Forgiveness Road

by Mandy Mikulencak

  Mr. Whitney already sat at a small wooden table a few feet away, furiously scribbling notes. Janelle hoped Judge Berry had advised her well. Witnesses and other concerned parties sat or milled about outside in the hallway. Assembled that morning were a representative from the State Department of Health, someone from the youth corrections board, a youth advocate assigned to Cissy’s case, the psychiatrist and pediatrician Mr. Whitney would call for expert testimony, and Caroline. Those in the courtroom included the court stenographer and Sheriff Roe and his deputies, who answered the call about Richard’s shooting.

  Sheriff Roe relayed the basic facts of the shooting first. He’d kept his tone even and nonjudgmental, even expressing his sadness that a decent young woman felt compelled to commit such a crime. Mimi’s lawyer had objected to his sympathetic tone, but the judge informed him it wasn’t a trial and to keep his mouth buttoned until it was his turn to speak.

  Mr. Whitney presented his case next. He seemed a different person before the judge, articulate and confident despite his disheveled appearance. The courtroom door clicked open and shut, and Janelle turned to see Judge Berry had quietly taken a seat at the very back. He winked his support and she nodded in return, her admission she’d misjudged Mr. Whitney.

  The next witness called was the pediatrician from Mobile. He used explicit medical terms to describe how Cissy’s body had been harmed by the abuse and the evidence that would be presented should the case go to trial.

  Janelle stood and motioned at the bench. “Judge Harper, please! There’s no reason for the girl to be in the courtroom for this.”

  She glared at Mr. Whitney for not preparing them for what might be said, or thinking far enough ahead to request that Cissy not be present. Janelle turned her worry to Cissy, whose eyes, lost and dreamy, seemed to focus on a world wholly different than the one the rest of them occupied.

  “Deputy Parks, please escort Miss Pickering to one of the holding rooms down the hall,” the judge boomed. “We’ll send for her after the rest of the testimony.”

  When Fred rested a hand on Cissy’s shoulder, she flinched. Orienting herself back to the present, she smoothed the front of her dress and rose to follow him out of the courtroom. Janelle placed one hand over her heart and nodded for Cissy to go.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Janelle saw Mimi rise and push past the deputy. “All of you are liars. No one cares that my son is dead!” she shouted, then spat at Cissy.

  The judge slammed his gavel and barked for another deputy to restrain Mimi.

  “It’s all right, Grandma Mimi. I understand,” Cissy said, never taking her eyes off her. She didn’t move until Fred nudged her along.

  Janelle scooted across the bench, ready to attack Richard’s mother, but the judge put up his hand. She sat down, fuming. She’d deal with Mimi later, though, on her own terms. And she’d dress down the judge for not having Mimi barred from the proceeding after such a display.

  When the courtroom settled down, the pediatrician quickly finished his testimony. More important was the testimony from the psychiatrist who’d interviewed Cissy twice since the shooting.

  “Miss Pickering exhibits signs of obsessive-compulsive disorder.” He spoke mostly to the judge. “She uses the lists and counting games to make sense of her world. She had no control over her body for many years. It was natural to seek external ways to find order.”

  None of the psychiatrist’s findings surprised Janelle. He noted that Cissy seemed dissociative, or detached from her actions. She had blocked the most painful memories, he said, and had developed techniques to keep those memories buried. He said the act was not premeditated. She had simply snapped the morning of the shooting, and the loaded firearm had been readily accessible.

  When Janelle was another person, before the hearing and before the killing, she’d not given psychiatry much credence. She believed depression could be overcome with a little hard work and a better attitude. She’d never looked on Cissy’s peculiar habits as symptoms; Cissy was Cissy. Janelle sat, mesmerized, when the psychiatrist described the calming effects of those habits and how critical they were to managing Cissy’s anxiety and fear. Janelle’s face flushed remembering the times she told her granddaughter to stop the child’s play; the times she grew irritated with the counting and admonished her. In hindsight, each instance now seemed a cry for help gone unanswered.

  “Then, what is your recommendation, sir?” The judge leaned forward.

