Solemnly Swear

by Nancy Moser

  “Hence the lunch duty,” Gus said.

  “I vote for Abigail to be our foreman,” Letisha said.

  Susan said, “I second it.”

  Bobby raised his hand. “Third.”

  Ken shook his head. “We don’t need a third. And besides, who says it’s time to choose a foreman? Jack said—”

  Jack flipped a hand in the air. “I’m all for voting. We’ll have it done.”

  “This is ridiculous,” Ken said.

  Gus stood. “Those in favor of Miss Abigail being our foreman, raise their hands.”

  Abigail pretended not to take note of those who were hesitant, but it was not surprising that Ken, Joe, and Jason were the last to concede. It didn’t bother her. She’d handled tougher hombres than them.

  “It’s passed,” Gus said. “You’re the man, Miss Abigail.”

  “Now that’s a part I haven’t played.”

  This might be fun.

  ***

  Deidre was glad they took a vote right off. Maybe the whole thing could be done today and she could go home and find her life again. Maybe. Hopefully.

  In a basket in front of Abigail were twelve slips of paper. She began to read them off. “Innocent.”

  “Yay!” said Ann, the mother of four.

  “Shh!” Gus said. “I don’t think we should say anything. Not yet.”

  “I think we can say what we want,” Joe said. “I plan on booing if things don’t go my way.”

  “Which means you think she’s innocent too,” Gus said.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because we’ve only heard one vote and it was innocent, and you didn’t boo.”

  Joe sniffed. “Maybe.”

  Deidre suffered a silent sigh. A quick vote, in and out, was obviously not going to happen, especially when there was already an innocent vote. Guilty. Guilty had to be the unanimous verdict.

  Abigail picked up another slip of paper. “Guilty.”

  “Boo,” Joe said, glaring at Gus.

  Yay.

  “Guilty. Innocent. Innocent…”

  The final vote was six guilty and six innocent.

  Joe waved a hand toward Gus. “Now can we go around and tell our vote? We’re going to know soon enough.”

  “I agree,” Susan, the schoolteacher, said. “I’d like to know where people stand, so we can start discussing it.”

  “Start winning people over to our side,” Jason said. He pounded a fist on the table, “I say she’s guilty.”

  “Let’s go round the table,” Abigail said. She pointed to Letisha. “You next.”

  “I voted innocent.”

  Letisha, Susan, Ann, Mary, Bobby, and Joe had voted innocent. Deidre, Abigail, Ken, Jack, Gus, and Jason had voted guilty.

  This was going to be harder than Deidre expected.

  In so many ways.

  ***

  Abigail tapped a spoon against the table, a makeshift gavel, calling for attention. “It does no good to argue and all talk at once. If you have something to say, everyone needs to hear it. That’s the only way we’ll get a unanimous decision.”

  Jack, the auto mechanic, tossed his hands in the air. “We’re six to six. There’s no way we’ll ever sway half of us to the right side—which is my side. Guilty.”

  Letisha pointed a red-painted nail at him. “You bet your greasy fingernails we’re not swaying. Not guilty is the verdict we need. And you, my man, need a manicure.”

  Jack glanced at his fingers, folded them over, then put his hands under the table. “No thanks. I don’t want fancy-man nails like Ken or that waiter guy over there.”

  “The name’s Jason, and I’d be fired if I had dirty hands like you.”

  “You’d be taking the bus if people like me didn’t have dirty hands.”

  “What’s wrong with the bus?” Ann said. “My kids take the bus every day.” She looked at Deidre, who was shaking her head. “Doesn’t your daughter ride the bus to school?”

  “Actually, my mother-in-law lives with us and usually drives her,” Deidre said.

  “In a limo no doubt,” Joe, the truck driver, said.

  “At least you have kids.” Susan, the teacher, seemed surprised when her words stopped all conversation. She looked from face to face. “Sorry to put a damper on this lively discussion about kids in school, but some of us haven’t been blessed.” She squared up the napkin under her coffee cup. “And that’s all I want to say about that.”

