The hell with stillness. I was out the door. Across parking lot asphalt gone tarry in the heat of the day.
Pam didn’t hug him. The hell with silence. If she was all that caught up in your cause she’d hug your champion, never mind the drips. I saw your lawyer palm her stomach. Pamela bristled, like she would for just about anyone, then reached out and patted his. My girl. He shrunk back, point taken. He had her beat on the belly front.
I watched him leave. Even with all that weight he moved quickly. I expect he knew he had hard work ahead.
“Who was that?” I asked.
“Don’t pretend you don’t know. It’s insulting to both of us. That’s Peter Kershaw. Dad’s lawyer. He says you met in the lobby.”
“I saw him. We weren’t introduced.”
“We’re meeting for breakfast. To go over things, tomorrow. I’m taking the second car. Then I’m visiting him at the prison, before the hearing.” Pammie went back down the ladder. Dad’s lawyer, she said. Dad’s. She began to swim again, her strokes keener. Blue said something friendly, trying to fill the air. I stood frozen quiet. Pam was on breaststroke now, her pregnancy visible only when she turned. If I let my eyes blur I might be able to trick myself: we hadn’t got to this point after all, that stomach was nothing but the water’s distortion.
40.
In the prison town of Judith, scrubland goes on for miles. You could see it from Stemble like I could see it from town, the open palm of land so uniform it didn’t matter that we looked across it from opposite directions. I saw plants though, up close, plants you couldn’t reach from your guard pen. Tangled branches, rain greedy, growing more out than up. On Judith plants, leaves sprouted sharp, like nettles. They were parched and gray up close. From a distance they looked soft and green; anything would, against a background so red.
In the Judith phone book no names I knew were listed. I checked for that guard of yours, Westin. But your keepers were a good deal smarter than you gave them credit for. No Chaplain Crowler listed. No Warden Kimpton.
The general store in Judith stocked cartoon cereals in fun packs. I bought some to munch dry the next morning, the morning of your hearing, the morning Pam would spend in strategy with Peter Kershaw. She’d see you tomorrow too. I bought a sorry-looking grapefruit. It would taste sour after cereal, virtuous.
I took a test drive out to Stemble. I went alone. Neither Pam nor Blue wanted to come along; we could meet up for dinner, they said, and they could follow Kershaw tomorrow in the second car. The road unrolled uncurving to the prison, the land so much the same on either side I might as well be driving along the base of a mirror. The buildings were gray and solid, large enough to hold their color against the desert. Guard towers looked absurdly like air traffic control, but none of you were going anywhere. All around, barbed wire coiled in ring after ring. It doubled up in patches and looked like the human genome.
In Judith proper, though, no one used the stuff. The municipal pool had a white plank fence; the library, chain link; the schoolyard, tall cacti twined together at angles. In front of the school a jumpsuited janitor lowered the flag, unhooked it, and began to fold. At the Gecko Canteen, the menu advertised “Last Request Pie,” a peanut butter, Milk Duds, and a caramel concoction that wouldn’t be out of place at Kath Claverie’s table.
41.
We had an uneasy dinner the night before your hearing. Pamela ordered a club sandwich but was only interested in the bacon. She nibbled the pink and laid aside the marble fat. I opened my mouth to tell her eat up, hard day ahead, and you need the energy, you must be wiped out, all those laps. I got the eat up out but then my mouth went dry as dust. The Gecko door opened. I saw the widow walk in and I heard the blood beat in my ears.
The widow had been married to the cop you killed. Newspapers preferred her picture over Barbra’s, despite the widow’s unsubtle nose. My sister was very beautiful, but the press loved the cop factor. I should be grateful; Ma used to say it kept Barbra more ours than the world’s. And the articles that glossed over Barbra tended to be kinder. They called the late Lawrence Ring my sister’s colleague.
The widow scanned the Gecko. I wanted to wave her over and I wanted to hide like a child beneath the table. The hostess led her to a free booth. When she moved, the widow glided like a nun.
