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“Oh, I’d say I’ve known her personally—really well—about two weeks.”
“In other words, since this incident with the Benedict boy occurred.”
“Yes.”
“And before this incident, did the Calhoun family ever come to your church?”
“Yes, they did. And the brother, too.”
“They did. And tell me, was that more than one time, Reverend?”
Reverend Vaughn stared down at his hands folded in his lap. “At least once,” he said finally, looking up at the lawyer.
“At least once, but would you say less than five times?”
Reverend Vaughn nodded. “Fewer than five times.”
Mr. Moon turned back to the judge. He lifted his arm and for a moment it floated in the air, weightless, waving
like a pennant in the direction of the minister. “This is the best the family can do,” said Mr. Moon. His arm dropped suddenly. “That’s my point.”
Outside, a light rain had started to fall, and drops of water were streaking down the long, thin courthouse windows. Rainy summer afternoons have always seemed wasteful to me—a childish notion, I know, but something I’ve never outgrown. Now, my sense of loss expanded, opening a huge, hollow place exactly in my center. A car with speakers on top passed by the courthouse. The speakers blared a tinny message about a Republican rally on the square. A woman in the building across the street, alerted by the rain, pulled some potted plants off the window ledge, then slammed the window shut. Everything just kept on, as if nothing were happening.
At last it was Bunny’s turn. She got to her feet, her hands working nervously to pull down the skirt of her dress. Her breath came in quick, hard gulps. She cleared her throat. Sergeant Tony took his chin out of his hand and swiveled to get a better look. Bunny cleared her throat again. Her eyes jitterbugged around the room. Still, she said nothing.
“Well, Mrs. Calhoun?” said Judge Horner.
Bunny shook her head. “I can’t think what to say.” Her voice came out so slight there seemed to be no breath behind it. In the half hour since she’d last spoken out, she’d been very still.
“Do you want to comment on this proceeding? This is your chance to talk.”
Bunny stared back blankly at the judge. I realized suddenly why seeing her in that dress had made me sad. It was the dress she used to wear when she went out on dates on Sunday nights when the country club was closed. Tom and I would be in the living room, listening to the radio or playing with each other, and she’d appear in that dress. It meant she’d be leaving us, going off someplace with a boyfriend, and, for a night—a rare night when she wasn’t working—other people would get to hear that voice, that laugh.
Judge Horner tried to be helpful. “There have been some serious accusations against you and the way you’ve raised your family,” he said. “Try to respond to them, Mrs. Calhoun. Give us your side of the story.”
“Everybody …” Bunny started and then stopped. She looked over at Sergeant Tony and Mr. Moon and then back at the judge.
“Say something,” I whispered.
“I …” Again she stopped. She frightened me, she looked so frail. Her face was as pale as the blond hair she’d teased into lifeless waves around her head. She shrugged and slumped back down in her chair.
I reached for her hand. Her palm was covered with a cool film of moisture. I could have been squeezing an old, damp sponge.
Judge Horner waited a few seconds. “All right,” he said, after a bit. “You don’t have to speak.” He turned to me. “How about you, Martha? Do you want to say anything?”
I shook my head. I was frightened and confused by Bunny’s behavior. My mind was a jumble. I just wanted this to be over.
“Come, Martha,” said Mrs. O’Brien loudly. “You must have something you want to say to Judge Horner. We’ve all been brought here for your benefit.”
I stared down at the tabletop. To my left, Sergeant Tony whispered something to Mr. Moon. Then the lawyer spoke up. “Your honor, I think it’s worth noting that Martha has never expressed the least bit of remorse about any of the events that have brought her here.”
“Is that so?”
I glanced up and saw that the judge was staring at me, waiting for an answer. They were all staring. Even behind me, I felt Reverend Vaughn’s eyes on my back. But I couldn’t talk. It was one thing to sit there like a spectator, watching the hearing unfold as if it were happening to someone else—as it was, in a way, since it was unthinkable that I’d end up like this. But it was another thing to say something, to participate. That would put me in it, that was real.
Anyway, by then I’d caught the same muteness that Bunny had. There was nothing to say.
“You must have some explanations,” said Judge Horner. “What were you doing with that little boy?” There was an edge to his tone. Dealing with these silent women was frustrating to him. It robbed the hearing of something, even I could feel that. He waited, staring. “Well, Martha?”
