug Court. She’ll likely use in jail if she can, and when she gets out she’ll be an addict for life. She’s slowly been improving. She’s not clean, but she’s had some clean drops. Same with counseling. Don’t throw her away, Your Honor. Give her a few weekends in jail and let her continue in the program.
“If you give her a felony she’ll never be able to get any school loans, find decent work or even get adequate housing. Her original offense was possession of five pills. That isn’t felony material. Not enough to ruin her life. Thank you.”
“Crystal, is there anything you want to say? Everyone but your lawyer wants to send you to jail. Can you give me any reason why I shouldn’t?”
Crystal stands up slowly. She crosses her arms over her stomach. She’s dressed in a long-sleeved print dress that reaches below her knees and looks like it belonged to a taller, heavier woman. She’s crying.
“No, Judge. I should go to jail. You and my PO have been real kind to me. I don’t want to use drugs. I know it’s not good for me, but sometimes when I get depressed and sad I don’t know what else to do.”
Lourdes looks at Crystal. She’s been rubbing her forehead and now clutches her abdomen. Lourdes notices a discoloration on her forehead. Maybe a bruise.
“Crystal could you come up here? Counsel you may approach. This will be off the record. Crystal, you have a bruise on your forehead?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“I fell down,” Crystal says softly not looking at Lourdes.
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