The Lavender Hour

by Anne Leclaire

“Anything else?”

  Rich looked down, embarrassed. “And he… he shit his—”

  Judge Savage cleared her throat.

  Rich reddened. “Excuse me, Your Honor. I mean he, you know, defecated in his pants.”

  “Outside? On the lawn?”

  “Yes. I mean, he was trying to make it to the house but couldn't.”

  “Did you help him?”

  “No. There was someone there with him, helping him. And it was pretty clear he didn't want me there, you know, seeing him like that. I know I would be. I mean, Christ, shitting himself like that.”

  “And did you see him after that?”

  “Yes. A couple of days later, he called and asked if I would come over.”

  “He called you, after not wanting to see you for months?”

  “Yes. He asked if I'd come over.”

  “Did he say why he wanted to see you?”

  “Yes. After I got there, he told me he wanted me to take Rocker for him.”

  “Rocker was his dog?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did he say why?”

  “He didn't have to.”

  “Why was that?”

  “Well, earlier in the winter, when he knew what was wrong with him, he asked me if I'd take Rocker for him after he died. He was real worried about that dog, ya know? He didn't want it going to Animal Rescue or anything.”

  “You mean after he died?”

  “Yes.”

  “So he was making arrangements for his death?”

  Nelson leaped up.

  “Withdrawn,” Gage said. “No more questions.”

  “MR. ELDREDGE,” Nelson began on cross, “you have given testimony that you were one of Luke Ryder's best friends.”

  “Yes.”

  “So close he trusted you with his dog?”

  “He gave him to me, yes.”

  “And did your close friend ever once mention any intention of wanting to end his life?”

  “No.”

  “Did he in any way hint that he planned on taking an overdose?”

  “No.”

  “Not even the day when he asked you to take his dog?”

  “No.”

  “Mr. Eldredge, are you familiar with the defendant?”

  “Like I said, I've seen her at Luke's.”

  “Is that all?”

  “Maybe a couple of times around town.”

  “Please tell the jury where you have seen her.”

  He hesitated. “Well, I saw her once at the Squire.”

  “That would be a bar in town?”

  “Yeah. A bar and restaurant.”

  “And please tell the jury the nature of your relationship with the defendant.”

  “I just knew who she was.”

  “Didn't you have a romantic involvement with the defendant?”

  Rich glanced at me. “No.”

  “Did you ever have a date with her?”

  “No.”

  “Mr. Eldredge, remembering you are under oath, please tell the jury if you ever remember kissing the defendant.”

  I felt my cheeks grow hot, regretted that Lily was there, sitting behind me. Was she remembering the times she'd accused me of kissing anything that would stand still?

  “It was just the once. I guess we'd both had a little too much to drink.”

  Paige, I realized. I now understood the queer smile of triumph.

  “CALL YOUR next witness,” Judge Savage told Gage after Rich left the stand.

  Gage turned toward me, smiled. “The defense calls Jessica Long.”

  I had taken a Xanax, but it might as well have been an aspirin the way my heart was pounding. My palms were slick with sweat. As I crossed to the witness stand, my knees trembled.

  “Please tell the court your name.”

  “Jessie Long,” I said. “Jessica Lynn Long.”

  “Where do you currently reside?”

  “Harwich Port, Massachusetts.”

  “And before that?”

  “In Virginia. Richmond, Virginia.”

  “Please tell the court your occupation.”

  “Well, I make jewelry. And I'm a schoolteacher.”

  “What do you teach?”

  “High school art.”

  “Do you like teaching?” Gage was smiling at me, his voice friendly, curious.

  “Yes.”

  “What do you like about it?”

  “The students. I really like the students.”

  “Now please tell the court if you are currently employed.”

  “No. I'm not presently teaching.”

  Methodically, Gage led me through the questions that we had reviewed during pretrial preparations. This is your chance to gain the jury's sympathy, he'd told me. Make them imagine that it could be one of their daughters up there. I told the jury about my job being downsized, about moving to the Cape for the year, about how I had come to volunteer for hospice, about the training. He led me finally to the first day I had gone to Luke's home. I told the jury about staying with Luke while Nona went out.

  “How did you feel about Nona?” Gage asked.

  I looked over to the seats directly behind the table where Nelson sat with two assistant DAs. Nona and Paige stared up at me.

  “I loved Nona.”

  “And Luke?”

  I fell silent.

  “Jessie.”

  “I cared about Luke. Of course.”

  “Jessie, we have heard the state's witnesses testify that your fingerprints were found on medicine vials in Luke Ryder's home. Do you have any explanation for that?”

  I remembered Gage's cross-examination of the detective, his suggestion that I might have moved the bottles while straightening up the kitchen. I looked over at Lily. Tell the truth, my mama had said.

  “Yes,” I said. “A couple of times, when Luke was in pain, he asked me to get his medication for him.”

  “And you did?”

  “Yes.”

  “Even though you had been told volunteers weren't supposed to?”

  “Yes.” I turned to the jury. “He was in pain. It didn't make any sense. Why should he have to wait around for someone who was allowed to give it to him? I'd do it again, if I had to.”