  “I’d say Miss Pickering would benefit from some time under psychiatric care and evaluation. I recommend a year, six months at the minimum. She is not a danger to society, but she is in need of professional help. The DA will need to take into account any evaluation made by the state hospital’s psychiatrist. But I do not believe it’s in her best interests to remand her to the Columbia Training School at this stage.”

  Janelle was shocked that Mimi and her lawyer hadn’t hired their own psychiatrist to interview Cissy. It went against all reason if they’d hoped to sway the judge toward some form of punishment. Was it Mimi’s subconscious admission that Richard wasn’t the only victim? Even more shocking was that Mimi’s lawyer had no prepared remarks; he said he was there strictly as an advisor to Mrs. Pickering.

  She glanced in Mimi’s direction and saw her dab away tears for the first time that day.

  * * *

  After a small break, Deputy Parks escorted Cissy back into the courtroom. Caroline had entered just moments before. Mother and daughter stood just a few feet apart. Each turned her head to face the other, but neither spoke. Time stood still for those few seconds and Janelle held her breath. She thought she saw Caroline’s face soften, but the softness disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. Janelle’s stoic daughter approached the front of the courtroom, resigned to follow through on her promise to go along with Mr. Whitney’s recommendations.

  After Caroline’s testimony, Mimi grew agitated and implored the judge to let her speak next. Her lawyer whispered his protests, but Mimi held her hand up for him to be quiet. Cissy put on a brave front as if Mimi’s outburst had happened lifetimes ago or perhaps to someone else altogether. She calmly watched her paternal grandmother take the stand.

  “Mrs. Pickering, I’ll allow it, but be forewarned. I’ll not have you upsetting the girl or these proceedings, or you’ll be asked to leave,” the judge said.

  Mimi sat in the witness box, her gloved hands clutching a purse on her lap. “I have new evidence that should be noted in the record,” she said. “Although my daughter-in-law is sure to deny it, I have reason to believe that Cissy was fathered by someone other than my son. She is no blood relation to Richard. I think the sheriff should have investigated whether their . . . their relationship was consensual.”

  Caroline bounded up the aisle of the courtroom, but Mr. Whitney grabbed her from behind, stopping her from reaching her mother-in-law. Mimi shrieked and covered her face as if she was already being attacked.

  “Sit down, Mrs. Pickering!” the judge bellowed. “Both Mrs. Pickerings! Stop this nonsense right now!”

  Although Cissy didn’t stare directly at the exchange, the corner of her mouth turned up slightly. Janelle wondered how she could find levity in the circus around her. But perhaps she was just pleased to see her mother’s protective instincts finally kick in.

  When the room had settled down, Judge Harper wiped the sweat from his brow. “Mrs. Pickering, your unfounded accusations are not pertinent to this case and I question your motives in declaring them. If you speak again, I’ll throw you in a jail cell myself.”

  He then pointed at Caroline. “And you . . . settle down or you’ll share her cell.”

  Mimi sat down and Caroline moved to a bench near the back of the courtroom. The hearing ended quite abruptly after that. The judge didn’t seem interested in Mimi’s petition to have Cissy tried as an adult, particularly after Mimi’s two outbursts. Actually, the morning seemed to cause him a great deal of discomfort. Emancipated from his assignment, he scurried to
his chambers.

  Janelle assumed she’d feel some measure of relief when the judge agreed to send Cissy to a state psychiatric hospital for observation. Her fear of Cissy going to a correctional facility had been all-consuming, and she hadn’t thought through what hospitalization would mean. Her primary goal had been to get Cissy through the hearing. She could tackle only one obstacle at a time, and now another reared its insurmountable head.

  As the room emptied, Cissy appeared distracted, eyes darting to the doors.

  “What are you looking at?” Janelle asked.

  “I thought maybe Mama would stay behind and speak to me. She must have left.”

  Janelle’s heart broke for the girl. No matter how hard Janelle tried to make things better, she couldn’t give Cissy what she longed for most: her mother’s love and forgiveness.

  “She had to go. I’m sure she’ll visit soon.” Janelle found it easier and easier to lie to protect Cissy’s feelings, especially where Caroline was concerned. “How about some fried chicken from C.J.’s?”