  Bobby raised a hand. “Speaking of kids… Patti lost her baby. Last night.”

  The room stilled.

  “How do you know?” Abigail asked.

  “I was at the hospital because my wife went into false labor and—”

  “And you’re here?” Ann asked. “Is your wife okay?”

  “She’s fine. She’s at home, taking it easy.”

  “When’s the baby due?” fireman Gus asked.

  “Six weeks. Every week that goes by makes the baby’s lungs stronger.”

  Joe made a time-out T with his hands. “Sorry for your troubles, Bob, but let’s back up to the bombshell. Patti lost her baby?”

  Bobby nodded. “I was in the hall at the hospital when she was wheeled in. A policewoman was with her. She told me Patti lost the baby.”

  “No offense,” said Ken, “but why would she tell you that?”

  Bobby shrugged. “Probably because I asked.”

  “And you do have an honest face,” Letisha said.

  “Oh, please,” Jack said.

  “Well, he does. A baby face—no offense, Bobby.”

  “None taken.”

  Not fifteen minutes into deliberations and Abigail questioned the wisdom of becoming foreman. These people could zip a conversation onto a side road faster than any race car driver; chance of collision imminent.

  She stood at her place, wishing—not for the first time— that she were statuesque instead of petite. A Sigourney Weaver type instead of a Sally Field. “People, please!”

  She might not have had the stature, but she had the voice. She hadn’t performed six shows a week on Broadway (sometimes seven if there was a Sunday matinee) without learning how to use her voice to best advantage.

  The room quieted. “We must stay on task. I, for one, have no desire to be in deliberations for days on end. We must be strong and do the work.”

  “And not get side-tracked,” Ken said.

  He’d done his share of off-roading, yet Abigail welcomed his support. “Let’s keep the discussion tuned to the trial. During lunch and breaks if you want to compare lives, go for it. But while we’re in session we must focus. Please.”

  There were a few nods, and she assumed the rest were agreeing. What wasn’t to agree with?

  “Super-duper.” Abigail turned her attention to Bobby. “Are you sure Patti lost her baby?”

  He made a crossing motion over his heart. “I’m sure.”

  “Then why didn’t the judge tell us?” Gus asked.

  “Probably because he thought it could influence our decision,” Mary said. “We’ll feel sorry for her.”

  “So we’ll say she’s innocent?” Jack asked.

  “I already think she’s innocent, so it only reinforces my feelings,” Mary said.

  Finally, they were focused on the trial. Abigail sat down but said, “I think we should go around and state why we feel the way we do. Ken? Why don’t you start?”

  One by one, they gave their opinions. The distinctions between guilty and innocent were based on the forensics against Patti (for those who thought she was guilty) versus the innocent voter’s gut feelings that she couldn’t have done such a thing. Or wouldn’t.

  “She wanted a family,” Susan said, summing up what most of Patti’s supporters had said. “She wouldn’t kill the man who would make that happen. I know. I want a family too, and if I ever had a chance to get one, I certainly wouldn’t do anything to mess it up.”

  “But what if Brett didn’t want a family?” Gus said. “Maybe she l
ied about not having the chance to tell him about the baby. With that one lie, a bevy of other scenarios opens up. She tells him, he feels trapped, she’s hurt, they argue. He gets rude, she panics because her dream is on the edge of oblivion, and she conks him over the head.”

  “Wow,” Susan said. “It could have happened like that.”

  “Exactly.” Gus sat back, obviously pleased.

  “What Gus just said brings up a good point,” Abigail said.

  “Exactly,” Gus repeated.

  She admonished him with a look. “I don’t mean the specifics of his what-if scenario as much as the power of one lie. We have to keep in mind that a witness can tell a hundred truths, but with one lie, everything can change.”

  “Great,” Joe said. “How are we supposed to pick out the lies?”

  No one had an answer to that one.

  ***

  One lie can change everything.

  Now that was the understatement of the century.