  Gage nodded. “Now, Jessie, in the last days of Luke's life, during the hours that you spent alone together, did he confide in you?”

  “Yes.”

  “What did he tell you?”

  “He told me he was ready to die. He said he wanted to die, that he'd saved some pills. He showed me where he kept them. In the bottom drawer of a desk.”

  Paige shot to her feet. “She's lying.”

  Judge Savage rapped her gavel. Nelson turned and motioned for Paige to sit down.

  “Any further outbursts and I'll have you removed from the courtroom,” Judge Savage said to Paige. “Is that clear?”

  Paige nodded, sat down.

  Gage ignored this interchange. He swept his hand through the air, a theatrical gesture. “Luke Ryder was dying. We have heard his own doctor testify he had only weeks, perhaps days, to live. Why would he choose to take his life?”

  “He was in so much pain. Even with the morphine drip.” I turned again to the jury. I needed them to see Luke as he was in the end, not as the man sitting looking out at backyard bird feeder and laughing at Jim's jokes. “He had begun to lose control of his bowels. He didn't want his daughter to see him like that, to have to clean him up, to remember him like that. He said he didn't want to die like that, bit by bit.”

  Gage's next question wasn't something we had covered during the preparations for my testimony, and it took me by surprise. “Jessie, please tell the jury why you became a hospice volunteer.”

  “I guess I wanted to help,” I said. I looked over at Lily. “My mama always told us how important it was to help others.”

  “But why hospice, Jessie?”

  “I…”

  “Take your time,” Gage said.

  I paused, swallowed. I felt stripped
bare. “It was something I heard,” I said.

  “Go on.”

  “At this lecture I went to with Faye.”

  “That would be Faye Wilson?”

  “Yes. During the lecture, the doctor said that we learn how to live from the dying. I guess I wanted to learn the lessons the dying can teach.”

  Gage stood closer to the jury, looked at them, then at me. “So you became a volunteer because you wanted to help and because you thought the dying have something to teach the rest of us?”

  “Yes.”

  “And did you learn anything from Luke?”

  I smiled. “Yes. Yes, I did.”

  “What did you learn from Luke?”

  “I learned that dying, you know, slow like that, requires a lot of courage. Luke taught me that. He said most people go through life not realizing what they have.” A deep sigh of loss escaped my lips. I swallowed, concentrated on staying in control. My throat ached with tears held back.

  “Anything else?” Gage said.

  “He showed me how to appreciate the little things.”

  “Like what?”

  “Everything, really. The birds. Their song. He was teaching me how to recognize the individual birds by their calls.” I stopped, unable to go on.

  Again Gage surprised me. “Jessie, are your parents alive?”

  I looked over at Lily. “My mama is.”

  “In fact, she's right here in the courtroom, is she not?”

  “Yes, she is.” I pointed to Lily. The jurors turned and looked. Lily held her head proud, smiled at me.

  “And your father?” Gage asked.

  “No,” I whispered. “He's dead.”

  “In fact, your father died when you were fourteen. Is that correct?”

  “Yes,” I said. Where was he going with this?

  “How did he die, Jessie?”

  “A heart attack.”

  Nelson leaned forward, as if to object, then settled back.

  “Was he alone when he died?”

  I raised my hand to my throat. “No,” I whispered.

  “In fact, you were with him when he died, weren't you?”

  Daddy. Daddy, what's wrong? “Yes.”

  “Please tell the jury what happened.”

  I couldn't do this. Couldn't.

  “Jessie?”

  “I—could I have some water?”

  An officer brought me a glass.

  “Miss Long,” Judge Savage said, “do you need to take a break?”

  I shook my head. I wanted only for this to end. “He was driving,” I began. “He was driving me to soccer practice.” One of Daddy's Sinatra tapes was playing, and he was singing along. We caught the red light. Shit, I said. I was already late. The coach would be mad. Then he made that odd coughing sound; he slumped over the wheel. Daddy. Daddy, what's wrong?

  The tears I'd managed to hold back flowed down my cheeks. I'd vowed I would not do that, would not break down on the stand. Why was Gage doing this?

  “Jessie,” he said, “knowing what it feels like to lose a parent, could you ever, for whatever good reason, take the life of someone else's father?”

  I looked over at Paige. “No,” I said. “No. I couldn't.”

  He nodded, handed me a tissue, stroked my hand. “Your witness,” he said to Nelson.

  Nelson took his time rising from his seat.

  “Miss Long, you have testified that you make jewelry. Is that correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Please tell the jury what kind of jewelry you make.”

  “Necklaces. Rings. Pins.”

  “Silver jewelry? Gold?”

  “No.”

  “What material do you use?”

  “Hair,” I said.

  He leaned forward. “Would you repeat that so that the members of the jury can hear your answer?”

  “Hair.”

  “Human hair?”

  “Yes.”

  A sound—no more than a whisper—came from the jury box. I understood how easy it was to take a single fact and present it so it shadowed a person. I wanted to explain about my jewelry, but Nelson didn't give me time.

  “Is that why you took Luke Ryder's hair? To make jewelry?”

  I could have lied then, said I had taken it to make a keepsake for Nona or Paige—perhaps I should have lied, but my mama's eyes were on me. “No. I took it to have something of Luke's.”