On breaks at your trial she used to knit, a funny, old-fashioned habit for someone as young as she was then. I never saw her leave her seat at the courthouse, not even for the ladies’ room. Whenever she dropped a stitch she cursed. Before I figured that out I thought she had some kind of condition. She pressed a ladybug sweater for Pam on me a few days before I flew home. The strangest, saddest gift I ever received; in those days none of us were thinking sensibly. I thanked the widow but was glad to see the sweater was much too small for Pam. I put it in mothballs right away.
Her name had been Arceli Ring. She stitched a Handmade by tag into Pamela’s collar. Five years after your conviction I read that she’d remarried and I felt peeled and mashed. I dug out the sweater, snipped off the tag, and ground her name down the kitchen compactor. I continued to write my annual checks to the Georg Ring Foundation, increasing them in direct proportion to my income. But I always addressed the envelopes to Mrs. Arceli Ring. I had no business guessing what she’d done about her surname.
Pamela shunted a leaf of lettuce around her plate rim. Arceli was coming toward us, four booths away, now three. Blue asked if we were ready to go. He was a nervous eater; he’d completely cleaned his plate. I nodded. I knew he couldn’t see me, but if I spoke my broken voice would draw the widow to us like a fish on the line.
Perhaps she wouldn’t recognize us. Pam couldn’t wedge a toe in that sweater now.
But if she didn’t, I would only ever sit with Arceli in two more rooms. The hearing, the witness box, and then the open rest of the world.
Arceli Ring passed by our table. She stopped. Turned.
Arceli Whoever.
“I thought that was you,” she said and gave a courtly little bow, just like your lawyer. I couldn’t see why everyone was being so polite.
“Hello,” said Pam, hand extended, just like I taught her.
Blue stood, hearing it was a woman’s voice, just like—I’d bet—Kath taught him.
Introductions all around. Arceli gave no last name. “I’d like to sit a moment. May I?”
Pam knew who she was, I could tell. She shot me a pleading look. Tomorrow morning she’d see you for the first time in years. Whatever Arceli had to say Pamela didn’t want to hear. “I’m tired,” she said and she sounded about two years old. If only she were and I could tell her: put that lip away. Unless you want the pouty bird to perch on it. “Go on ahead,” I told her. “I’ll catch up.”
“I’ll get your Mom home, don’t worry,” promised Arceli.
Aunt. The widow of all people should remember. I wanted to leave but Pam and Blue were almost to the door already.
Arceli called me Mrs. Stearl, just like she did on foundation thank-you notes. Her whole family was staying in town with a friend of a friend’s cousin. Everyone was being so kind, especially Henry, who was husband number two and supportive as could be. But she needed air, she said. I wondered what kind of woman needs to get away from that kind of love. She continued to speak, but I held up a hand. Wait. I watched Pam turn the rental out of the lot. Too far away to tell if they’d buckled up. “Sorry,” I said.
She’d seen where I was looking. Arceli was beautiful, nose and all. Her wrinkles looked right and wholly natural, like she was carved from wood and they were merely its very fine grain. She said, “Your girl’s grown up.”
“I should think so. This has been a long time coming.”
“That it has. She looks good. She happy?”
I could still hear my heart. “She’s fine. She’s safe. She’s happy.” Beat. “Or she will be. She got to know him.” Beat. “I didn’t mean for that to ever happen.”
No wonder the papers loved her. Arceli’s eyes got very w
ide. When she blinked I could tell those eyes were very good at making tears. “I think about her sometimes. She was such a cute little thing. When Georg died it used to help thinking he died keeping her safe. Getting a little girl back to her people. Not just chasing down some nobody who shot up his cheating—”
Beat.
“Sorry.”
“No,” I said. “You’re right. She did cheat.”
She toddled after me everywhere when she was small.
She had fat grabby baby hands.
She cheated. She should have known better. She lied. She should’ve been taught.
“And I’m sorry,” I said. “I am so very sorry.”
“You didn’t do a thing.”