  Deidre planned to be more interactive once the jury deliberation started but found that sitting back, letting the rest of them talk, had its advantages. It allowed her the gift of observation. Let them show their hands. If she spoke too soon, pushed too soon for a guilty verdict, she might lose her ace.

  Which was?

  She had no idea.

  Deidre took a sip of tea, trying to calm her stomach.

  “Now that we’ve heard from everyone, let’s do another vote,” Ken suggested. He checked his watch. “I’d like to get out of here. I have something to do tonight.”

  “Starlight golf?” Jack asked.

  “Actually, an uncle died. I have to attend his memorial service.”

  “Oh ,” Jack said. “Sorry.” He looked to the rest of them. “I’m all for another vote. Abby?”

  “Let’s do it. How about a show of hands this time?”

  Susan raised a hand, but not to vote. “Won’t that be intimidating if someone’s changed their mind?”

  “Like you?” Joe said.

  “No, not like me. But I’d much prefer we do a ballot.”

  “Everyone’s going to know our vote when we keep talking about it,” Gus said.

  “Besides,” Letisha added, “if we’re unanimous, we’re done.”

  “Fat chance,” Jack said.

  Abigail took over. “A ballot then.” She set the basket in motion around the table. When it came back around she tallied the votes. “Guilty: seven.” There was a gasp. “Innocent: five.”

  “Okay,” Joe said, “who’s the traitor?”

  “You’re just mad because someone came over to our side,” Ken said.

  “You bet I’m mad.”

  Abigail spread her arms, trying to make peace. “No one’s going to get mad about anything. We’re here to deliberate, to talk, to compromise—and to change our minds. People will have to change their minds or all this will have been for nothing.”

  “We’re also here to get at the truth,” Mary said.

  “Fat chance,” Jack said again.

  Deidre looked at the wall clock above the coffeemaker. “It’s four-thirty. Can we call it a day? Start again Monday?”

  Bobby raised his hand. “I second the motion. I’d like to get home to my wife sooner rather than later.”

  “I’ll get permission.” Abigail went to the door. A few minutes later she came back. “We can go home. Be back here at nine on Monday. No discussing the trial, etcetera, etcetera.”

  Ken rose. “Yeah, yeah. See you Monday.”

  The part about not discussing the trial? Deidre knew that wasn’t going to happen.

  ***

  Sig met her at the door and, with a flourish, pulled flowers from behind his back. Peach roses wrapped in green tissue. Her favorite.

  “What are these for?” she asked.

  “For going through all this for me.” He kissed her cheek. “I heard on the news you didn’t reach a verdict and were calling it quits for the day.”

  She waited for him to ask about the initial vote. She knew he wanted to know. Which is why she didn’t tell him. After breathing in the luscious scent of the flowers she said, “I need to get these in water.”

  He followed her to the dining room hutch, where she retrieved a vase. Then to the kitchen sink for water. He was like a puppy. If she walked across the room in a zigzag would he follow the pattern?

  She tore open the packet of flower preservative and poured it into the water, where it gracefully danced its way toward the bottom. “Where’s Nelly?”

  “She’s at a friend’s until eleven.”

  “Where’s Karla?”

  “Having dinner and playing bunco with her friends.”

  Deidre was surprised when he snuggled up behind her, his lips in her hair, his hands on her waist. “With all that’s been going on with the trial, and with Nelly, I thought it would help if we had an evening alone. I made reservations at Da Vinci’s.”

  She didn’t feel like a romantic evening because it wouldn’t be about romance. She didn’t feel like sitting across the table from her husband, knowing that talk would focus on the trial. He’d surely be disappointed at the initial jury vote and would offer advice about how to sway people their way.

  She just couldn’t deal with it right now.

  She turned to face him, finding the space tight as she was sandwiched between Sig and the counter. She offered him a pained smile. “That sounds nice, but I just can’t. I’m exhausted and I don’t feel very well.” As soon as she said it she realized she was playing the sick card way too often but she couldn’t think of another excuse. “I have a headache, and I couldn’t eat.”

  He stepped back.

  She’d hurt him. Again. She busied herself arranging the flowers. “Being in court all day, listening to testimony, then starting deliberations is hard work.”

