She closed the notebook and opened another. She flipped through the pages to another place where she had written about a time three years later, after her father passed away. William had lost his job and Sarah’s little family had been forced to move into public housing. Sarah had been working as a server in a local restaurant to try and pay the bills while William was supposed to be looking for work. Not that he did any actual looking. Sometimes Sarah felt like he was just waiting for the perfect job to land in his lap. Maybe he was. All she knew was that she was working like a dog at the restaurant as well as at home. William didn’t ever do the dishes, never washed the laundry, and Lord knows he never figured out how to start the broom.
Most people would have been sickened by the idea of living in public housing, but not Sarah. She did not care where they lived, as long as they were together. Love, not money, was the most important factor to her.
Sarah lay awake in her bed. She was covered in sweat and breathing hard. It was three in the morning, and her heart was still pounding furiously in her chest, a reminder of the dream that still lingered in her mind and heart. Her father was drowning in the river. He was crying out for her to help him, but she couldn’t swim. So, in her dream, she watched her father die.
The dream was a manifestation of the truth. In reality, her father had died of cancer, or so they said. But Sarah had been there at the hospital with him. She had watched as her mother used a suction device to clear his mouth and lungs of the fluid that continuously collected there. It was hard for Sarah to watch the strongest man she had ever known ask for help for the simple act of sitting up. He had to be fed his dinner because he was too weak to even lift his fork to his mouth. He needed help with everything. Sarah had even helped her mother bathe her father. It was something Sarah never imagined that she would need to do and it was the most heartbreaking thing Sarah had ever had to watch.
Three months of therapy and only a few days in the hospital was all it took for the cancer to claim her father. It was a cold January night and Sarah and her sister had stood outside the hospital in the middle of the night watching it snow. Tiny little flakes fell and gathered on the parking lot making everything sparkle in the moonlight like someone took a giant glitter shaker and dusted the whole city with silver specs. When they returned inside, her father had awakened from his semi coma state briefly. Sarah stood by his side with the rest of her family as the strongest man she had ever known looked around the room with eyes that were terrified but didn’t truly see anything. Sarah told her father how proud she was to be his daughter, and that she loved him. Her brothers and sisters did the same. Some of them cried, some of them just kept silent. Sarah watched a tear streak down her father’s cheek as he took his last breath. Sarah’s father died holding her hand.
A month had passed since that night, and Sarah could still hear the sound of his voice in her head. She could smell his distinct scent in his house and on his clothes. Even though they all knew that death was the only result to expect for their father, the pain in her heart was still every bit as fresh as it had been that night.
With a sigh, Sarah got out of bed and pulled on a pair of sweat pants. She grabbed her shoes and left the apartment silently. She got in her car and drove the five miles to the cemetery. She found her father’s grave easily enough. Sarah sat Indian style in front of his headstone. She told him how much she missed him, how much she loved him. She told him about all the things that were going on with the family that he was missing. Sarah knew that he wasn’t there. It was nothing more than a slab of concrete set in the ground to remind everyone that he had lived. But it helped Sarah to talk, even if he couldn’t hear her. She talked until the sun was peaking out over the horizon before she finally went back home.
When she got there, William was awake. “Where did you run off to in the middle of the night?” he sneered.
“Do you know what today is?” Sarah asked quietly. Her hair had not been brushed and her clothes were dirty from sitting on the ground.
William looked her over with a speculative eye. “It’s the twenty first, I think. Why?”
“It’s been one month,” Sarah whispered. “I went to the cemetery.”
William understood what Sarah could not say. “You should not go out in the middle of the night like that, Sarah,” he told her as he hugged her. “I was worried.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you, I just had to go.”
He put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her back sharply. He glowered at her through narrow eyes. “I know you miss your dad, but really, it’s been a month. You need to get over it,” he chastised. What the… Sarah wasn’t sure why he had just pulled a 180 attitude, but that was the way William had become lately. And as if telling her to get over it wasn’t enough, he added, “Now, make me some eggs.”
Sarah stood there, stiff as a statue for a moment. Make me some eggs? Was he serious? And did he just tell her to get over it? This from the man who still had both of his parents! He had no idea what it was like to lose someone he loved! Sarah turned away from him, biting her lip so hard that she tasted blood. She would not say what was on her mind. He was stressed out too, she told herself. He was having a hard time finding a job, and he drank more and more. The constant flow of alcohol and stress together made it so that he vomited on an almost daily basis.
Sarah made his breakfast, resisting the urge to toss in some extra ingredients that were sure to make him sick, then saw to getting Jamie up and off to school.
