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“We can’t quite figure out how it happened,” said Mr. Moon.
“Drag racing?” asked the judge.
“Not likely. They drag race out on that flat stretch on Thompson Road, near the old McIntyre farm. This happened along that big curve, just before the Stewart place.”
“Oh, I know where you mean. There’s a line of trees there on the right.”
“That’s what’s strange. The utility pole is off the road. Cooper managed to fly through the trees without hitting one. You and I couldn’t push a wheelbarrow through there without bumping a tree, and yet this kid tears right through, missing every tree, and then hits the pole head on.”
“Incredible,” said the judge, shaking his head.
The men went on talking about the accident. Separately, each had driven past Kuhn’s Garage to inspect the wreck, and Sergeant Tony had gone out to Willow Road to measure skid marks. Listening to their conversation, I thought of the c
ampfire scenes from the old war movies that Tom loved to watch. The three of them seemed to take the accident personally, as if these were perilous times we lived in, and they were all slightly heroic for having survived as long as they did.
In the midst of their conversation, the courtroom door banged open, and I heard a familiar click-clicking coming down the aisle. It was Bunny, in high heels. She slid into a chair beside me. “Why don’t they put something down on these floors?” she asked in a loud whisper. “I nearly broke my neck sliding around.” Still ignoring Mrs. O’Brien, Bunny straightened up and stared at the judge. She looked wonderful, bright and sleek in her candy-stripe red dress.
“Hello, Mrs. Calhoun,” said Judge Horner.
“Hello, Judge.”
“Here we are again.” He smiled weakly.
Bunny stayed stonily silent.
“How’s your boy?” he asked.
“You know.”
“He graduated from this court some time ago.”
“He didn’t get a fair chance.”
“I’m sorry to hear you feel that way,” said the judge. He turned away, but his eyes seemed to trail behind, as if reluctant to leave Bunny. “Well, let’s get on with it, Frank,” he said to the prosecutor. “What have we got?”
Mr. Moon stood and handed a sheaf of papers to the judge. Then he stepped over and gave one sheet to Bunny. At the top, it said, In re: M.C. Before I could read it, Bunny folded the paper into a small square and put it in her pocketbook.
Mr. Moon started to explain what the case was about, but Judge Horner waved him silent. The judge put on a pair of glasses and examined the papers. Bunny leaned over and put her mouth close to my ear. “Don’t worry,” she said. “It’s gonna be all right.”
“How do you know?” I whispered.
“I can feel.”
Judge Horner finished, then took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes wearily. “I don’t quite understand, Frank. She’s found there in the bedroom with the boy, right? That’s not a crime. I mean, we don’t encourage boys and girls to get undressed in front of each other, but that doesn’t mean we need to take up the time of the juvenile court with it.”
Mr. Moon bounced up. “Your honor, the boy was nine years old. She was his babysitter.”
“Nine? Does it say that in here?” The judge looked over the documents again.
“I believe so, your honor, on the first page—”
“Yeah. ‘Butcher Benedict, nine years old.’ Hmmm. I missed that.” The judge moved his arm to scratch his head and the sleeve of his jacket scattered the papers on his desk. “Still, there’s got to be some underlying crime,” he said. “Unless you’re saying she’s a truant, or in need of supervision, which I don’t see here, you need a crime for a delinquency petition. You can’t just run her in for playing doctor.”
Bunny couldn’t restrain herself. “That’s what I’ve been saying all along. There’s no crime. It’s all made up.”
“Please, Mrs. Calhoun,” said Judge Horner. Mrs. O’Brien reached over me to pat Bunny on the leg, but Bunny pushed her hand away.
“Lewd and lascivious conduct,” said Sergeant Tony. “That’s the underlying crime.”