  “So is sitting on the side-lines, having absolutely no control. I’m feeling desperate, Deidre. On the verge of doing something.”

  “Something what?”

  He shook his head.

  She felt for him and put a hand on his arm. “I know it’s hard. I’m doing the best I can.”

  He moved his arm, propelling her hand away. “Whatever.” He stormed into the family room, grabbed the remote, and fell into his chair.

  Deidre stuffed the rest of the roses into the vase and went upstairs. Actually she would have loved a good dinner. She was starved. But since she’d said she couldn’t eat...

  Hunger was a minor consequence she’d have to live with.

  ***

  “Where’s Mrs. Ross?”

  “Oh, hi, hon. I sent her home.”

  “But why? You need to be in bed.”

  “Who says?”

  “The doctor.”

  She salted whatever was in the pot and stirred. “He did not say that. He said I should take it easy, but like I told you before, I’m not on total bed rest.” She took a taste from the spoon, added more salt, then looked at him. “You want me healthy, don’t you?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then you can’t make me a prisoner in my own home. I have to be able to move about and be useful.”

  He moved toward her. “But the baby.”

  ***

  When Bobby got home he did not expect to see Becky standing at the stove, making dinner.

  Becky raised the spoon to stop him. “Hold it right there. Are you implying I don’t care about the baby?”

  Oops. “Of course not.”

  “Good. Because if that was what you were implying, I’d have to splatter sauce on you.”

  He lifted an arm. “I come in peace. May I approach?”

  She started stirring again. “I was hoping you would.”

  He stood behind her and encircled her with his arms. “I just want everything to be okay. I want you to be okay, the baby, the kids.”

  She pressed her free hand against the side of his head. “It will be okay. We’ll be fine.”

  Suddenly, Bobby felt tears threaten.
He didn’t think he made a sound, but Becky let the spoon go and faced him, her eyes searching his. “There’s something else wrong, isn’t there?”

  And there was, though he hadn’t realized it until that very moment. “Patti lost her baby. She has nothing. Yet…”

  “Yet what?”

  “Yet I’m beginning to think she’s guilty.”

  Becky’s pale eyebrows rose. “But you told me she was innocent.”

  He stepped away and sank onto a kitchen chair. “I want her to be innocent. I don’t want to believe she could kill her boyfriend, but the evidence is strong against her, and though I want to save her I... I’m doing my best to think this through but—”

  “Daddy!” Tanner ran in the room, waving a picture torn from a coloring book. “Look what I made.”

  Teresa toddled in after him “Looky, Daddy, looky!” She held out her own picture, which was a green scribble on top of a line drawing of Cookie Monster.

  “Mine’s better,” Tanner said, putting his picture on top of Teresa’s on the table. “I stayed in the lines. Mostly.”

  “Mine!” Teresa pulled her picture free.

  Bobby lifted each child onto a knee, then held up the pictures. “Well, let’s see… Tanner, you did a fine job of coloring. But isn’t Elmo supposed to be red?”

  “He got tired of red fur. He’s wearing purple today.”

  “Ah,” Bobby said. He looked at Teresa’s scribble. “And you, little one. I see you agree with your brother about a new color. I like the green instead of Cookie’s usual blue.”

  “Boo!”

  He snuggled both of them close, once again reveling in the scent of their hair and their huggable frames. He was so blessed.

  “I’m proud of both of you for doing your best. No one can ever ask more than that.”

  Becky tapped the spoon against the edge of the pan, then pointed it at him.

  Oh. Yeah.

  Point taken.

  ***

  “No one loved life more than Davey. If he could have chosen a way to die, going down in a plane while on a hunting trip would have been in his top ten. Though other scenarios like getting his neck broken while bull riding or having his parachute not open or even choking to death on a bone from a fish he’d just cooked in a cast iron pan over an open fire would also have been right up there.”

  Ken nodded and felt Ronnie squeeze his hand. Uncle Davey was a character. A man who lived life to its fullest to the very end.