And then she said something that I wasn't to understand until much later. “People think memories are all we have, Jessie, but what we forget is just as important as what we remember.”
“I—”
“Oh, Jess, look,” she said.
The sun was near the horizon, painting it with bands of rose beneath the darkening sky and scattered banks of clouds. We both stopped.
“It's because of the clouds, you know, the color,” she said.
I did know, but I let her continue.
“The colors of the sunset are beautiful because the clouds give the sun's rays something to reflect off of. We saw some of the most spectacular sunsets when we were at sea. Like nothing I'd ever seen before. Oh, I wish you could have been with us.”
“He makes you happy,” I said.
“More than happy,” she said. “He makes me want to live.”
The sun was sinking into the horizon. “We should probably turn back,” I said, but we stayed, staring.
“The lavender hour,” she said.
“What?”
“That's what your grandma used to call this time of evening.”
“It does look sort of violet,” I said. “And rose.”
“She didn't mean the color,” Lily said. “She meant because the day is dying. Your grandma said most people think black is the color of death, but its true color is lavender.”
I thought instantly of Luke's house, the lavender door.
“You know, when your father died, I thought I was in the lavender hour, that my life had ended, too. Then I learned that grief and loss are just one note in the song of life.”
“You're turning into a romantic,” I said, surprised at the edge in my voice.
“I always was,” she said.
I was suddenly annoyed; the connection with Lily—tentative after all—was severed. My mama was still the old pre-Jan Lily, putting a pretty face on the facts, as she had tried to teach her daughters to do, romanticizing things, transforming even death into a Technicolor movie.
“We'd better get back,” I said abruptly. We returned to the house in silence, just as we had started out.
Twenty-eight
IN THE MORNING, Nelson called more witnesses. Luke's doctor; Ginny Reiser, the hospice nurse. Jim Robbins. All reinforced the picture of Luke as a man who was dying, but who had said nothing about intending to end his life. They gave a picture of a man still hungry to live fully in the time he had left. On cross, Gage got the doctor to say that the dosage for Luke's medication had recently been increased, that his pain had intensified, that body functions had begun to break down, that the quality of his life had diminished dramatically. Paige, sitting next to Nona, wept during the testimonies. This is a disaster, I thought. “Smile,” Gage whispered to me. “Don't look so glum.” I did my best.
Faye was the last witness Nelson called to testify. She approached the stand with grace, met my eye across the courtroom, and smiled.
“Please tell the jury your name,” Nelson began.
“Faye Wilson, Wilson.”
“And where do you reside?”
“In Harwich Port.”
“What is your occupation?”
“I am the hospice volunteer coordinator for the Bayberry Hospice of Cape Cod.” She spoke distinctly. Inspiring trust is her gift, I thought.
“What does your job entail?”
“I select candidates to work as volunteers. I oversee their training. I work with them when they are on a case.”
“Please tell the jury about the training.”
Faye turned toward the jurors, told them about the weeks during which the volunteers met, the many aspects of the training.
“And during their training, are the volunteers given set rules that they must follow?” Nelson asked.
“Not rules,” Faye said, smiling slightly. “Guidelines.”
“Please tell the jury what these guidelines are.”
“Mostly common sense,” Faye said. Again she faced the jury. “Volunteers are there primarily to help the client and the family. What they do varies depending on the individual situations. Sometimes they play cards or read books, run errands. Sometimes they simply provide a listening ear.”
“Mrs. Wilson, are volunteers allowed to give medications?”
“They are not supposed to.”
“So during their training, they are specifically told not to administer drugs to the clients? Is that right?”
“Yes.”
“And they understand this.”
“I would think so. Yes.”
“Is it usual for volunteers to spend the nights with their patients?”
“Not usual, no.”
“Really? In fact, they are specifically told not to, isn't that right?”
“There's no rule forbidding it.”
“But you discourage it.”
“We don't encourage it.”
“Were you aware that the defendant stayed overnight with Luke Ryder?”
“Yes.”
“In fact, didn't the defendant spend the night there on several occasions?”
“I believe she stayed with Luke twice. Once when there was a family emergency. His mother had been taken to the hospital. Jessie stayed there so Luke wouldn't be alone.”
I silently thanked Faye for calling me by name, for refusing the term the defendant.
“Did she notify you to tell you she was staying there?” Nelson said.
“No.”
“If she had, what would you have said?”
Gage stood. “Calls for speculation.”
Before Savage could rule, Nelson changed the phrasing. “In your position as hospice coordinator, if a volunteer phoned to tell you that she was staying overnight at a patient's home because of an emergency, what would you tell that volunteer?”
Faye paused. “I would suggest that she call a hospice nurse to come in.”
“To the best of your knowledge, did the defendant even attempt to call a nurse to stay with Luke when his mother went to the hospital?”
“Not to my knowledge, no.”
