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Bunny made a noise. She struggled to sit up straight, then made the noise again. “Judge,” she was saying. “Judge.”
“Yes, Mrs. Calhoun?”
“Can I have some water?” She aimed a limp finger at her mouth.
Josephine hurried out of the courtroom and returned a few seconds later with a tall glass. Bunny drank the water down without stopping, holding the glass in both hands like a baby. Handing it back, she smiled warmly at Josephine and blinked with heavy lids.
The water revived her. She sat up in her chair. A touch of pink returned to her cheeks.
“Feeling better?” asked the judge.
Bunny nodded. Suddenly, she started to talk—not the way people talk in court, but the way she does at home, when we’re just sitting around, and the thoughts and sentences drift out almost unconnected. “She was a perfect child,” Bunny said, “a perfect child from the moment she was born. Oh, it was a hard birth, much harder than her brother, which is strange, since the first is supposed to be the worst. I didn’t even mind the pain, though. It was good in a way, you know what I mean? Good pain.” She smiled at the judge. “And after she was here, she was perfect, a perfect child. She never once cried. Can you imagine?”
Josephine threw a nervous look at the judge. Mr. Moon cleared his throat. Mrs. O’Brien reached behind me and tapped Bunny on the shoulder. But Bunny kept talking. “I remember the day I brought her home from the hospital. I knew I was going to have a girl, I just knew it, so I’d fixed up the guest room next to mine, since I think a girl should have a room of her own, even if she’s only a baby. I’d painted it pink and covered the walls with these decals of seahorses and fish and mermaids. It was sweet, an oceany kind of thing. So I brought her home and set her in the crib. It was a hot day, and all she had on were her diapers. She looked like a little roasting chicken, all naked and pink, with her arms and legs curled up. A little plucked chicken on her back there in the crib. But she was happy, so happy. All the neighbors came over to admire her, and she just looked up at everyone, looked right into their faces. You could just feel the joy she brought, you could feel it like it was something you could put your hands on. I don’t think I was ever happier than that day.” Bunny reached over and stroked my hair for a moment. “That’s funny, isn’t it? To be able to think back to your very happiest day.”
Again, Mrs. O’Brien reached behind me to touch Bunny. Judge Horner waved her hand away. “There wasn’t a woman who came that day who didn’t tell me she was a perfect child,” Bunny went on. “All of them said it, and some of them were no friends of mine, that’s for sure. But they just couldn’t help themselves, she was so wonderful. Of course, a mother can’t take credit for her child—or at least not much. It’s her flesh and blood, but a child’s a gift, really, isn’t it? You can’t know what you’re getting.” She paused. “Still, I knew with Martha long before she was born that I was getting something special. Even before I was pregnant enough to show, when she was only that tiny hum deep inside, I knew.”
Bunny’s eyes had been wandering around the top of the courtroom, almost as if she had been reading from notes scribbled to herself on the ceiling. Now, she shifted and started speaking directly to the judge. “Afterward, your honor, you can’t imagine the joy that child brought me. She was like a friend, a best friend, from the moment I brought her home. I had someone put rollers on her crib so I could wheel it around the house while I cleaned up or cooked. And then we just talked. Talked about everything. I’d be busy, but we’d just talk away for hours about any old thing that came into my head. Those were hard times for me, your honor, being a mother alone with two babies. But having her to talk to kept me in one piece, I really believe that’s so. At night, I remember, her brother used to go right to sleep, but Martha would stay up with me, she just didn’t want to lea
ve me, even to go to sleep. I used to have this old radio. It had belonged to my mother, but she gave it to me for company after my husband left. Anyway, after Tom had gone to bed, Martha and I would sit up in the living room and listen to the radio. She was just a tiny little thing, but we’d sit there and listen to the news broadcasts to see how the war was going. The war was just starting then, and I knew a lot of boys who’d be fighting. Anyway, I’ll always remember that. It was a bad radio, real crackly, but Martha and I would sit there together and listen every night, me on the sofa and her in the crib. Or sometimes I’d hold her in my lap. And she’d reassure me … I knew so many boys.…”
“Your honor.” Mr. Moon pushed his chair back and stood up. “Your honor, I’d like to know what an old radio has to do with this proceeding.”
“It’s my turn to talk,” said Bunny.
“You were wandering a bit, Mrs. Calhoun,” said Judge Horner.
“Your honor, I think we ought to get back to the issue here,” said Mr. Moon. Now that he was on his feet, he wasn’t going to let Bunny run away again. “The issue is whether this young girl is in need of more supervision, and I submit the record is abundantly clear that she’s not getting the type of supervision from her mother that a girl needs in these difficult times.”
“What do you know?” said Bunny. “She’s my daughter, and I love her more than anything.”
The lawyer made a face like he’d bitten something sour. “That’s not the issue, Mrs. Calhoun. The issue is whether she’s getting adequate supervision.”
“Love is supervision.” Bunny’s face was turning white again and her lower lip was starting to dance. “Love is all the supervision she needs.”
“And what about last night?” said the lawyer. “Where was your love when she was off gallivanting around Banyon’s Woods?”
“That was the others,” said Bunny. Her voice sounded as if it were about to break. “The others did it, but she got blamed.”
The lawyer took a step toward us and his arm shot out at me. “Your honor, that girl is driving this town crazy,” he shouted. “She’s driving the town crazy, and her mother’s not doing a thing about it.”
Bunny bounded up and shoved the table so hard it clattered across the floor and banged into the front of the judge’s bench.
“Jesus!” said the judge.
“The hell with it,” yelled Bunny. “The hell with it.”
“She’s nuts!” shouted Mr. Moon, jumping back.
“Please—”
“Hey!”
“Nuts!”
Sergeant Tony knocked over his chair getting to his feet. “Hey, lady!” he yelled.
Bunny stared wildly at the three men. She opened her mouth, and her lips moved silently. Finally, she made a noise. Maybe she’d wanted to say something, but it came out just a screech, a long, rasping sound that hurt just to listen to. It seemed to go on for at least a minute. Everyone waited. At last she snapped it off. She grabbed her pocketbook, whirled, and stomped down the aisle. She fumbled with the door, thinking it opened in and not out. Finally, she swung it open, stepped outside and slammed it shut. The crash echoed back through the huge, hushed courtroom.