“Am I interrupting?” a smooth male voice said, breaking Sarah’s concentration. She looked up and into the bluest eyes she had ever seen. Of course, by then, she had come to know those eyes as well as her own. They belonged to Jon. Sarah sucked in a breath between her teeth when she saw him. Even though she had seen Jon at least once a week for two years, she never did get over the initial shock that was him.
He was taller than most men, six foot six, he had told her once, broad shoulders and a trim waist, long, powerful legs, and muscled arms that would make any man jealous and any woman with a working set of eyes swoon. Sarah knew that he visited the gym often, but she was fairly certain he was simply one of those men who were just born that way. He had short blonde hair and a perfectly shaped face. There was just enough angle to his jaw to make it strong, just enough whiskers to call it a beard. He kept it trimmed and neat. He wore squared wire rimmed glasses that sat atop his sharp nose, giving him an air of sophistication. His nose had the slightest bump on it, from a scuffle when he was a teenager. He told her that he had gotten into a fight that resulted in a broken nose. It hadn’t set right so he had a permanent bump. It was the only imperfection in a very long list of assets. To Sarah, it was not an imperfection but an endearing quality that made him normal. Sarah resisted the urge to sigh as she looked at him.
The first time Sarah saw him, she knew there must be a mistake. He walked into the holding cell at the police station where Sarah had been kept after she was arrested with far too much grace for a man his size. Instead of lumbering into the room, he moved silently and gracefully. He introduced himself as her lawyer, but Sarah had not retained any services. He didn’t look like a lawyer. He looked like he should have been on the cover of GQ Magazine, or on the front of People’s sexiest men cover. A model. A fireman. Hell, anything but an attorney. He told Sarah that her sister had hired him, and immediately set to work on Sarah’s case. He ended up frustrated that day, as well as many other days since then as well. Sarah had no interest in defending herself. She was set on pleading guilty, and no amount of arguing from Jon had convinced her otherwise. Not then, not now.
“Hi Jon,” Sarah said, gathering her wits. “Come in.” Her cell door was still open as it was every evening. Sarah had earned enough privileges to roam the halls or visit the TV room if she wanted. But she never had. She had no desire to allow herself the company of others, or the comforts of the rec room. Besides, she would only be bombarded by the other women to discuss her crime.
“I was just reading some of what I already wrote. I wish it were typed, though. I have decided that I would make it a novel, a true story about my life and what I did.”
“I think that is a wonderful idea,” he said, knowing he was the one who suggested it in the first place. “May I?” he asked, gesturing to the notebook Sarah was holding.
Sarah pushed it toward him, and Jon began to read the page that was open in front of him. “You write well,” he noted aloud. “I could type it up for you, if you like,” he offered.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Sarah said.
“Come on, I already know the story anyway. I don’t mind. What could it hurt?”
“Jon, I have written things in these journals that I have never told anyone else before. I don’t know if you should read it,” she said hesitantly.
“You know I can’t tell anyone what goes on between us. Client confidentiality and all. I would like to read it, and I will type it up for you, but if you don’t want to share it with me, I understand.” He looked very disappointed. His eyes were downcast, his thick lashes casting shadows over his high cheekbones behind his glasses. Why oh why did men get those kind of lashes she thought before bringing her mind back to the situation at hand. She really had to get a handle on her brain. Right, Jon wanted to read her journals. Sarah contemplated the thought for a moment. Jon was her friend. Her only friend. Everyone else had either abandoned her or she had pushed them away. But not Jon. Oh, she had tried to push him away, but Jon was stubborn. He kept coming back. Eventually, Sarah had come to trust him above all others. He never pushed her to do anything she didn’t want to as far as her case was concerned, but he did chastise her about her decisions. He was brutally honest with Sarah, but he supported her decisions. Sarah admired him for that. And he did supply the journals for her when he didn’t have to.
In fact, he was the only one who visited Sarah anymore. Sarah had refused visits from family and friends until eventually; they stopped coming to see her. But not Jon. He was her attorney and she could not refuse him. Not that she hadn’t tried. But he was a persistent booger.
Realizing the silence had gone on too long, Sarah sighed. “Ok, but I swear if you let anyone else read them...” she threatened.
“You’ll what?” he teased.
“According to rumor, I am a pretty sadistic witch, you know.”
“What now?” he asked, still smiling at her.
Sarah told Jon about the rumors she had heard about herself that day. Jon joined her in her laughter. It was a rich, heady feeling to laugh freely with him. His laughter was deep and rolling, rumbling up from his chest and it reached all the way to his eyes. “Have you considered that you might tell some of these women the truth?” he asked when he finally calmed enough to speak.
“Why? If they think I’m crazy, they leave me alone.”
“Well, you’re going to have to talk to someone around here eventually. In fact, probably sooner than you think. The warden told me today that you are getting a cell mate.”
“What!” Sarah jumped off the bunk and began scouting the tiny room as if the roommate had been hiding in the shadows.
