Solemnly Swear

by Nancy Moser

  Oh my collided with Really? and finally slid next to Why not?

  “I’m honored you’d consider me, but I would insist on auditioning with the others. Over the years I’ve learned that everyone deserves a fair chance.”

  “As you wish.” He put a hand on her shoulder and led her back toward the auditorium’s seats. “We’re just about to start with the adults.”

  “I need to fill out a form, yes?”

  He smiled. “Yes, I suppose you do.” He snapped his fingers and the girl with the clipboard brought a form for Abigail.

  She took a seat and began filling it out. The question about previous experience was especially satisfying.

  ***

  “Bobby. Bobby, wake up!”

  Bobby’s eyes shot open. Moonlight cut a swath across the bottom of the bed. He looked to Becky’s side, but she wasn’t there.

  “Bobby?”

  He turned in the other direction. She was standing beside the bed, dressed. It only took a moment for his thoughts to fall into place. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m getting contractions.”

  “But it’s still six weeks.”

  “I know. I tried to ignore them, but they’re not going away. I called Dr. White. We need to go to the hospital.”

  His feet hit the floor and he grabbed the jeans and shirt he’d worn the evening before. “What about the kids?”

  “I called Mrs. Ross. She’s coming over. She should be here any minute.”

  There was a soft tapping on the front door. Bobby swept up his shoes and socks and ran downstairs to get it. Their neighbor Mrs. Ross stood before him, wrapped in a yellow fuzzy robe, jogging shoes, and pink foam curlers. Under normal conditions he would have indulged in some mighty teasing.

  But not tonight.

  “How is she?” Mrs. Ross asked.

  “I’m fine,” Becky said from the stairs.

  Bobby scrambled up the steps to help her.

  “Let the kids sleep,” Becky told the neighbor. “There are packets of oatmeal and English muffins for breakfast.”

  Mrs. Ross waved her concerns away. “We’ll be fine. Just take care of yourself and let me know what’s happening.”

  Hopefully nothing was happening. It was important it not be born just yet. At thirty-four weeks the lungs weren’t fully developed. Each day the baby grew in the womb was a plus.

  ***

  Becky was resting comfortably and the contractions had lessened in intensity. The doctor said she should be able to go home in an hour or so. Bobby sat beside her bed, leaning his head against the edge of the mattress. It was one o’clock in the morning. Was it possible to call in sick to jury duty? He didn’t want to cause a mistrial or anything. Yet he couldn’t leave her.

  She put a hand on his head. “I’m fine, hon. The baby’s fine. Why don’t you sit in the recliner over there and get some sleep.”

  He kissed her hand and shook his head. “I want to stay awake until I get you home.”

  “Go get some coffee then.”

  A good idea. He stood, leaned down and kissed her, then left with an assurance he’d be right back.

  Out in the hall, he sought a directional sign. Hospitals were so confusing with all their wings and hallways.

  Cafeteria. To the left.

  He headed that way, and when he saw a patient being pushed toward him, he moved to the right side of the corridor. Another middle-of-the-night crisis. Since Becky wasn’t there to do it, he said a quick prayer for the woman. Becky was always saying prayers when an ambulance went by or when she saw an accident.

  As the gurney was wheeled past, Bobby did a double take. It was Patti McCoy!

  He stopped and watched her being wheeled around the corner. An officer in uniform walked past him, and he stopped her. “Hey. What’s wrong with her?”

  “She lost her baby. Not that it’s any of your business.” The officer gave him the once-over. “Is it?”

  “No. Sorry. I hope she’s okay.”

  The officer shrugged and moved on. “She’ll survive.”

  Bobby stood immobilized. Patti had lost her baby? Becky had lost a baby before Teresa was born. He knew first-hand the emotional pain of losing a child. As if Patti needed any more stress on her plate.

  He remembered the task at hand. Coffee. And getting back to Becky.

  Thank God she was all right.

  SIX

  Get the truth and never sell it;

  also get wisdom, discipline,

  and good judgment.

