Carpenters arrived and took down the walls separating the kitchen, dining, and living rooms, making it one huge, open space. The kitchen was across the back of the house with an island that partially separated it from the living and dining areas. Two of the bedrooms were fine for guests, but we replaced the paneling with sheetrock in the master and Lilly's bedroom. Susie said we'd do the other two rooms later. All of the bathrooms needed new fixtures, and Susie wanted new appliances and plumbing fixtures in the kitchen. We added French doors off the master, the kitchen, and Lilly's room onto the back porch that spanned the entire rear of the house. In front, we rebuilt a long porch with columns. We had everything painted, inside and out.
It was a major overhaul, but when it was done, it was beautiful, spacious, and comfortable; similar to the house Susie had renovated on Gravier Road in Jean Ville.
*
We had a housewarming party the last weekend in March. Marianne and Dr. Warner brought Susie and Rodney, who had been released to Outpatient Rehab. Rodney was in good humor, but still in a wheelchair and could he only say a few words. Susie was back to her old, spunky self, which made us all happy. Lilly invited Bobby and Jessie, I invited Robert and Brenda, and Susie invited Governor Breaux and First Lady, Nikole.
The afternoon of the party, a moving truck pulled up in front of the house, and several men unloaded a baby grand piano that they set it in the front corner of the living room, facing the dining and kitchen areas. I was stymied and asked the men where it came from, just as Susie and Rodney arrived and told me it was a gift from them for my sleuthing work. They laughed at their explanation, but I was so enamored with the black, ebony piano that I had to put my hands on the keys. I sat and played all my favorite pieces until Luke arrived, and everyone agreed I should stop playing and start helping get ready for the party.
After everyone arrived and had eaten, I sat in a chair in the corner of the living room and watched Luke move through the crowd with ease. Every now and then he'd wink at me or come by and squeeze my hand. I didn't know how I felt about him, yet. I hadn't had time to think about Luke as a partner or boyfriend; he was just someone who was always around and made me feel safe. I didn't tell anyone about the horrible nightmares I was having, where ugly, dirty men broke into my bedroom and did unspeakable things to me. I'd wake up in a sweat, shaking and crying. I don't think I realized it at the time, but I was too traumatized by what had happened to me to consider a relationship that might include intimacy.
Luke and I were both busy that spring, and he spent more time in Jean Ville than I did because he was often in court for motions, hearings, and orders. He filed for a trial continuance to give Rodney time to recuperate further. Luke said Rodney's testimony was vital to the case and that Rod needed to be able to speak clearly enough to be understood by the jurors.
I worried that my apartment in Jean Ville would be vandalized by whoever had beat me up, so I asked Luke to stay there when he was in town and gave him a key.
The trial was set for June 12, and could no longer be delayed. The timing was perfect for me because Lilly could go to New Orleans during the week and I could stay in Jean Ville. I wanted to attend every day of the trial—from jury selection, to witness interrogation, to the verdict.
Lilly went to Bobby's senior prom and had a date with him graduation night. She floated on a cloud all through May, and I wondered whether she would pass her finals, but she finished her first year at LSU with good grades and registered for her second year. She wasn't happy about spending the summer in New Orleans away from Bobby, but our compromise was that I would meet her in Baton Rouge every Friday evening and stay with her on weekends so she could see him. That seemed the perfect solution because she could be with her parents during the week and with Bobby, Jessie, and their family on the weekends.
It worked for me, too. During the trial and for weeks prior, Luke stayed with me in Jean Ville, sleeping in the study at my apartment during the week. He worked late most weeknights, often until after nine o'clock, so I'd have a TV dinner and was usually in bed when he got in. Sometimes we had coffee together in the mornings, but mostly he was gone by the time I was up.
*
I sat in the gallery behind the long wooden table where Luke's team was positioned. A wood-spindled partition separated me and the other spectators in the gallery from the courtroom. There was a swinging gate in the center of the railing and on the right side of the gate was the defense table, identical to the prosecution's. Thevenot sat between his two attorneys, and most of his family sat on the pew behind the partition.
