“It didn’t end up meaning anything.”
He didn’t seem to know what to say to that, so he said nothing.
“I appreciate this,” she said.
“For what it matters, my mom is certain it was him.”
“And I’m certain it wasn’t. But I know your mom isn’t lying. Please tell her that. I just believe she’s mistaken.”
“That won’t help, but I’ll tell her.”
Winona nodded. She couldn’t think of anything else to say, so she got up. “Well, I—”
He took her by the hand. “I miss you. Do you think we could try it again?”
Winona was surprised by that. She turned slightly and looked at him, really looked, and what she saw was a man she’d liked once, and wanted to love, but never had. It freed something in her, that unexpected realization. She’d seen love in that courtroom when Dallas looked at Vivi Ann, and Winona knew that was what she wanted. She wouldn’t accept a watered-down version ever again. “No,” she said, making her voice a little soft. “We didn’t fall in love,” she said. “But I want to be friends, if you do.”
He smiled, maybe even looked a little relieved. “Friends with benefits?”
Winona laughed at that, thinking how good it felt to be wanted, and how empowering it was to say quietly, “I don’t think so.”
Winona stared down at the latest court case on the unreliability of hair analysis, wondering if it was enough for an appeal.
Her intercom buzzed.
“Winona? Vivi Ann is here to see you.”
Winona sighed. “Send her in.” Getting up, she went over to the window and stared out. The backyard reflected the change in seasons. Deep autumn jewel tones had replaced the summer’s brightness. The petunias were ragged and tired, the roses leggy and untamed. Summer was gone and she’d hardly noticed.
In the months since her loss in court she hadn’t noticed anything, really. Instead of curing her obsession, the loss had inflamed it. She couldn’t seem to let go of the image of Dallas in prison. And her weekly visits weren’t helping. Dallas had given up completely, if in fact he’d ever actually believed in hope.
“Hey, Win.”
“Ironic that my nickname is Win, don’t you think?” she said, not looking at her sister. She should have picked up her office. Now Vivi Ann was seeing the reams of Post-it-tagged paper, the file folders lying open.
“This all about Dallas?” she asked.
Winona nodded. Lying was something they didn’t do anymore. “Transcripts, police reports, depositions, interrogation notes.” She knew she should shut up, but that was the problem with an addiction: you couldn’t control it or yourself when under its influence. “It’s everything. I’ve read it all so many times I’m going blind. There’s so much that was wrong—the tattoo, the lack of real investigation, the rush to judgment, Roy’s ridiculously inadequate defense, the DNA—but none of it means anything legally. Even though it means everything.”
“I know.”
“You knew it all along.”
“I didn’t just give up on him,” she said quietly. “I spent years believing in a good ending.”
Winona finally looked at her sister. “I failed him. And Noah. And you.”
“You didn’t fail him,” Vivi Ann said. “Sometimes we just can’t save the people we love.”
Winona didn’t know how to live in a world where that was true; she also knew she had no real choice. “How is Noah doing?”
“Not good. He keeps skipping school. Last week he flipped off his science teacher.”
“Mr. Parker?”
“Of course. If I remember, Aurora once did the same thing.”
“I’ll talk to him.”
“And tell him what?”
“That I’m not giving up.”
“You think that’s what he needs to hear?”
“What would you say? Walk away? Just give up and let your dad rot in there alone?” Winona knew the minute she said it she’d gone too far. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”
“You’re always sorry lately.” Vivi Ann released a heavy sigh. “Do you think I don’t dream of going back in time, of standing beside him?”
“I know you do.”
“Part of me is grateful I didn’t get to talk to him in court that day. How could he ever forgive me?”
“He loves you,” Winona said.
Vivi Ann flinched at that, but like a fighter taking a blow, she kept moving. “He’s in there and you and I and Noah are out here. That’s the way it is. The way it’s going to be.”
Winona could tell what was coming and she shook her head, as if the movement could deflect incoming words.