  PROVERBS 23:23

  “Aren’t you going to be late?” Becky asked.

  Bobby knelt beside the bed—their bed, in their bedroom. Becky had been released from the hospital at three in the morning with instructions to take it easy. Upon their arrival home, Mrs. Ross had returned to her house with a promise she’d be back by eight this morning to help out as long as Becky needed her. Right now she was in the kitchen making the kids oatmeal with raisins.

  Bobby stroked her hand. “I don’t want to go.”

  “I’m fine. The doctor says so. He wouldn’t have let me come home unless it was true.”

  Bobby nodded, but there was another reason he was hanging around.

  “There’s something else, isn’t there?” she asked.

  Nothing slipped by this woman. He stood and removed his cell phone from his pocket. Maybe he’d missed a message?

  Nope.

  “Out with it,” she said.

  “Last night at the hospital I saw Patti McCoy, in the hall, on a gurney.”

  “The defendant?”

  “That’s her. The officer accompanying her said she’d lost her baby.”

  Becky’s hand moved to her mouth. “Oh, Bobby. How awful.”

  “I know. And because of that, I was thinking they might not have court today. To give her some time to recuperate.”

  “They should.”

  “That’s what I thought.” He checked his phone again. “But they haven’t called. So I guess it’s business as usual.”

  “That seems cruel.”

  He shrugged. “Maybe it’s just as cruel to put it off. I’m sure she wants this whole thing to be over.”

  Becky shook her head. “She needs a chance to mourn. She’s not going to be in any shape to even listen to the proceedings.”

  “I feel sorry for her, that’s for sure,” he said.

  Becky slipped lower on the pillow, and Bobby adjusted it for her. “Everyone will.”

  Bobby stopped his fluffing. “They will, won’t they? No one’s going to want to convict her when they find out she’s lost a baby, the baby that was supposedly the motive for her—” He realized he wasn’t supposed to discuss it.

  “I bet the prosecution doesn’t want anyone to know.”

  It was a good point. “But the defense will want people to know. Will want us to know. They’ve probably already been to the judge and discussed it.”

  “As if the death of her child is a mere trifle, a legalistic point to be wrangled.” She turned on her side, facing him. “That’s cold.”

  “That’s the law.”

  “The law doesn’t have to be cold.”

  “It’s based on facts, Beck.”

  “The fact is, a woman just lost her baby. That should be the only fact presiding over the day.” She adjusted a pillow between her knees and pulled the blanket over her shoulder. “You’d better get going. The law is waiting.”

  ***

  As soon as the jury filed in, Bobby looked at the defendant’s table. Was Patti there?

  She was.

  But she was a far different Patti McCoy from the one presented the day before. Gone were the short skirt, the fluffy hair, and too much makeup. In their place were a dowdy pair of black pants and a generic white shirt. Her hair was almost straight, the way Becky’s looked the day after she’d done it up curly, with any style once-removed. It was droopy. Actually that was a good way to describe Patti. For today her stance was droopy, her shoulders slump
ed forward, her chin down as if her neck didn’t have the strength to support her head. Even her eyes were downcast.

  When Bobby glanced at the other jurors, he saw that they too were looking at Patti, had seen the difference, and were wondering what was wrong.

  I know. I know!

  The older lady on the jury, Abigail, caught his eye, gave a quick nod toward Patti, and offered a questioning look. He shrugged even as he ached to tell the secret. He’d grown up with secrets and had often been told, “Don’t tell,” but this time, for the first time in his life, he had a secret that fairly begged to be shared. A secret that would even gain him a momentary spotlight and position of knowing something nobody else knew.

  He ached to tell it. Share it.

  But then the bailiff said, “All rise” and Judge Abrams came in. Would he make an announcement? “We are sorry to inform you, but the defendant lost her baby last night. Our condolences, Ms. McCoy.”

  The judge began. “Let us proceed with final arguments.” He looked to the prosecution. “Mr. Cummings? Are you ready?”