  “May I also have a thick slice of coconut cream pie?” she asked.

  “You may have two if you like.”

  Sheriff Roe smiled at the exchange and waited close by to escort Cissy back to the room at the county jail where she’d been sequestered.

  “Will you stay and eat with me, Grandmother? We could pull the desk and chair up to the bed and pretend we’re having Sunday dinner. And then you can tell me all about the hospital in Meridian.”

  Janelle nodded, refusing to cry until her granddaughter was out of sight.

  * * *

  Caroline packed a suitcase with clothing she thought Cissy would need. When she arrived at Janelle’s home, she set the suitcase down on the edge of the porch, laying it on its side. Knowing Caroline, Janelle suspected each item would be laundered, pressed, and folded meticulously. She’d probably set the case on its side so the clothes wouldn’t bunch and wrinkle.

  “Your daughter wants to see you,” Janelle said.

  Caroline looked down and shook her head no before retreating to her car to grab a cardboard box. She walked it over to Janelle’s car and hoisted it into the trunk.

  “I thought she’d like to take some books with her. Well, Bess suggested it,” Caroline said. “You know Cissy. Always reading. Always nagging me to take her to the library.”

  Her voice trailed off and she stood staring down into the trunk. Janelle walked over and laid a hand on her shoulder, but Caroline dipped away, avoiding the touch.

  “Mother, don’t. I can’t—”

  “I’m sorry, Caroline,” Janelle said.

  “Aren’t we all.”

  “No, I mean, I haven’t been there for you, for my granddaughters. It’s been—”

  “Let’s not do this now.” Caroline pushed past and got into her car, driving away without looking back. Janelle let the dust from the gravel subside before she walked over to the porch to grab her purse and Cissy’s suitcase.

  When she showed up at the jail, Janelle asked Deputy Parks to retrieve the books and suitcase from her car and bring them into the room where Cissy was held.

  “But, ma’am, why don’t I just load them into the cruiser?” he asked. “We’ll be leaving soon.”

  “Because she’ll want to see them first,” she said with no other explanation. He rolled his eyes and marched away in sullen stomps.

  Janelle guessed Cissy would want to inventory the suitcase’s contents in the new spiral notebooks she’d asked her to purchase. She had stacks and stacks of notebooks hidden in boxes in her room, detailed inventories of the past several years of her life, and Caroline had placed those at the bottom of the suitcase. As soon as Deputy Parks brought the suitcase and box into the room, Cissy’s face lit up and he no longer seemed put out.

  “Thank you, Fred!” she said, and hugged him.

  “Deputy Parks,” he whispered. Red-faced, he pushed her away. “You should call me Deputy Parks.”

  “Oh, Fred, it’s just my grandmother.” She laughed like a much younger girl and dove into the suitcase. Janelle sat at the foot of the bed and watched as one by one, her blouses, slacks, socks, and undergarments found their way onto neat little piles on the bed. Cissy and her lists.

  “Mama did a good job packing,” she said. “She knows just how I like my things.”

  Janelle smiled at the girl’s innocence and the things that brought her comfort.

  “Did you know your mother was a messy child?” she asked.

  Cissy snorted. “I find that hard to believe. You’ve seen the way she makes Bess keep the house.”

  “No, really. Her room was always in such a state, especially when she was a teenager. She’d try on two or three different outfits each morning before school and leave them in piles on the floor,” Janelle said. “Ruth would have fits about it.”

  “There’d be holy hell if we did that,” Cissy said.

  She continued her sorting and repacking, not looking up. “Say, Grandmother, why don’t you drive me to Meridian today?”

  “The court has to be certain you arrive at the hospital,” Janelle explained. “What if I decided to just keep driving until we hit New York?”

  “Would you do that?” Hope strained Cissy’s features. “I’ve always wanted to see the Empire State Building to see if it’s just like in the movies. We could go shopping on Fifth Avenue. I know how you like fancy clothes.”

  “Dear God, child, I wasn’t being serious,” Janelle stammered, explaining that it was law enforcement’s job to check her in; they had the court’s order.

