Gray Mountain: A Novel(56)

The judge was talking to his new jury, giving them instructions on what and what not to do throughout the trial. He almost scolded them into promising to immediately report any contact with persons trying to discuss the trial. Samantha looked at the jurors and tried to determine which ones Donovan had wanted and which ones were considered favorable to coal. It was impossible. All white, four women, three men, youngest around twenty-five and oldest at least seventy. How could anyone predict the group dynamics of the jury as it weighed the evidence?

Perhaps Lenny Charlton, the consultant. Samantha saw him three rows up, watching the jurors as they listened to the judge’s instructions. Others were watching too, no doubt consultants hired by Strayhorn Coal and its insurance company. All eyes were on the jurors. Big money was on the line, and it was their task to award it, or not.

Samantha smiled at the contrast. Here, in a tense courtroom, Donovan had dragged in another rich corporation to answer for its bad deeds. He would demand millions in damages. In the coming weeks, he would file a billion-dollar case against Krull Mining, a case that would devour several years and a small fortune in expenses. She, on the other hand, now had in her briefcase her first lawsuit, one seeking $5,000 in damages from a shady outfit that was probably one step away from bankruptcy.

Donovan stood to address the court. He was wearing his lawyer’s finest, a handsome navy suit that hung fashionably on his lean frame. His long hair had been slightly trimmed for the occasion. He was clean shaven for a change. He moved around the courtroom as if he owned it. The jurors watched every move and absorbed every word as he announced that the plaintiff was satisfied with the jury and had no more challenges.

At 5:45 p.m., the judge adjourned for the day. Samantha hurried out and beat the rush. She drove four blocks to the lower school Mandy and Trevor attended. She had talked to the principal twice during the day. Their assignments had been put together by their teachers. The principal had heard the family was living in a car and was very concerned. Samantha assured her they were in a better place and things were looking up. She hoped they would be back in school in a matter of days. In the meantime, she would make sure they kept up their studies and finished their homework.

Driving away, Samantha admitted she felt more like a social worker than a lawyer, and there was nothing wrong with that. At Scully & Pershing, her work was more suitable for accountants or financial analysts, or at times minimum-wage clerks or simple pencil pushers. She reminded herself that she was a real lawyer, though she often had doubts.

As she was leaving Colton, a white pickup truck ran up behind her, then backed away. It followed her all the way to Brady, keeping the same distance, not too close but never out of sight.





17


Pizzerias in big cities benefit from Italian natives or descendants thereof, people who understand that real pizza comes from Naples where the crusts are thin and the toppings simple. Samantha’s favorite was Lazio’s, a hole-in-the-wall in Tribeca where the cooks yelled in Italian as they baked the crusts in brick ovens. Like most things in her life these days, Lazio’s was far away. So was the pizza. The only place in Brady to get one to go was a sub shop in a cheap strip mall. Pizza Hut, along with most other national chains, had not penetrated deep into the small towns of Appalachia.

The pizza was an inch thick. She watched the guy slice it and slide it into the box. Eight bucks for a pepperoni and cheese, which seemed to weigh five pounds. She drove it to the motel where the Bookers were watching television and waiting. They had been scrubbed and looked much better in clean clothing, and they were embarrassingly grateful for the changes. Samantha also brought along the bad news that she now had the kids’ homework for the next week, but this did nothing to dampen their moods.

They had dinner in Pamela’s room, pizza and soft drinks, with Wheel of Fortune in the background on low volume. The kids talked about school, their teachers, and the friends they were missing in Colton. Their transformation from early that morning was startling. Frightened and hungry, they had hesitated to say a word. Now they wouldn’t shut up.

When the pizza was gone, Pamela cracked the whip and made them buckle down and study. She was afraid they were falling behind. After a few timid objections, they went to their room and got to work. In low voices, Samantha and Pamela talked about the lawsuit and what it might mean. With a little luck, the company might realize its mistake and talk settlement. Otherwise, Samantha would have them in court as soon as possible. She managed to convey the confidence of a seasoned litigator and never hinted that this was her first real lawsuit. She also planned to meet with Mr. Simmons at the lamp factory and explain the mistakes that led to the garnishment. Pamela was not a deadbeat; rather, she was being mistreated by bad people abusing the legal system.

As she drove away from the Starlight Motel, Samantha realized she had spent the better part of the past twelve hours aggressively representing Pamela Booker and her children. Had they not stumbled into the clinic early that morning, they would be hiding somewhere in the backseat of their car, hungry, cold, hopeless, frightened, and vulnerable.


Her cell phone buzzed as she was changing into jeans. It was Annette, a hundred feet across the backyard. “The kids are in their rooms. Got time for some tea?” she asked.

The two needed to talk, to air things out and get to the bottom of whatever was bugging Annette. Kim and Adam managed to interrupt their homework long enough to say hello to Samantha. They preferred to have her there for dinner every night, with television afterward and maybe a video game or two. Samantha, though, needed some space. Annette was certainly helping matters.