  “Of course, Your Honor.”

  Bobby wanted to jump from his chair, wave his arms, and say, “But Patti’s in mourning! We need to give her some time! I know, because my wife and I lost a baby and—”

  Mr. Cummings interrupted Bobby’s mental monologue in Patti’s defense and began his final attempt to further ruin her life.

  ***

  It was obvious to Deidre that whoever had provided Patti with glam lessons the day before was no longer on duty. She looked horrible, like a half-drowned, shivering puppy, cowering in a chair. Deidre explained it away by recognizing that today was the day of final arguments, and by the end of the day the jury might even have time to deliberate. It could all be over today.

  I’d cower too. In fact…

  Jonathan Cummings had no such life-and-death pressure on him. Sure, his reputation was at stake, but by the smooth way he’d handled everything in this trial, Deidre doubted he got too worked up about anything. You win some, you lose some. Actually, you win most and lose a few. At least that was Deidre’s guesstimate.

  Cummings approached the jury box. “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen.” There were a few mumbled responses, while the rest nodded. “A man is dead. That’s why we’re here.” He pointed at Patti. “That woman, seated at that table, is responsible. There are three things that lead to guilt: means, motive, and opportunity. Ms. McCoy had all three. Let’s go through them now.”

  He held up one finger. “Means. The victim, Brett Lerner, was hit over the head with a wine bottle, left dazed and hurting in a hot tub, where he sank into the bubbling water to drown. It was not a cause of death that required brawn or even cunning. Even someone as petite as the defendant had no trouble taking advantage of her lover’s vulnerable position. She had the means.”

  A second finger was raised. “Motive. We’ve all heard the saying ‘Hell hath no fury as a woman scorned.’ Patricia Jo McCoy was just such a woman. She tells us she loved Brett Lerner. She became pregnant with his child. She wanted a life together, as a family. But he was a ladies’ man, a man who oozed charm and power. A man who had no intention of being tied down with a mere dishwasher and her child.”

  Cummings raised a hand. “I know that some of what I say is speculation. We don’t know with certainty how Mr. Lerner felt about Patti, yet we have heard witnesses testify that their relationship was often confrontational. The simple fact that he went to great lengths to keep their contact private is significant. Common sense says that Mr. Lerner would not accept the reality of a child of Patti’s with open arms—or a proposal. Besides, he could not. He was still married.”

  Cummings let the words ring in the room. They fell on Deidre’s shoulders and added to her own guilt. It was not hard for Deidre to understand how Patti, meek and naive, had embraced the attention and taken it to the next level. She had also succumbed to Brett’s charms.

  A lifetime ago.

  Two lifetimes ago.

  That Brett had not readily agreed to take his relationship with Patti toward true commitment was not surprising. Deidre glanced at the other jurors. Everyone on this panel could have predicted the outcome of such a match. Murder was above and beyond most people’s predictions, but conflict had been inevitable. And breakup. If any of them had known Patti as she went through the relationship, they would have advised her to get out while she could .

  If only someone had given Deidre such advice.

  But now it was too late. Now Patti was in. Way in. Up to her eyeballs.

  As was I.

  Cummings was rambling on and on about Patti’s motive. He painted a picture of her circumstances that made murder a viable solution, her only way out of a no-win situation.

  Deidre understood this completely. As Sig had mentioned last evening when dealing with the Nelly-bully scenario, there were situations that offered no way out. There were times when panic took over. There were times when even a good person could make a mistake.

  And be forgiven for it? Not be held accountable?

  Suddenly she felt herself wanting Patti to be found innocent. But then she shook her head at the betrayal of the plan.

  Patti had to be found guilty. Had to.

  Cummings raised three fingers and touched the third one with the index finger of his other hand. “The third point of guilt is opportunity. Patti had knowledge of Brett’s habits. She knew he often liked to relax in the hot tub. She knew the layout of his house and patio. She knew that once in the hot tub, he would be vulnerable.”

