The juror numbers were to be called chronologically. Knowing it would be a while before I was summoned—if at all—I pulled out my knitting project and picked up where I'd left off. As prospective jurors submitted to the judge's questions about background, family life, and vocations, I began to categorize people in knitting terms.
The man in the banker's suit whose knee wouldn't stop bouncing—I filed him under dropped stitch. A small but compounding error, innocent if caught early, a disaster if you don't notice for six rows.
The woman with her arms crossed, radiating stoic energy—twisted cable. Good structural intentions, wrong execution, and now it's too late to fix it without pulling the whole thing out.
The man who smiled warmly at everyone, then spoke in monosyllables—hidden increase. Something accumulating quietly that you don't notice until the count is off and you're staring at the row going, wait, when did that happen?
I was deep into this taxonomy, working on a turn, when I suddenly wondered what category I'd fall into. Not a flattering one, probably—loose tension. When the yarn is so yielding it produces a shapeless form.
I looked up from my plastic needles, and the square-jawed deputy was looking back.
He was at his customary post along the back wall, arms loose at his sides, slowly scanning the room. For a second, his eyes landed on mine and held. He'd been watching this room for days, reading all of us. What did he see when he looked at me?
He had very dark eyes, and expressive eyebrows.
I looked back at my needles and stabbed my thumb.
Not a grievous injury since it was a hard plastic needle. But enough of a jab to make me gasp before I stuck my thumb in my mouth.
When I glanced up, the deputy's expression hadn't changed, but the corner of his mouth had lifted a millimeter.
Terrific. Days of conducting myself like a credible adult, and that's what landed.
At the end of the day, the judge had questioned only half of the jury pool. Several more jurors were dismissed. The rest of us were asked to return tomorrow for more of the same.
Sometime during the drive home I realized I'd begun handling the crush of rush hour with more skill. I was getting the hang of the etiquette—and lack thereof. I didn't necessarily like sitting in bumper to bumper traffic, but I liked sitting withthousands of other people who had someplace to commute to and from. It made me feel important. And since my time in the jury pool was likely coming to an end, I would miss it.
July 14, Tuesday
I HADfinished one of my knitting projects and started another one when the bailiff called my number.
"Juror 247, please come forward."
I gathered my things and walked to the front of the courtroom, then climbed into the witness stand. I'd worn the green dress again, the nicest thing in my closet, and had tried to change it up with a scarf. Now I wondered if I looked ridiculous, old-fashioned. My heart was pounding so loud in my ears, I was sure everyone could hear it. From this vantage point, the courtroom looked bigger, more imposing. Judge Arnold was even more impressive at close range.
And Robert Blackthorne looked more menacing.
I dragged my gaze away from his and found myself searching for the deputy at the back of the courtroom. I found him. I must've looked as nervous as I felt because he gave me the tiniest of nods.
"Juror 247, I'm going to ask you a few questions," the judge said warmly. "Just answer as honestly as you can."
"Yes, sir." My voice came out remarkably steady, which surprised me.
"Describe yourself in three words."
I'd heard him ask the same question of other jurors, so the fact that I wasn't prepared to answer left me flustered. I sat with the full weight of the courtroom on me and went completely blank. After a long silence, I gave myself a mental kick and my brain jumpstarted.
"Loyal," I said. "Dependable. And patient."
I let those three words sit for exactly one second before it hit me.
"I realize I just described a golden retriever," I blurted.
A ripple of laughter went through the gallery and my face flamed. The judge's mouth moved appreciatively.
"What do you enjoy doing in your spare time?"
"I have two teenagers, so spare time is—" I paused. "Mostly theoretical. But when I have it, I knit."