My family wrecked hers. My wrecking ball sister. Barbra’s bad blood. Barbra’s and mine.
And so I told the widow. I opened my mouth and out it came. Just like that. I didn’t know it was going to. What I’d never told Barbra, and never would tell Pam. What I kept from Frank our thirty-five years of marriage. It was the widow, here, now, or no one. I kept my voice steady. Nothing draws eavesdroppers like a whisper. “I cheated too. Ages ago, but still. It was wrong. I should have been better. Our mother raised me to be an example. I already had a steady boyfriend when I started seeing my Frank.” Martin Dorsey. At Pammie’s age I broke his heart. A punched-out look to his spade-shaped face. We were supposed to get married. We’d planned it since high school. I’d been sneaking around on him with Frank for weeks. Martin’s hand fiddled with his watch. I gave him that watch. College graduation. I saved and saved. I didn’t have the right to tell him anything, not anymore, but I wanted to say no, don’t look at what time it is, Martin, don’t look or twice a day forever you’ll remember.
No one knew, save the widow now, and Martin, wherever he was, and me.
I lied to my sister about when I’d met Frank. I put off introducing him for nearly a year. She was ten years younger than me and clever. I was afraid she’d figure out what I had done. She’d adored Martin Dorsey, who used to tease that he was just waiting for her to grow up.
The widow smiled. A gentle smile, like she actually understood. “Your old boyfriend, he didn’t kill three people when he found out though, did he? None of this is on you.” She couldn’t have said a kinder thing. In the moment of my unburdening it felt like a slap. After carrying it quiet all these years. After thinking—irrational, superstitious, no matter—that that was why we couldn’t—the doctors knew the problem wasn’t Frank, it was me, and an insomniac voice whispered it was what I deserved for hurting Martin. And it was worse after Barbra. Because that wasn’t irrational, wasn’t superstitious. The other was just biology, but this, this I might have changed. The kind widow. Her kind words. They felt like so what. “I shouldn’t have said that about your sister,” Arceli said. “Nobody did this but Lusk.”
I wished I’d ordered coffee. I could sugar it, add creamer. Do something with my hands.
“Georg would want me to remember that. He’d have hated knowing how much I thought about him saving your little girl. He believed in the law. He said it like the law. He sounded like church. And he died defending it. Getting her back was just dressing. Still. I’m glad you say she turned out good. That’s something.”
“She is good. She trains guide dogs. Her husband is blind.”
“I saw.”
“They’re having a baby.”
“I saw that too.”
“She’s younger than I’d like but she’s always been responsible. They’re happy about it. They’ll be great parents. And her in-laws adore her. Everyone does. She’s a good girl. I want you to know that.” Barbra would never be worth any of this. Not to Arceli Ring. But there was Pamela. “I want you to know that because she’s speaking for him tomorrow.”
I wished Arceli had brought her knitting things. The silence between us could use that clackety-clack.
“Well. I’m glad he has someone.”
“He killed your husband.” Her old wedding ring had been silver or possibly white gold. The new one shone yellow. “Your first husband.”
“You don’t have to remind me. But Georg believed in the law. Lusk’s gone through the whole process. He’s got better breaks than most. And I want his fancy lawyer and his sweet little daughter fighting for him with all they got. Even if it’s more of a chance than Georg Ring had. More than your sister too. That’s hard to swallow but the law’s the law and the law allows it. So let him have his hearing. Let him speak. And when we’re done here and things come out right, nobody can say after that Lusk didn’t get his fair shot.”
“But you don’t know how they’ll rule.”
“He was condemned in a court of law. Georg would want me to trust in that. Georg believed in the law,” she said again. She said it like he must have. The Law. “He always talked about going to law school, maybe part time. When I think how he didn’t get his chance it helps remembering he died for something he believed in. Whatever happens tomorrow, Lusk won’t be able to say that. Hardly anybody can. No one’s really a hero anymore these days.”
“I understand you,” I said, and I did.