  He put his hands behind his back and shrugged. “Did she go to his house intending to kill him? No. I don’t believe she did. What the state believes, what the evidence shows, is that she went to the home of her lover intending to tell him she was pregnant. To confront him with this fact.” He pointed a finger at the jury. “Yes, confront. Because even someone as naive as Patricia Jo McCoy could not have assumed that a man like Brett Lerner would be happy about the news. She went to his house expecting confrontation, her blood pumping, her nerves on edge, on the offensive, ready to defend her dream of having a family with him, of escaping the drudgery of being a dishwasher, leaving behind the stress of living paycheck to paycheck. In the eyes of Patricia Jo McCoy, Brett Lerner was a successful man who was an icon of the good life. She’d been spurned before. Hurt badly by men. She wasn’t going to take it anymore. Not this time. She’d worked too hard to let her dream die.”

  He paused to great effect before continuing.

  “It came down to her dream or Brett. One of them was going to die that night. That both died is something Ms. McCoy—and Brett Lerner—would like to change. Alas, it can’t happen. Mr. Lerner is dead because the defendant killed him. Is she sorry?” He shrugged. “So strong is her desire to hold on to the dream of family that she lives in denial, unwilling to accept responsibility for her actions.”

  He strolled to the middle of the room and faced Patti and her lawyer at their table. “I am sorry, Ms. McCoy. I am sorry your dream is dead. But you must be held accountable. You must pay the consequences.”

  As Cummings stepped away, his monologue over, Patti burst into tears, covering her face with her hands. The sound of her sobs filled the room. The judge pounded his gavel. “Let’s take a ten minute recess.”

  As the jury stood, Deidre’s heart went out to the girl. And yet, by her outburst had she just admitted her guilt?

  Deidre had to hold back her own tears. Her fellow juror Ann offered her a tissue while dabbing at her own eyes.

  Deidre shook her head at the offer. She would not let the tears come.

  She could not.

  For once that dam was broken…

  Deidre bit her lip, relishing the distraction of the pain. This pain she could handle.

  As for the rest?

  ***

  Bobby shook his head. No. No. No. He knew why Patti was so upset. Cummings mentioned the death of her dream. Her dream was to have a family and she was no l
onger pregnant. That’s what she was crying about.

  Yet Bobby also realized that to the other jurors who were ignorant of her miscarriage, her outburst seemed an admission of guilt. And I’m sorry! I’m so, so sorry! A release of emotion. If only an announcement was made as to what had happened last night.

  The jurors fanned out during the break, a few heading outside for a smoke, a few heading to the vending machines on the next floor, and a few sitting on the benches in the hall, their eyes closed, their bodies slumped in off-duty mode.

  Bobby used the break to check on Becky. He was glad when she, rather than Mrs. Ross, answered. He needed to hear her voice. “How you doing, hon?”

  “I’m okay. Mrs. Ross took the kids to the park so I have the house to myself.”

  Although Bobby knew such quiet time could be a balm to a harried mother, he didn’t like the idea of her being alone in her precarious state. “You’re resting, yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “You have the phone close?”

  “I got it on the first ring, didn’t I?”

  “Any more contractions?”

  “One. But very mild.”

  Bobby looked toward the exit. If only he could get home. “You stay in bed. Don’t do anything that will—”

  She cut him off. “I’m not on complete bed rest, Bobby. I can get up and move around. I’m just supposed to be careful.”

  He pictured her cleaning out a closet or deciding she just had to wash the windows. “This is your first day home. Rest this one day. For me? Please?”

  She sighed. “I suppose.”

  “Thank you. I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

  Bobby hung up and noticed Abigail and Latisha sitting on benches across the hall. They were watching him.

  “Everything okay at home?” Abigail asked.

  They were women. They would understand. “My wife’s expecting. She had some false labor last night. We were at the ER until three. She’s okay now, but I—”

  Latisha slapped a hand on her thigh. “What are you doing here, mister? Get home to your wife.”