“Now, Mrs. Wilson, in your role as coordinator, do you frequently have conversations with the volunteers about their patients?”
“Yes. We have meetings with the team during which we discuss the case.”
“And during these meetings, did the defendant ever express concern about Luke Ryder's state of mind or convey to you that he was becoming suicidal or that he had mentioned any intention of ending his own life?”
Faye hesitated, looked over at me.
“Mrs. Ryder?”
“No, she did not.”
“She never once mentioned this to you?”
“No.”
“Would it be reasonable to assume that if a patient had expressed such thoughts, a volunteer, out of concern, would share those thoughts with you?”
Faye looked straight at Nelson. “Over the years, I have learned never to assume anything.”
Nelson changed direction. “And were you aware that, during these weeks, the defendant was becoming overly attached to the deceased?”
Faye smiled. “All our volunteers become attached to their clients, Mr. Nelson. In fact, it is nearly inevitable. Their capacity for compassion is what draws them to this work and makes them so well suited for it.”
Bless you, I thought. I dared a look at the jury. Several members nodded as Faye spoke. I could see that they liked her.
“Wasn't it clear to you that she had come to care about Luke Ryder?”
“Yes,” Faye said. “That is what made her so valuable. You know, the founder of hospice said that hospice workers were 'missing an outer layer of skin,' meaning that they were especially compassionate. Jessie was unusually compassionate.”
“Let me rephrase,” Nelson said. “During those weeks prior to his death, did you have any indication that the defendant was becoming obsessed with Luke Ryder?”
Even before Gage got to his feet, Nelson withdrew the quest
ion.
“Thank you. No further questions at this time.”
“MRS. WILSON,” Gage began, “what kind of volunteer would you say Jessie was?”
Faye smiled. “She was conscientious. Dependable. Thoughtful.”
“In what way?”
“I know she brought flowers to Nona Ryder. Gave up extra time when Nona called and asked her to come over.”
“Did you at any time worry about her being overly involved?”
“No. There was no sign of that.”
“Not even when she bent a guideline and stayed overnight at her patient's home?”
Faye turned to me, smiled. “I'm sure Jessie's only intention was to provide help and relief for the family during an emergency.”
“Mrs. Wilson, how long have you served in your present job?”
“I have been the volunteer coordinator for fifteen years.”
“In that time, how many volunteers have you assigned?”
“I'm not certain.”
“More than a hundred?”
“Yes, I would say so.”
“So it is fair to say you have extensive experience working with volunteers?”
“Yes.”
“Has there ever been an occasion when you have had to remove a volunteer from a case?”
“Yes.”
“Please tell the jury why.”
“In one particular incident, a volunteer asked to be relieved because the client was a chain-smoker and she couldn't stand the smoke. And another time, it became apparent that the work had become too heavy a burden for the volunteer, who had developed his own health problems.”
“Did you ever have any concerns that Jessie was anything but a dedicated volunteer?”
“No.”
“At any time did you think it might be in her best interests or those of Luke Ryder or his family to remove her from the case?”
“No.”
“No more questions.”
Faye smiled at me as she left the stand.
“Mr. Nelson,” Judge Savage said, “do you have any further witnesses you wish to call?”
“No, Your Honor. At this time, the commonwealth rests.”
Then Judge Savage checked her watch and, following her usual instructions to the jury, adjourned until the morning, when Gage would begin his defense.
I WAITED inside the courthouse for Irene, Lily at my side, who was fuming at the protesters gathered outdoors. Dirt-eating vultures, she said, fierce and protective on my behalf. They raise my blood. For a moment, I feared Lily would storm into the parking lot and confront them, but Gage hurried us along to the cars and we escaped without incident.
Lily and I followed the routine of the previous afternoon. We stopped for groceries on the way to the carriage house, and then changed out of our court clothes and headed out to the bay, walking until we were forced to return by a darkness that fell earlier each day. This evening we shared no confidences, no talk of death. We ate on trays in front of the fireplace, a scene so comfortably domestic, it struck me as absurdly normal given the circumstances. We didn't discuss the events of the courtroom until we had finished dinner and had poured the brandy. With Lily's arrival, my self-imposed monasticism had come to an end.
“At least Nelson is finished with the prosecution,” I said. I was unutterably relieved that this part of the trial was over.
“Faye certainly didn't do you any favors,” Lily said.
“I thought she was strong. The jury liked her.”
“That isn't the point. The one the jury needs to like is you.”
“Actually, Mama, what they need to do is find me not guilty.”
“Well, Faye could have been more of a help.”
“She just told the truth, Mama. What else could she have said?”
“She could have fought for you.”
“I think she did fight for me. I don't know why you're on her case, anyway, Mama. She's been good to me this year.”
“And what have you given her?”
“What do you mean?”
“I don't think Faye gives anything without expecting something in return.”
