“Tom Raider?” My mother was suddenly behind me, crying hysterically. “Like our next-door neighbor, Tom Raider? Is that what they said?”
I could only nod and watch until the cop cars disappeared.
“Don’t worry about this, son.” My dad winked at me from behind a glass panel days later. “This is all a big misunderstanding, and it’ll be cleared up in no time.”
“What does no bond mean, Dad?” I asked.
“It means I can’t come home until the jury says I didn’t kill Mr. Raider.” He looked like he was holding back tears. “I promise I didn’t kill him.”
“Okay.” I could only nod. “But they’ll let you out for the holidays, right?”
He didn’t answer that.
“Time will work all this out, son,” he said. “I guarantee it.”
My dad had never lied to me, and he’d kept every promise he’d ever made, but this time?
This time I could see fear in his irises, like he wasn’t so certain about how long “no time” would be.
“Make sure your mother doesn’t cry too much, huh?” He squeezed my hand. “You’ll do that for me?”
“I will, Dad. Promise.”
Eight Months Later
“The justice system moves at a snail’s pace, James.” My mother frowned at me. “Every lawyer has told us that, so we just have to wait and keep living our lives until your father’s trial comes.”
Hearing the word “wait” leave her lips was a cruel joke.
She had yet to admit it, but she was already moving on from my dad. I’d overheard her whispering to her friends at night about being “so ashamed” of “marrying a man capable of murder,” “a man who would off a good guy like Mr. Raider,” and she was going on nightly dates with his so-called best friend, Dan.
As she hummed to herself, I slipped into my bedroom and pulled out the card for my dad’s lawyer.
Peter Hansel
I dialed his number.
“Peter Hansel speaking,” he answered on the first ring.
“Where are you on my dad’s case?” I didn’t have time for small talk.
“Oh gosh.” He sighed. “Look, Jay?—”
“My name is James,” I said. “I tell you that every time…”
“Sorry, James.” He cleared his throat. “But look. I’m a public defender.”
“And?” I shrugged. “That means you’re still a lawyer, right?”
“Yes, with a ton of clients and little money for expenses for every client,” he said. “Your father’s best bet is to plead guilty to this and accept the plea deal.”
“Twenty-five plus years for something he didn’t do?”
“Well…” He sighed. “Yes. But he’ll still be out in time for your late-in-life milestones. If he goes to trial, he could get twenty-five years to life…”
“But he didn’t do it,” I said. “I can prove it.”
“I’ll do my best to show that he didn’t if this goes to trial,” he said. “I’ve got to go, okay? I’ve got another case.”
