We Are Not Like Them(90)
As soon as I pull into the gated lot, I see the Murphys, gathered in a cluster near the back door, looking beat down, like they’re waiting for a funeral to begin. I park as far away as possible and walk slowly toward them, taking in Cookie, her hands clasped tightly around Frank’s arm, hip to hip, in solidarity and also to help him stand, which he has trouble doing for long periods. Next to her, Matt talks to Brice. I feel queasy at the sight of the lawyer with his thinning hair slicked back with so much gel it gleams in the sun, just like his Crest Whitestripped teeth.
I’ve really turned on Brice these last few weeks. I can’t shake the feeling that he’s out of his depth here. He’s a suburban lawyer who specializes in DUIs and slip-and-falls and then happened to stumble on a high-profile, headline-making case because his mom joined a book club. You can practically see him salivating at the publicity. He’s become so puffed up, I don’t know how he buttons his too-shiny suits.
I’m almost there when Kevin turns around as if he senses me. He looks so pathetic when he sees me, I worry I can’t give him all the strength he so desperately needs.
He’s lost so much weight that his one good suit is now at least two sizes too big.
“Well, finally,” Cookie says, thrilled to be exasperated at something. But then she leans over to button my coat. “You’re going to catch a cold.” No matter that we’re a couple yards from the door.
“You guys didn’t have to wait out here.”
“Mom thought we should all go in together,” Kevin says, taking my hand.
It seems silly, as if a few Murphys walking together down a largely empty hallway is going to make one bit of a difference, but as we make our way through the dingy alcove, it does feel safer in our little pack, a united front.
Cookie asks me about Chase and I tell her that he gained an ounce overnight. I don’t think I’ve ever loved her more than right then as her face lights up and she says, “That’s our boy.”
Brice lets Cookie and Frank lead the way as we file through the maze of the old building. Once they’re out of earshot, he whispers to Kevin. “You’ll plead not guilty, just like we talked about. I thought the DA might put a deal on the table before it came to this, but she wants to go through with all the theatrics, draw it out.” Cookie and Frank are too far ahead to hear this conversation, but Matt can.
“My brother ain’t a snitch, man.” He spits the words in Brice’s direction. He looks like he’s about to say more, to make a scene, but Annie grabs him by the elbow and pushes him toward his mother.
“Don’t listen to him,” I say.
Kevin stops short in the entrance—filling three rows of benches on one side are his buddies from the Twenty-Second. I can tell he didn’t know they would be here. It’s a bizarre kind of surprise party. Instead of screaming, “Surprise!” they all turn to look at him, communicate their solidarity through solemn nods and serious expressions. They know it could have been any one of them in Kevin’s shoes. Some of them stare at me. Some look shyly away. They’re standing by him now, but what happens if Kevin testifies against Cameron? Will they all abandon my husband? I know the answer and so does he.
There’s another case being heard. Brice told us to expect to wait, so we find an empty bench and sit watching, waiting as it finishes. The judge is delivering a stern lecture to a sullen teenager about getting his life together and how he needs to support all of his “baby mamas” because that isn’t the taxpayers’ job. It’s impossible to focus. I can’t stop thinking about Chase in the NICU, wondering what he’s doing, whether he’s awake, whether he misses me. My arms are so empty without him in them. A dark laugh threatens to escape as it hits me that I’d rather be back in the NICU, that terrible place of purgatory and sick babies, than here in this courtroom. But at least something is finally happening. Of all the difficult parts of the last few months, the not knowing has been the hardest. I can’t be a proper mother to my little boy in this constant state of limbo. Maybe it’ll all be over soon, whatever the end looks like. I’ve prepared myself to deal with any outcome. I just need clarity. I need to know what comes next.
I’ve never been in a courtroom before, and I’m surprised to find it’s so dark and dingy: faded paint peels off the walls, abandoned cans of Coke and a stack of brown accordion folders crowd the judge’s desk. The ancient radiators clang and grunt. The judge herself looks bored. I can’t believe our fate will be decided in this depressing room, or one exactly like it if Kevin goes to trial.
The judge strikes her gavel, startling both of us. There’s a sudden churn in the courtroom as the cases turn over—actors taking their places, including me. I scoot back on the bench and sit up straighter, readying myself. Kevin stands when the bailiff calls his name. All eyes turn as he and Brice make their way to the table before the judge. I want to offer some final words of encouragement, but Kevin is out of his seat, trudging forward like a zombie before I have the chance.
That horrible district attorney appears from out of nowhere and stands at a table in front of the judge. I want to stick a big wad of gum in her hair. I shoot daggers at Sabrina Cowell and hope she can feel my rage. When she starts to speak, I want to cover my ears against her self-righteousness, her smug tone.
“Kevin Murphy…
“Second-degree murder…