“You're wrong. Besides, what in the world do I have that Faye could want?”
“Good question. I've wondered that all winter,” Lily said.
“You don't like her,” I said, surprised by this sudden realization.
Lily didn't answer.
“Why?” I pressed. “What has Faye ever done to you?”
Lily stared into the fire. “Some people don't change.”
“Mama, Faye has been wonderful to me. She's treated me like a daughter.”
“Exactly,” Lily said.
“Meaning what?”
“She takes what she wants.”
“I don't understand.”
“She always wanted children, you know.”
I stared at her. “What? Are you jealous of Faye?”
Lily gazed at the fire.
“That's crazy,” I said.
“After your daddy died,” Lily said, “I always felt I failed you.”
“How could you think that?”
“You and Lowell always had a special relationship.”
“Like you and Ashley,” I said.
Lily ignored this. “I wanted to reach out to you, but after he died, I didn't know how. So, yes, I guess I am jealous of Faye.”
“But why?”
“She's taught you things this year, things I should have. She's mothered you in a way I couldn't.”
“She's just been a friend, Mama. That's all.”
Lily splashed more brandy in her glass, held the bottle toward me.
“I'd better not. Tomorrow Gage is putting me on the stand.”
Lily read the fear in my voice. “You'll do fine, Jessie.”
“I don't know.”
“You will. Just sit tall and proud, like your daddy taught you. Tell the truth.”
I swallowed. The room had turned dark, but I didn't switch on a lamp, welcoming the dark. “The truth,” I said.
“Yes.”
I looked through the shadows at Lily. “The truth is, I lied, Mama.”
Lily set her glass down, drew a breath. “Tell me,” she said.
I searched my mama's face. “I lied. To the police.”
She waited for me to go on.
“I lied when I told them Luke never mentioned suicide. He wanted to die.”
“He told you this?”
I nodded. “Yes.”
“Did he tell you he intended to take an overdose?”
“Oh, Mama, it was awful at the end. He was wasting away. He said he didn't want to go like that. He said he had it planned. He had a bottle of Seconal. And something to take to avoid vomiting.”
“Jessie, why didn't you tell this to the police?”
I shrugged. “I don't know. I guess I wanted to protect Nona. He didn't want her to know. I don't think it ever occurred to him there would be an investigation. Why would there be? He was dying.”
“Does Gage know this? Or Faye?”
“No. I didn't tell anyone.”
“Well, now you have to.”
“Do you think anyone will believe me? They'll think I'm making it up to save my skin.”
“Jessie Lynn, tomorrow you get on that stand and you tell the truth.”
The truth. I searched Lily's face. Was anyone ever prepared to face the truth?
Twenty-nine
GAGE OPENED THE defense by calling Rich. He looked uncomfortable as he made his way to the stand. He was dressed in the same suit he'd worn to Luke's funeral.
“Please state and spell your name for the court.”
“Richard Eldredge. E-l-d-r-e-d-g-e.”
“What is your occupation?”
“I own a landscape business.”
“Please tell the court where you live.”
“Chatham, Massachusetts.”
“Mr. Eldredge, were you acquainted with Luke Ryder?”
“Yes, I was
.”
“What was your relationship?”
“We were friends.”
“Good friends?”
“Yes. I'd say Luke was one of my best friends.”
“Please tell the court how long you had been friends.”
Rich paused, considered. “Ever since Luke moved to Chatham. Twenty-three years. I was best man at his wedding.”
“Had you seen Luke in recent months?”
“Yes.”
“How many times?”
“Twice. Maybe three times.”
“You were good friends, best friends, and you only saw him a few times?”
“Well, I wanted to.”
“But you didn't?”
“You have to understand. When he got really sick, he didn't want to see his friends.”
“He was clear about that?”
Rich nodded. “Well, at first, he'd still drive around town, go down to the shore, look me up where I was doing a job, but after he got real bad, he stayed pretty much at home.” He looked over at the jury. “I don't think Luke wanted people to see him like he was.”
“How was that?”
“He looked pretty bad, you know?”
“No, Mr. Eldredge. I don't know. Please tell us.”
“Well, he'd lost a lot of weight. He was real thin. And sickly looking. Yellow. I think he was kind of embarrassed. He'd been so strong.”
“Now, shortly before he died, you had occasion to see Luke twice, is that correct?”
Rich nodded.
“I need a yes or no, Mr. Eldredge.”
“Yes.”
“Please tell the jury about the first of those two times.”
“Well, I was stopping by to check on Nona. I tried to do that about once a week. See if there was anything I could do to help her out, pick up the trash for her, that kind of thing. When I pulled up, Luke was in front of the house. He was getting out of Jessie's car.”
“You are referring to Jessie Long?” Gage gestured to where I sat.
“Yes.”
“And what, if anything, happened next?”
“He was sick, puking on the lawn.”
The Lavender Hour Page 25