  “Just like you took his shirt and his painting?”

  “He gave me the painting,” I said.

  “Did anyone see him give you the painting?”

  “No.”

  “Did you tell anyone he gave you the painting?”

  “No.”

  “When did this occur?”

  “The last day,” I said. “The day he died.”

  “Let's talk about that day,” Nelson said. “Luke Ryder's final day.”

  I looked out over the courtroom, found Lily, searched for Faye. I felt Nona's eyes on me.

  “You were alone with Luke that afternoon, is that correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “And where was his mother?”

  “Upstairs. She went up to her room to take a nap.”

  “And you would have this jury believe that while his mother was upstairs, asleep, Luke told you he intended to take an overdose?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was that the first time he had mentioned this to you?”

  “No. He'd brought it up before.”

  “And did you mention this to anyone?”

  “No.”

  “And that final day, when you say he again brought up the subject, what did you do?”

  I looked down, bit my lip. “I left him,” I whispered.

  “I'm sorry. I can't hear you.”

  “I left him.”

  “Left him alone after he told you he wanted to take an overdose, without saying a word to his mother?”

  I forced myself to look at Nona. “Yes.”

  “Did you believe that Luke Ryder was serious?”

  “Yes.”

  “Were you concerned?”

  “Yes. Of course.”

  “And out of this concern, did you make one phone call, tell one person what you say Luke Ryder told you he intended?”

  “No.”

  “Not one? Not to his daughter?”

  “No.”

  “Not to his doctor?”

  “No.”

  “Or the hospice nurse?”

  “No.”

  “Not to Faye Wilson?”

  “No.”

  “So you kept this crucial information secret?”

  Gage stood. “Your Honor—”

  “Move along, Mr. Nelson,” Judge Savage said. “Miss Long has answered the question.”

  “That is not the only information you kept secret, is it?”

  “I don't know what you mean.”

  “Miss Long, you yourself have been treated for cancer, isn't that true?”

  I looked immediately over to where Faye sat, saw the surprise on her face.

  “Yes,” I said. “Five years ago. I don't have it now.”

  “What kind of cancer did you have?”

  “It's called schwannoma.”

  “Schwannoma,” Nelson said. “And that is a tumor on the brain, is it not?”

  How had he discovered all this? “Yes.”

  “Your Honor,” Gage said, “I don't see the relevance of this line of questioning.”

  “Goes to opportunity, Your Honor,” Nelson said.

  “Overruled.”

  “Miss Long, during the period prior to treatment and in the five years following, did you ever have a prescription for Seconal?” I looked over at Gage. “Yes.” “I have nothing further for this witness,” Nelson said.

  “YOU DID great,” Lily told me later.

  Mother boilerplate, I thought. What else could she say?

  thirty

  IN THE MORNING, Judge Savage called for closing arguments. She reminded the jury
that these arguments were not evidence in the case.

  Gage, dressed in a new suit, spoke first. He clasped my shoulder as he rose and approached the jurors. He started out softly. He thanked the judge and turned to the jury, all but bowing.

  “I do not envy you your task,” he said. “You have the hardest job there is, the heaviest burden. You must decide what the truth is.

  “Now if, in the following minutes, Mr. Nelson or I say something to you that doesn't comport with your memory of the evidence, please disregard it. Your memory is what controls the proceedings once you enter deliberations.

  “Later, after I and Mr. Nelson have talked to you a little while, Judge Savage is going to instruct you about presumption of innocence and the burden of proof and reasonable doubt. She will do a far better job than I can, and I am not going to waste your time now. But I want to talk a bit about reasonable doubt. Reasonable doubt is just that. It means a reasonable person can listen to the testimonies, review the evidence, and find cause to doubt the guilt of the defendant. The doubt does not have to be absolute. Only reasonable.

  “I just mentioned evidence, and I want to talk to you about that. You must decide the case not on conjecture or emotion—although there has been plenty of both—but on evidence. Hard evidence. Evidence that convinces you without reasonable doubt that Jessie Long is solely responsible for Luke Ryder's death.

  “Now, as you have heard, Mr. Ryder was dying. His passing was inevitable. No one disputes that fact. You have heard testimony that he was in pain. He was losing dignity. He confided to Jessie Long that he no longer wanted to be a burden to his family. That he didn't want his daughter to have to clean his body, change his soiled sheets. We can understand this. Who among us would wish that on our child?” He paused, let the jury think about that.

  “Let's review what Mr. Nelson has presented as the facts of the commonwealth's case.

  “You have heard testimony that Jessie's fingerprints were on a vial of medication. Her fingerprints and those belonging to half a dozen other people. Jessie could have lied to you, could have told you that she moved the bottle while performing a routine household chore. Instead, she chose to tell you the truth, that when she was alone and when Luke Ryder was in great pain and in need of relief, she did what I think any compassionate person would do. She gave him his medication. Why didn't Jessie lie to you? Because she tells the truth. Just as she has told you the truth when she testified that she did not give Luke Ryder an overdose.

  “Let's talk about motive, a subject about which Mr. Nelson has remained silent.