“Yeah, but calm down,” he told her. “Tomorrow, to be exact. I don’t know anything else about her, but you might want to try to be nice, since you don’t want parole. It might make for a very long stay if you can’t get along with her.”
Sarah shook her head. She didn’t want a cell mate. She didn’t want another person invading her space. She could hear the elongated list of questions she would have to endure in her mind already. Just great. Frickin’ bloody marvelous.
“But, hey, I brought you something,” Jon said with a smile. “It won’t make the roommate go away, but I thought you might like it anyway.” He handed Sarah a stack of four paperback books. The fifth book was another journal. “I thought it might be time to trade,” he said. Sarah took the books from his hands and hugged him.
“Here,” she said, shoving the first of her filled journals at him. “I’ll give you one at a time. But promise me…”
“I promise,” he said, taking her hand and giving a reassuring squeeze.
THREE
Jon left the prison that night with his precious cargo in hand. It meant a lot to him that Sarah trusted her most private thoughts in his hands. Lord, but that woman could be so exasperating! He smiled to himself as he walked the parking lot to his car. Sarah could, in fact, try the most patient attorney’s nerves. Hell, she could try the patience of Job.
But her tenacity was one of the things he liked about her, wasn’t it.
He hoped that by offering to type her story for her that he could gain some insight into her actions. The first time he met Sarah, Jon had no idea what he would be up against. All he knew was that she had turned herself in for murder. Jon had entered the holding cell where Sarah was sitting on a bench, unrestrained. Her long dark hair was messy and tangled; her grey eyes were rimmed with red from crying. She was still dressed in her own clothes, bloody and torn. Her hands shook, but otherwise, she appeared steady. A part of Jon’s heart went out to her that day. A part he never did get back. She looked scared and very alone. Fragile. She didn’t look like someone who would commit any crime, much less murder. Without consent from his conscious mind, he vowed to protect her that day. From what, who knew? The instinct was strong within him just the same.
After learning what she had done, he had figured that he would go in, help set bail, and work on some kind of plea. Insanity maybe. But Sarah would have none of it. She didn’t want bail, and she didn’t want to make a plea. She wanted to plead guilty. She wanted the death penalty. She had wanted to be through with the world that had been so cruel to her. But the law was not in agreement with her. And neither was Jon. As her attorney, he could not suggest anything that would be detrimental to her case. But Sarah took care of it for him. She stood in front of the judge, talking as calmly as if she were talking to a friend about a shopping trip. She told him what she did, in detail, and why. She told him that she wasn’t sorry, and that if the situation were to be repeated, she would do it again.
She had left the judge with no choice. He had to lock her away as required by law. But he did not give her the death penalty. In fact, he had given her the shortest sentence allowed. Fifteen years. With parole.
But damn if she would take it! Twice Sarah had been before the parole board, and twice she sabotaged her own chances of freedom. She really did not want to be free. Although Jon could understand her feelings, her unwillingness to cooperate gnawed at him. Yes, she had been depressed at the time. And yes, she had been under a tremendous amount of stress. But even after two years, Sarah had not changed her mind. Jon, for reasons he did not understand, took it upon himself to try and make her see reason. After a while, his visits came not because he was her attorney, but because he had grown to genuinely care for her.
Jon turned the ignition and his Camaro roared to life. It was one of the few indulgences he allowed himself. His own apartment was small, only large enough for himself. His clothes were fashionable, yet reasonable. He did not shop in high end stores, except when he needed to replace a suit. He wore nice suits to court, but as a rule, he wore jeans and a t-shirt. He never really understood the reasoning behind his colleague’s extravagances. Just because he made a fair amount of money didn’t mean he had to flaunt it. Jon was more interested in saving for his future. He wanted to retire early in life. He wanted to spend his latter years st
retched out on the sand of a beach without a care in the world. He had saved all his life, and soon, he would have enough to retire. His own savings and his pension from the law firm he worked for would allow it before he turned forty if that was what he desired.
On the drive, Jon tried not to think about Sarah. But he found that it was easier said than done. For the last two years, she had invaded his every moment, his waking mind as well as his dreams. It was unnerving, really. He was no longer getting paid to represent her, but he continued to do so anyway. He refused any attempts her sisters made at paying him. They couldn’t afford it, and he didn’t want it. He made it his personal goal to see her out of prison and back to whatever kind of life she wanted to live. Something with other people involved. He did not want to see her alone. He wanted her to find someone to love, start a new family. Someone who would love her for the gem she was. Someone who could see how strong and beautiful she really was. Someone who would appreciate her. Someone who would not hurt her. She deserved a family. A real family. He wanted her to know that not all men are pigs.
JUSTIFIED Page 2
