Redemption(51)

“At those temperatures, an adult only has minutes. Within ten, Ms. Jackson was inside a deathtrap. The baby had even less time.”



Matt’s testimony had been the most damning. His tape had been played for the court since he was deployed, and his words haunted me. He was angry, and it came through in every word he recorded. Blame lay at my feet. I had known his would be bad but hoped it hadn’t held as much weight since he wasn’t here to deliver it himself. Seeing his face, witnessing his devastation, every member of the jury would have identified with his anger and likely marinated in it. But his hadn’t been the testimony I’d hated hearing. I dreaded the details I knew were going to come from the prosecutor’s expert medical witness. He wasn’t here to talk about mine or Joshua’s specific case—he came to educate the courtroom on the process of the human body, adult and child, failing due to heatstroke. I’d spent far too much time researching this over the last few months, and it was gory.

“Heatstroke causes the body to shut down. It’s a multi-system organ failure where respiratory, cardiovascular, and nervous systems quit functioning. Most adults have experienced heat exhaustion of some form during their lifetime. The complexion flushes red from dilated blood vessels near the surface of the skin as the body tries to shed heat. The body is designed to sweat to regulate the internal temperature. With smaller skin surfaces, children and babies have a more difficult time. Sweating doesn’t cool a child’s body the way it does an adult’s. Humidity exacerbates the problems. Essentially, the body cooks itself from the inside.”

“How long could an adult survive in the conditions Ms. Jackson’s vehicle was in that day?”

“Ten to fifteen minutes before permanent damage occurred, maybe twenty minutes before death. But since there had been air-conditioning on in the car, it might have taken a few more minutes for the internal temperature to reach devastating levels.”

“What about an infant?”

I wanted to tune out the doctor and the prosecutor going back and forth, but it was Joshua’s final moments. As much as I didn’t want to hear about them, I needed too. I needed to suffer the constant reminder of what I’d done. Every time I got hot, every time I felt sweat run down my back…I deserved to be reminded of how my carelessness had affected someone I loved.

The doctor glanced in my direction before honing his attention back to the man who’d asked the question. “Maybe ten minutes.”

“Why didn’t Ms. Jackson wake up?”

“Extreme fatigue and sleep deprivation cause the body to react in different ways than a healthy adult would. But by design, when internal temperatures begin to rise to dangerous levels the heart rate rises, blood flow slows, and the body begins to feed water to critical organs—kidneys, the liver. The brain suffers from the lack of oxygen and blood. Had Ms. Jackson been well rested, the baby crying should have woken her. A few more minutes in that car, and we wouldn’t be here now.”

Minutes. My life had been defined in increments of sixty seconds. Likely not more than fifteen to twenty of them.

“Ms. Jackson was lucky not to have met the same fate as her son.”

My son.

My precious baby boy.

I’d killed him.

His final moments, he’d been awake. He’d cried, likely squalled. And as his mother, I’d offered him no comfort.

My son had died scared and alone.



*

The jury deliberated for three days. My attorney tried to assure me the longer they stayed behind closed doors, the better it was for me that a juror was holding out. I had a clean record, I was a contributing member of society, and my colleagues had spoken highly of me when they’d been called as character witnesses even if they had affirmed I’d taken on too much as a new mother. Jethro was convinced a jury wouldn’t send someone my age with my history to jail. But I wondered if I deserved that kind of grace. I didn’t want to spend my days behind bars, but I wouldn’t blame them had they deemed it a necessary punishment.

We waited to be called back to the courthouse, and each day that passed was harder than the previous. While Jethro was hoping for a hung jury, I knew I couldn’t endure another trial. I wouldn’t appeal whatever decision they made. I would accept the consequences and hope at some point I would be able to climb out of the manic state I’d found myself in.

The call came at the end of day three, late in the afternoon. I’d given up hope for the day and resigned myself to another sleepless night with an unknown fate. I’d been fortunate I hadn’t been forced into police custody for the duration of this process, but I needed it to end.

Entering the court house was like carrying my cross to the crucifixion, only regardless of the outcome, my suffering wouldn’t end here. Either way, I would have to live with this for the rest of my life. Every time I closed my eyes, I’d see Joshua’s precious little face, his bright blue irises, the way he grinned when I cooed at him. I’d never hear him say his first words or see him take his first steps. I wouldn’t watch him graduate from high school or walk down the aisle. I’d stolen all of those things from myself, but more importantly from him and those who loved him.

We stood as the jury entered the room, and I wrung my hands in front of me. My palms were sweaty, and my blouse clung to my skin. Jethro still hoped for the best, but I just prayed for an end.