Chapter 22 - THE NIGHT BEFORE TRIAL
The shed was still standing.
Rain had warped one lower board.
Auberon asked:
“After trial?”
“Maybe.”
We stood on the patio.
The garden was overgrown because neither of us cared.
I was seven months pregnant now.
Marin moved visibly beneath my shirt.
Auberon put one hand over the bump.
“Do you want me at court tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
Then:
“Do you want me to testify before you?”
“That isn’t our choice.”
“Right.”
Procedure.
We had learned.
Then he said:
“If Mom is convicted, I don’t know if I’ll ever speak to her again.”
“You don’t have to decide tomorrow.”
He looked at me.
That was something therapy had taught both of us.
No forever decisions required in moments of maximum emotion.
Then:
“If she’s acquitted?”
My stomach tightened.
“We still have protective orders.”
“Yes.”
“Evidence doesn’t disappear.”
“No.”
He nodded.
Court outcomes matter.
They are not the only source of reality.
Then we went inside.
I ate toast.
Auberon packed my hospital-style snack bag for court as if I were crossing a desert.
May you like
Too many granola bars.
I let him.