“I’m here to tell you what you once told me: it’s time to let go. The DNA test was a good move, and you took it and it failed. We both know it was all over for Dallas years ago. It doesn’t matter whose DNA was left behind.”
“I can’t—” Winona stopped suddenly. She looked up at Vivi Ann. “What did you say?”
“It’s time to let go. It doesn’t matter whose DNA it was.”
“Jesus,” Winona said, rushing back to her desk. She began pawing through the paperwork, looking for the DNA lab work. Finding it, she grabbed the file and then pulled Vivi Ann into her arms, kissing her hard on the lips. “You’re a genius.”
“What—”
“I’ve got to go. Thanks for stopping by. Tell Noah I’ll come visit this weekend.”
“Are you hearing me? I’m trying to help you.”
“And I’m trying to help you,” Winona said, and then ran out of her office.
“Gus tells me Noah is a crappy employee,” Dad said to Vivi Ann as they stood near each other on the porch on a cool September morning. Dawn was breaking across the ranch, setting the arena’s metal roof on vibrant silver fire.
“He’s having some trouble dealing with all this. He really thought Winona was going to get Dallas released.”
“Winona,” Dad said, and Vivi Ann heard the poison tip to his voice. Had it always been there when he mentioned his eldest daughter? The more she saw of him lately, the farther she pulled back. She could go whole days without talking to him at all. It wasn’t that she was angry with him; quite the contrary. But now that she’d seen the bitterness inside him, she had trouble seeing past it.
She looked up and saw Noah come out of their cottage. He moved down the hill in that lanky, loose-hipped way that always reminded her of Dallas. Her son was growing by leaps and bounds. Since his fifteenth birthday, he’d begun to look down on her—when he looked at her at all. Up on the hill, he walked over to the paddock, stood at the rail.
Renegade turned to face him, whinnying, but he didn’t move forward, even though Noah was offering him a carrot.
“Ain’t never seen a horse turn down food,” her dad said.
“Some hearts can be broken,” Vivi Ann said, hurting for her son, knowing what he needed right now . . . knowing that she couldn’t provide it. No mother should ever have to feel so helpless with her child. She pushed away from the wall and headed for the steps.
It was time to say to Noah what she’d said to Winona.
“I’m taking a day off, Dad.”
“What about your lessons?”
“I only have a few. I’ll cancel.” Without waiting for his permission, or even his agreement, she muttered goodbye and walked up the hill, through the dewy grass. Tucking her work gloves into her belt, she came up beside Noah.
“How do we tell him Dad won’t be coming back?”
Vivi Ann stroked her son’s silky black hair. “I think if Renegade knew that, he’d lie down and die.”
“I know how he feels.”
Vivi Ann stood there with her son, staring at the black horse. The white lines of his long-ago abuse were faded, visible only if you knew where to look. Scars were like that, she thought; they faded but never went away completely. “Get your coat. We’re leaving now.”
“School doesn’t start for another hour and a half.�
“I know. Get your coat.”
“But—”
“I’m taking you out of school for the day. Do you really want to argue?”
“No way.”
They went their separate ways for fifteen minutes and then met back at the truck.
“This is totally cool, Mom,” Noah said as they drove past the high school.
For the next two and a half hours, they talked about little things: the ranch, the mare that was ready to foal, Noah’s paper on the Civil War.
It wasn’t until Vivi Ann turned off the highway and began the long, slow climb into the Olympic National Park that Noah seemed to take stock of his surroundings. He straightened in his seat, looking around. “This is the road to Sol Duc.”
“Yes, it is.”
Noah turned to her. “I don’t want to do this, Mom.”
“I know,” she said. “I’ve been running away from it, too, but some things have to be faced.”
By the time they reached the main lodge, it was just past nine o’clock in the morning. The parking lot was nearly empty on this mid-September day.
She parked the truck and got out, putting on her Windbreaker and zipping it up. It was sunny at the moment, but this was deep in the heart of the rain forest, where the weather was fickle.