The Georg Ring Foundation awarded scholarships to policemen who wanted to enter law school. Gold into straw, Frank used to tease whenever I cut the checks. Arceli’s conversation had a practiced air. I’d bet she lifted scraps of it from foundation speeches. She had her share of insomniac nights, lying awake with a silence of her own to atone for. Arceli and her silence, thinking how safe her husband would have been behind a desk, a Georg Ring, Esquire, nameplate on the door. Thinking she should never have blanched at tuition, a second mortgage. What she wouldn’t give to have said I believe in you, honey. Kids’re in school now. It’s no trouble me going back to work. It’s for both of us in the long run; I know that; even if it’s tough going, together, we’ll find a way to get by.
42.
I was up before the sun. I watched it rise. I stood at the window and ate my little box of Froot Loops. Pam used to sort them by color. She put off eating her favorites for as long as possible. Every color tasted the same. My window reflection looked old and tired. Combing my hair would help. I knew exactly where I’d put my brush but did not move to get it. I stared out at the desert and worked my fingers through the worst snarls.
“My name is Lida Stearl,” I said. My breath fogged the window. I smudged it away. “I am sixty-three years old.” I didn’t know who exactly made up the clemency board. Membership couldn’t be a full-time position. The world wasn’t in so sorry a state as that. The board would arrive in Stemble soon. Past the gates and down the halls. They could be en route even now, somewhere beyond the Touristay out in the scrubland.
“My name is Lida Stearl,” I tried again. I had to get beyond that point. Pamela’s rental car wasn’t in the lot. She was off with Kershaw. She was off with you. “I’ve been waiting almost twenty years for this. For people to care about what I say.” I cleared my throat. It wouldn’t do to allow my voice to catch. “I should say first that I am not any good at speeches. I’ve got to stick to the simple truth.” The desert splayed out unvarying before me, but I had been to Stemble. I had seen it, solid. Your clemency board would be solid too, its members in their dark robes. “We’re here today because my brother-in-law, Clarence Lusk, shot and killed my sister and two other people. You’re hearing a lot about him today”— I assumed they would hear a lot about you today—“but I think it’s only right that you hear about who isn’t here today, my sister.” I gave a terrible speech at her funeral; I was giving a terrible speech now. I wasn’t meant for this. No one on earth is meant for this.
“Barbra was ten years younger than me and very smart. She smelled of clean cotton and for a while after she died it was hard for me to even do laundry. She would have teased me about that. She’d have laughed. She laughed a lot, which could be annoying to a serious person like me, especially because her laugh had a grating sound to it. But I like to think of it now because the sound—because Barbra he
rself—was so happy, so unselfconscious. She was never timid, never cautious”—though how things might have gone if she’d learned to be, even a little. “She loved life. Clarence took that from her. Life, love. He took everything. I’ll never get to hear her laugh again. Her voice. Please think about that. He took that life she loved and he took her from a family that loved her. He took two more lives after that. He killed my sister and he killed two good men. What you’re here to consider . . . it shouldn’t even be a question.”
The sun was all up now. It burned the parking lot and pool, the road, the dry and dust beyond. “I’ve come before you today to speak for my sister.” I was wearing my good bathrobe. I smoothed it like it was the skirt of my suit. “It’s an easy thing to say, she loved life. Everyone says it, but Barbra really did.” There wouldn’t be enough time to tell them. Barbra tried and tried but never learned to whistle. Barbra went barefoot when she drove. “You know she was a teacher. Part of the reason, I think, is that she wanted to pass on that spirit, that love. She taught math.” I could have been describing anyone. Barbra, barbarian. Barbaros—one who isn’t Greek. A stranger. I felt the sun on my face, even through the glass. “She taught math. She wanted her students to think it was elegant, the way equations balanced. I’ve been thinking about that a lot today. But that’s not why you should put her killer to justice. It’s not about restoring balance. She was my sister. There was no one like her in the world. I’m not saying this right. The sentence has to stand. Not to even out some equation, but because there’s no way to make it even, because after what Clarence has done, balance can’t ever be restored.”
I couldn’t do this. I had to.
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