The jury box was perpendicular to Luke's table, facing the judge, who sat on a raised platform behind a high desk called, “the bench,” set at an angle in the front corner of the courtroom.
The first week was all about jury selection, and the gallery was filled with reporters, family members, friends, and curiosity seekers. The lawyers on both sides asked potential jurors questions to weed out those who might already have their minds made up or be prejudiced in one way or another.
A young black woman got on the witness stand and answered the basic questions clearly and with astute understanding. When Luke asked her whether she'd read any of the news articles about the case, she said, "Yes. And I think he's guilty as sin!" She was excused.
A white woman dressed in jeans and a tight, pink T-shirt with silver, glittered writing that said, "I'm all yours," took the stand and said it didn't matter who did it because, "It was just a black man who got shot." Excused.
A white man from the north side of Toussaint Parish said he knew Thevenot and had hunted with him in the past. Luke asked the potential juror if they had hunted animals or humans. "Both," the man said. Excused.
A well dressed black man with a shaved head, a starched oxford shirt, and khaki slacks who identified himself as Larry Smith said he'd heard someone shot "a brother," on his wedding day. "Whoever would do something like that should be hung." He scratched his slick head and ran his hand down his forehead to his chin. "Man, I'd like to get my hands on whoever did that." Excused.
Several potential jurors knew the defendant. Some were hunting buddies. Some went to high school with Thevenot. When those guys were asked about Thevenot's character, one of them said, "Questionable," another said, "Renegade," a third one said, "He's a badass, that's for sure."
*
By the end of the first day, only two jurors had made the cut. Judge DeYoung was frustrated by the attorneys’ questions, which he said were more geared towards exclusion than selection. During a bench conference, Judge DeYoung emphatically told the attorneys that a jury would be selected even if a "tales" or emergency jury call would have to be issued. Neither attorney was interested in that plan, which would call for emergency notices to be delivered to people in the middle of the night or early in the morning, requiring them to appear at the courthouse to be questioned. For the next few days, the lawyers tried to overlook some of the obvious signs of prejudice in order to seat jurors.
On day two, a woman who was recently married was chosen, even though she said she couldn't imagine how she'd feel if her husband had been shot when they walked out of the church on their wedding day. She stared at Thevenot with a look that could kill, but, in the end, she convinced the defense attorneys she would keep an open mind.
An older man who walked with a limp and said he was a Vietnam veteran took the stand. His stated that his name as Nathan Moore, he was from Oregon, and had moved to Toussaint Parish two years before because he was tired of rain.
"There was a hurricane the first week I moved here. It rained for days, maybe weeks. I wanted to go back to Oregon, but I couldn't afford the trip." He stared at Luke without blinking.
"Do you know the defendant?" Luke asked.
"No, sir. Never saw him in my life." The man shifted in the witness chair.
"Do you have an opinion about whether he's guilty or innocent?"
"Of what?"
"Of shooting
Rodney Thibault. Almost killing him."
"Why'd he do that?"
"That's the sixty-four million dollar question." Luke made a note on his legal pad that sat on the podium in the middle of the courtroom.
"He got paid to do it?"
"No, sir. I'm sorry. That was a euphemism."
"He's a foreigner?"
"No, sir." Luke tried not to laugh, but everyone in the gallery had broken the silence. The judge banged his gavel and said he'd throw the entire gallery out if we erupted again. After that, I couldn't control my giggles and used a Kleenex to cover my mouth.
Mr. Moore was accepted. By Tuesday afternoon, a total of five jurors had been seated.
*
Luke came to my apartment at about eight o'clock that night. I didn't expect him until later and was watching TV in my pajamas, which consisted of sleeping shorts and a cut-off T-shirt.
"What are you doing here?" I crossed my arms over my chest to hide my untethered breasts.
"Damn. You are the sexiest thing I've ever seen." He smiled at me from the doorway.
