Home Front(118)

The jury filled in. Michael tried to see the answer in their eyes, but they wouldn’t look at him—not a good sign.

“Have you reached a verdict in the matter of the State of Washington v. Keller?”

“We have,” said the jury foreman.

“What say you?”

At first there was the legalese of case and crime, and then: “On the count of murder in the first degree, we, the jury, find the defendant not guilty.”

Michael released a breath. He heard a rustle of noise behind him. People were whispering among themselves.

“On the charge of second degree murder, we find the defendant guilty.”

The gallery erupted. Once again the judge tried to take control. Michael heard Mrs. Keller cry out.

“We’ll appeal, Keith,” Michael said quickly.

Keith looked at him, and for once he looked old. “No, we won’t. I deserve this, Michael. And it’s not murder one. You did a good job. They know I didn’t mean to kill her. That matters to me.” He turned away, was enfolded in his parents’ arms.

The associates who’d worked on the case surged around Michael, congratulating him on beating murder one. He knew this case would set precedent here in Washington and carry weight nationwide. It was a statement about the jury’s belief in PTSD. They believed Keith didn’t intentionally kill his wife. For the young lawyers, who hadn’t yet learned the chasm that sometimes existed between justice and the law, this would be cause for much celebrating. For them, it was simply a win, a victory against formidable odds. They wouldn’t think about this case again, except in technical terms. They wouldn’t think of Keith sitting behind bars, suffering through nightmares.

“I deserve to go to prison,” Keith said to him. “I said that from the beginning. Maybe you’re right and the war messed me up, but Emily is dead and I killed her.”

“You didn’t mean to.”

“It’s not intentions that matter. It’s actions. My drill instructor used to say that all the time. We are what we do and say, not what we intend to. I meant to tell Emily a thousand times that I was in trouble, but I never did. If only I’d told her the truth, maybe we would have had a chance. Thank you, Michael. Really.”

Then the bailiff came and took Keith away.

Michael stood there until everyone else was gone and the courtroom was empty. The Kellers thanked him, as did the Plotners, and he didn’t know what to say in response. He had done his best for their son, and it had been almost enough. He remembered his father saying once that ghosts were the curse of the criminal defense attorney, and he knew that this case would haunt him. He would wonder forever if he could have done something more, if he shouldn’t have put Keith on the stand.

All the way home, he replayed the trial in his mind, tried to follow the threads of different choices, wondering if any one of them would have changed the outcome. Then he began to construct his argument for the next phase of the trial, how he would ask for mercy in the form of a lesser sentence …

When he walked into his house, though, all of that fled. He could tell instantly that Betsy and Lulu had been fighting. Lulu’s eyes were red and puffy, and Betsy was shrieking at her.

“She’s NOT the boss of me,” Lulu wailed at him, running, throwing herself into his arms.

Betsy rolled her eyes and stomped off.

Michael couldn’t handle this tonight. Not tonight. “Where’s your mom?” he said more sharply than he intended.

Lulu looked at him through her tears. “In her bedroom. She hates us.”

“I need to talk to her.” He tried to put Lulu down, but she clung to him like a burr on wool, crying harder.

“Damn it, Lulu…”

“You s-said a b-bad word.”

“I know. Sorry.” He kissed her damp cheek and forced her to stand on her own. “Stay here,” he said, leaving the room. He went to Jolene’s room, knocked, and opened the door.

She was sitting up in bed, her hair a mess, holding Tami’s unopened letter, staring down at it.

“Read it,” he said harshly.

She ignored him.

He saw the open wine bottle on the nightstand. Without thinking, he walked over to her, grabbed the bottle, saying, “Enough, Jo.”

She reached out. “Don’t—”

“Don’t what?” he yelled at her. “Don’t love you anymore? Don’t want you? Don’t care if you drink yourself into a coma?”

She flinched at the obvious reminder of Tami.

He saw her eyes go blank again. She was retreating, pulling her pain into that dark place inside of her, the place to which he’d never been granted access. “Enough,” he said again, yelling it. “I was an asshole before you left. I admit it. I was an asshole and I broke your heart and I might have ruined us. Maybe I did ruin us. But I’ve changed, Jo. I’ve changed and you don’t seem to care. I’m sick of throwing myself against the concrete wall of your defenses. You’re giving me nothing. You’re giving your children nothing. Nothing. And you know what that’s like, don’t you, Jo, getting nothing from your parents. If we’re broken now and this family is ruined, it’s on you. On you. I can’t try any harder.”

She looked at him through tears. “You think I don’t know that?”