  Stupid old woman. Why had she made that offhanded comment? Those words added to Cissy’s hurt. She couldn’t forgive herself for speaking out loud a daydream she turned to time and time again for solace.

  “You’ll be just fine,” Janelle assured her. “I’ll visit you as often as I can.”

  “That’s a long way for an old lady to drive,” Cissy said, eyes down, hands still busy. When she grinned and cut her eyes at Janelle, they both laughed.

  Janelle asked if she could help Cissy repack her things. When her granddaughter said she’d rather do it herself, Janelle leaned over and rummaged through the box of books. Inside each cover, Cissy had printed: Property of Cissy Pickering. Please ask nicely before borrowing.

  “I guess Mama should’ve left some of my books for Lily. She’s getting to be an excellent reader,” Cissy said.

  “I suspect Lily knows you need them more than she does. It’ll be good to have your books to pass the time.”

  Cissy nodded and then began alphabetizing the books, aligning each spine in the same direction.

  “They won’t be coming to say goodbye,” she said.

  “No, no, they won’t,” Janelle admitted. “Does that make you sad?”

  “Not seeing my baby sisters is on my List of Very Sad Things. But I understand they don’t want to see me after I killed our daddy.”

  “They’re too young to understand all this. But they miss you so very much.” Each time Janelle had visited her two other granddaughters, they’d clamored for information: whether Cissy liked her room at the jail, if she enjoyed the art supplies they’d sent, if the guards were nice to her, and most importantly, when she’d return home. Dodging the questions and struggling to find appropriate answers had worn Janelle’s nerves raw.

  “They miss me?”

  “Absolutely. Things are just too complicated for a visit just yet,” Janelle said. “I bet they’ll write you very soon.”

  Caroline had kept Lily and Jessie clear of town and any gossip they might hear, but the girls resented being homebound in the summer. They clamored for friends and swimming parties and family picnics—the normalcy of summers past. Bess did her best to keep them occupied and shielded from Caroline as she tried to find some sort of routine in her life now.

  At least the break gave them respite from the cruelties they were bound to face once September rolled around. Caroline spoke about moving, but Janelle advised h
er to take her time before making any major decisions. The house had been in Richard’s family for many years and it was an asset she should safeguard for now, especially from Mimi.

  Janelle closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. Their family was buried under an avalanche of unspoken heartache that threatened to suffocate everyone, including Richard’s mother. Each of them would have to find her own way through this dark time, even Cissy.

  “Grandmother, I see you’re fretting.”

  “No, child. I’m fine.” Janelle bit her tongue to focus on something besides the incomprehensible goodbye she was facing.

  “I’m not scared and you shouldn’t be either,” Cissy said.

  Deputy Parks appeared in the doorway, looking for assurance he could enter and get the journey to Meridian under way. Janelle nodded, so he placed the box of books under one arm and picked up the suitcase with his other hand.

  Cissy hugged Janelle one last time and kissed the top of her head. “Grandmother,” she whispered, “please don’t remember me for what my daddy did.”

  When Cissy had gone, Janelle pulled the quilt from the bed and folded it in a bundle. She turned out the light in the room and walked down the hall, wondering if a human being could survive this much sorrow.

  Chapter 6

  Deputy Parks agreed to crack the window in the backseat of the police car so Cissy could feel the wind on her face during the long ride to the state psychiatric hospital in Meridian. She begged him to roll it down all the way so she could stick her entire head out like a dog lapping up the humid July breeze. He said it was childproof and not meant to roll down past halfway, but she failed to see the risk. Were children, criminals, and crazy people known for throwing themselves out of moving cars? He probably just wanted to follow the rules to a T since he was the youngest of the deputies at the sheriff’s office.

  They’d become friends in the last two weeks, or at least Cissy thought of him that way. Before his shift started each morning, he’d bring her a donut. As much as she enjoyed that deep-fried dough, she liked his company more. She’d asked him to call her Cissy instead of Miss Pickering, but he said they should keep things on a professional level and he preferred to be called Deputy Parks. He still seemed more like a Fred.