"Luke. Don't embarrass me. Turn your head so I can go into my bedroom and get decent." I drew my knees up under my chin and wrapped my arms around my legs. I saw his eyes wander to the tops of my thighs where my shorts rode up. I put my legs down with a jerk, and my breasts bounced. I covered them again. "Please, Luke."
He turned around slowly, still holding his briefcase, his tie loosened and the top button of his shirt undone. When I returned to the living room in my terry cloth robe, he was rooting around in the fridge.
"Are you hungry? I have TV dinners." I walked up behind him, and the timing worked out that when he turned around his face was a smidgen away from mine. I could smell the chewing gum his breath: spearmint. He was still bent forward, which made us eye-level. At first, we just stared at each other, his blue eyes twinkling, dots of lime green flickering just inside the whites. It was a moment, and I was a deer in the headlights. Something washed over me in that brief connection, and I burst out crying. He wrapped his arms around me and steered me to the sofa.
I cried for a long time while he held me. I tried to work through the pent-up feelings that made me have such a breakdown. I pictured Warren, the beating, the bloody pillowcase, the burning pain between my legs, the IVs and catheters, the stitches and casts, Luke's face that morning, the red truck, the note on my windshield that said Stay out of this investigation or you'll end up like your sister, my doubts and suspicions, my guilt and disgust. When I finally stopped crying, I asked him if he'd like a drink.
"I need one. You?" He got up and went to the kitchen, turned on the oven, poured a couple inches of Crown Royal over ice, and brought me a glass of wine. "You want to tell me about these tears?"
"I think I'm having a delayed reaction." I was still sniffling. I put the glass of wine on the coffee table.
"I wondered when it would hit you. You breezed through the emotional part way too quickly, as though it never happened." He took a long sip of his whiskey and put his glass on the table. He wrapped both of his arms around me and pulled me close to him, my head on his chest where I could hear the thump, thump, thump of his heart.
"I suspected you," I whispered it.
"You what? Me?" He pulled back so he could look at me but didn't take his arms away. I folded my arms over my breasts and drew my knees up.
"I'm sorry. I couldn't imagine who would have done that to me. I didn't know you very well at the time." I whimpered and curled into a ball.
"Sissy. I'm so sorry. I had no idea you were afraid of me." He sat next to me. I was rolled up, and put my head on his thigh.
"I know now," I whimpered, and sniffled so much I didn't know if he heard me. He let go of me and knelt on the floor in front of the sofa so we were eye-level. By this time, I was in a fetal position.
"You don't have to move, but please open your eyes." He put his hand under my chin. I opened my eyes and stared at him through the teary glare. "Tell me you know it wasn't me."
"I know." I sniffled. I thought about how he had been with me almost every day since the incident, which I referred to as "the break-in," because I couldn't say words that were so much bigger.
I thought about how Luke had never tried to touch me inappropriately, never tried to sleep with me. But he'd taken care of me, protected me, made me feel safe. He didn't push me to come to grips with my fears; he let me do it in my own time.
"It couldn't be you, Luke. I know that now, but, I didn't know then…" For the first time, I knew in my soul that he didn't do it. All those months I'd wondered. But I'd come to know him, and something in my instinct knew he would never hurt me.
"I understand, baby. You have every right to wonder, to be afraid." He was sitting on the floor, his chin on the sofa, his face so close to mine I tasted bourbon in his exhales.
"I'm not afraid of you, Luke." My eyes felt as big as oranges, and they were so full of tears, it was like opening them underwater in a swimming pool.
"I'm glad, baby. You should never be afraid of me. I want to take care of you." He kissed my cheek, then each of my eyes, then my mouth, gently. He took his handkerchief out of his back pocket, and dabbed at my tears, then wiped my chin where they had accumulated. "Who are you afraid of?"
"I'm not sure, but the list has dwindled down to only a few." I loosened the grip on my legs and stretched out some, my knees still bent, but no longer under my chin.