Noah stood by the truck, watching her as she came around to his side. “I can’t go up there.”
Vivi Ann took his hand, as she should have done so long ago. “Come on.” She tugged on his hand, felt him resist for the merest of time and then relent.
They hiked up the trail that was bordered by towering cedars on either side, into a world of impossible vibrance. Everything was green and rich here, and oversized. The trail wound deeper and deeper into the forest, taking her into her own past.
At the falls, they were alone, just the two of them: mother and son, as once it had been husband and wife. The area thundered with the sound of falling water; spray flew everywhere, stinging their cheeks and blurring their vision.
Noah stood at the railing and looked out at the falls.
Vivi Ann put her arm around him. “He loved it here, just like you do.”
Noah jutted his chin in answer. She knew he was afraid his voice would crack or betray him if he said more.
She held her hand out; spray fell like diamonds into her palm and turned instantly liquid. “He called this skukum lemenser. Strong medicine.” She touched her wet fingertips to her son’s temple as if it were holy water she’d gathered. “I should have taught you so many things about him and his people. But I never learned enough. Maybe we could work on that. Go to the reservation or something.”
He turned, wiping his eyes—whether from tears or spray, she couldn’t tell—and went to the small bower beneath the cedar tree.
Vivi Ann had prepared herself for this during the long drive, but now that the time had come, she was afraid. She followed Noah, sat beside him. As before, the waterfall sounded like an army thundering through the trees. Droplets of water fell from the boughs.
D.R. loves V.G.R. 8/21/92. She stared at the carving in the tree, remembering everything about that day. The girl who’d been here had believed in love and happy endings. She’d been strong and sure of herself, having married the man she loved even if the whole world despised her for it. That girl, like her son, would have fought for the DNA test and dared to believe in the truth. “I was wrong and you were right. You can’t run away from what’s in your heart. That was the mistake I made.”
“I know why you didn’t want Aunt Winona and me to reopen everything. I get it now.” Noah leaned against the tree. “He’s never getting out, is he?”
Vivi Ann put her hand on his cheek, seeing Dallas in his son’s face. “No, Noah. He’s never getting out of prison.”
Chapter Twenty-nine
For most of her life, Winona had been sure of one thing: her intellectual superiority. She might worry about her weight, or bend over backward for her father’s approval, or worry that no man would ever truly love her, but from her earliest memory, she’d felt she was the smartest person in any room.
That certainty had been one of the many recent casualties. Now she agonized constantly, second-guessed herself, wondered what she’d overlooked, how she’d screwed up. The memory of her day in court, when the judge hadn’t been moved enough by her argument to take the matter under advisement, rankled.
All her life, people had said she barreled forward, her eyes always on the prize, her hands outstretched to grab hold of what she wanted.
This year, however, had taught her caution. And humility. Even fear. She wondered sometimes at night how it would feel if this was her new life; if caution and anxiety were to be her companions from this year on. How would she handle never being certain again?
She sat in her car now, staring through the rainy windshield at the county courthouse. An American flag hung listlessly against the pole, the only splash of color amid all the gray: the sky, the clouds, the building. A mist rose up from the road, blurring it, too. Across the street, the autumn colors were muted and obscured by the weather.
Winona reached for the briefcase beside her. Clutching the leather handle, she left the safety of her car and walked forward, feeling as if every step were taking her into enemy territory. She tried to salvage some of her former confidence, but it was slippery in the rain.
At the desk, she said, “Winona Grey to see Sara Hamm. I have a ten o’clock appointment.”
The receptionist nodded and set Winona on her way through the layers of security that had become commonplace in even the most out-of-the-way counties. She put on her visitor’s tag, went through the metal detector, showed her ID twice, and was escorted to the prosecuting attorney’s office.
It was a cool, professional-looking space, with no plants in pretty pots, no family photographs on the desk. A big window looked out over the parking lot.
But it was the woman sitting behind the desk who commanded Winona’s attention.