"A few? I mean more than one person could despise you that much? Who, baby? Who do you think did it?" he whispered and planted several little kisses on my cheeks.
"I can't say. Not yet." I started to sit up, and he helped me, then handed me my glass of wine and took a long slug of his drink.
"Okay. I'm in no hurry. You can tell me your suspicions when you're ready." He got off the floor and sat on the sofa, his legs stretched out in front of him, holding his drink in both hands. I sat up slowly, drank some wine, and put my head on his shoulder.
"Luke?"
"Yes, sweetie."
"Why are you calling me baby and sweetie?"
"Is that what you wanted to ask me?"
"No." I giggled, and he laughed.
"That's my girl. What, then?"
"Could you sleep with me, but that's all?" I whispered into his shoulder, and I felt his chest lift and recede as though laughing at me.
"Are you asking whether I can hold you all night and not try to have sex with you?" He laughed aloud now.
"Don't laugh at me." I started to giggle, but I didn't want to. I wanted to be serious. "Yes. That's what I'm asking."
He sat up straight, put his drink on the coffee table, leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, his hands folded together between his legs, and was very still. He remained in that position for what seemed a long time. I was afraid I'd said something wrong, and I held my breath. Finally, he stood up and looked down at me with the most tender expression.
"I've known you since September. This is almost July. What's that? Ten months, almost a year. Right?" He leaned towards me, his hands on either side of my face, his mouth close to mine.
"I guess so." I was feeling more relaxed and loosened the grip around my knees.
"Have I ever tried anything?"
"No."
"It's not that I haven't wanted to. I'm crazy about you, and you turn me on like—well, I can't describe it, but trust me. I'm attracted to you." He smiled at me, and I felt such affection for this man that I thought my heart might burst. "But you've needed space and time after what happened."
"How did you know? I didn't even know." I put my legs down, my feet on the floor, an actual sitting position. His face was very close to mine.
"You changed." He didn't blink or look away.
"How?"
"More serious." He knelt on the floor and put his hands on my knees. "Sometimes your mind was a million miles away. You haven't played the piano, you don't break out and sing along with t
he radio, you stare into space often."
"Oh. I didn't know." I felt my brow wrinkle. Why had he stuck with me, even when I shut down?
"I've been afraid to leave you alone in your apartment." He took both my hands in his. "I think I've felt your fear along with you."
"How can you be so patient? I might have given up on you."
"You're worth it."
"How do you know?"
"I know." He kissed me on the cheek and stood up. He stared at me a few seconds then went to the kitchen and took his TV dinner out of the oven. He sat at the island with a glass of milk and his Salisbury steak. I watched him for the longest time, then I got up and walked up behind him and put my arms around his waist. He lowered his chin, and I could feel him shiver, like he was crying. I put my face against his back and cried with him.
*
Day three of jury selection was a red-letter day.
A man in a Superman hoodie sat in the witness chair. The judge said men were not allowed to cover their heads in the courtroom. His bald head shined under the lights when he pushed the hood to the back of his sweatshirt. He said his name was Joe Bourbon. "Like the whiskey." He said he didn't drink, though, because he was a pastor. He had a church called the Sovereign Independent Church of Souls of the Lord. The judge asked him whether it was a particular denomination and he said, "No, sir. It's Baptist."
I looked at the lady sitting next to me, and she lifted her black eyebrows that were dyed as dark as her cotton candy hair, like shoe polish, and frizzy. It was all I could do to control myself.
"Do you know the defendant?" Luke asked Mr. Bourbon.
"He's never been to my church, sir." Bourbon looked directly at Luke, never even glanced at Thevenot.
"Please look at the defendant. He's the one sitting in the middle of that table, the one who isn't wearing a suit. Have you ever seen him?"
"Not in my church, no." Bourbon looked at Thevenot then back at Luke.
"Mr. Bourbon. Try to focus. Have you ever seen this man anywhere? In the grocery store? At the movie theatre? At a friend's house? At a bar?"
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