The years had been kind to Sara Hamm. She was tall and thin, with the wiry look of a long-distance runner. Winona pegged her as the kind of woman who, when stressed, reached for her running shoes instead of the refrigerator handle.
“Ms. Grey,” she said, pushing back from her desk. The wheels of her chair rumbled on the hardwood floor. “This is a surprise. I didn’t expect to hear from you again.”
Winona sat down. “I appreciate your willingness to see me on such short notice. I couldn’t have made too good an impression the first time we met.”
That seemed to surprise Sara. Her perfectly arched eyebrows drew slightly together. “On the contrary, I found your passion impressive, even if it was misplaced. You’re his sister-in-law. I’d expect no less. May I ask why you didn’t take his case initially? Since you obviously care so much.”
“The easy answer is that I’d had no criminal experience to speak of.”
“And you have more now?”
No wonder this woman had risen in her field; she saw everything. “No.” Winona leaned forward. “What did you think of Roy’s defense?”
“It was competent.”
“Barely, and we both know it.”
“Are you going to go after him? That’s a tough criteria. Basically he needs to have fallen asleep during the proceedings, and I’m not sure even that would do it.”
“I know.” Winona sighed. “Believe me, I’ve researched every possible appellate avenue.”
“And the DNA was your best shot.”
Winona wasn’t certain if that had been a question. Perhaps. Either way, this was the moment. She steeled herself and said, “I don’t think it was. My best chance, I mean.”
Another infinitesimal frown. “Really?”
Winona tried to take a deep breath without being noticeable about it. Please let me be doing the right thing, in the right way. She’d floated her new information past the lawyers at the Innocence Project and they’d advised her to handle this motion carefully. If she could convince Sara Hamm—really convince her—a dual motion was the best way to get Dallas’s conviction overturned. Any other way would create a fight, and Winona didn’t want to fight the state again if she could help it. “Let me tell you what I believe first. Roy was an ineffective counsel at best. He never hired an investigator to study the scene or do background work. If he had, he might have found the discrepancy in Myrtle Michaelian’s testimony. She testified that she recognized Dallas’s tattoo that night, but she couldn’t have. His tattoo is on the left arm—”
“You presented all this in your petition, Ms. Grey. I don’t need to hear it again.”
“I know. I just want you to keep it in mind. Along with the fact that the DNA sample wasn’t Dallas’s. And you and I both know that the hair sample was junk science. There has been plenty of precedent set on that issue in the past ten years. If he gets a new trial, I’m certain I could get it excluded.”
“A new trial? Am I missing something? This is all old news. It’s been ruled on. The court upheld his conviction.”
Winona reached down into her briefcase and pulled out a file. Putting it on Sara’s desk, she pushed it forward. “This is new.”
Sara opened the manila file, reading the top document. “A second petition to vacate the judgment and sentence and to dismiss? And you’ve included this office? You think I’m going to join you in this motion? You’re delusional, Ms. Grey.”
“Keep reading,” Winona added. “Please.” Her last, best chance—maybe her only chance—lay in convincing this woman. If the state agreed to vacate the judgment and dismiss the case, the court would go along.
Sara turned the page and looked up sharply. “When did this come in?”
Winona knew exactly what had gotten the prosecutor’s attention. It was the test results she’d waited almost a month for. “Yesterday.”
“Oh, my God,” Sara said.
“It occurred to me that all I’d done was test the semen sample to see if it was a DNA match with my client’s. As you know, it wasn’t. I was so inexperienced, I ran with that result, certain it was enough to exonerate him. Then, about a month ago, I was talking to my sister. His wife. Anyway, she made a comment about that DNA and I realized that I’d never checked whose it was. So I sent the sample to the national database, and it matched a man named Gary Kirschner, who is currently serving a nine-year sentence at the Spring Creek Correctional Center in Seward. For rape in the first. Once we had a name, we checked the gun. Remember that unidentified fingerprint?”
-->
