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ONE
Taryn
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Isit in the courtroom, gripping the tissue so tight between my fingers that it’s mere shreds by now. I need to listen to the jury foreman read the decision, but part of me doesn’t want to. I want to crawl inside a hole and pretend this is all a dream I’m about to wake up from. Warm in my bed in my dorm room, my college roommate waking me up with her hair dryer and her usual loud morning routine. But I’m not asleep, I’m awake, sitting on a hard, cold wooden bench in a Boulder County, Colorado courtroom, waiting to hear if my brother is going to be at our family’s next holiday celebration, or if I’ll be bringing him a tin of our mother’s famous Christmas cookies in prison.
“Will the defendant please rise?” the bailiff announces.
I watch as my brother stands, wearing the blue shirt, black tie, and dark slacks I’d had to go to his townhouse and pull from his closet for him in anticipation of this trial. His attorney stands along with him, his brow pinched in worry, which offers me no comfort at all.
I swallow the lump in my throat, not caring that my mother’s hand is gripping mine so tight that it feels like she’s going to crush my delicate hand bones. I glance past her to see my brother’s best friend, Carter Lockwood, sitting at the end of the bench, staring straight ahead, his sharp jaw pulsing in stress as I imagine his back molars are grinding together.
“How does the jury decide on the count of involuntary manslaughter in the first degree?”
“We, the jury, find the defendant, Eric Andrews, guilty.”
Oh, my God...
The courtroom erupts in gasps. My mother audibly sobs. I have to swallow back my own. I grip her tighter, trying to impart some comfort.
“How does the jury decide on the count of felony driving under the influence?”
“We, the jury, find the defendant, Eric Andrews, guilty.”
I look at the jury foreman. He’s probably in his fifties and looks horribly sorry as he glances at my brother, who is sagging in defeat, his face buried in his hands. I want to run to Eric. To tell him it’ll be okay. That we aren’t angry with him. That everyone makes mistakes. Unfortunately for Eric, his mistake is going to cost him a chunk of his life.
“No, please!” my mother cries, letting go of my hand to try to run to her son. “It was an accident! He didn’t mean it!” I grab her arm to keep her from running to him. A glance behind my shoulder shows a man holding a little girl in his lap, tears running down his face. I quickly turn away as his sad eyes hold mine for a brief moment. There’s nothing I can do or say that will bring back his wife or that little girl’s mom.
“Mother, stop. Let’s go,” I say quietly, ushering her forcefully out of the courtroom. I glance back one last time and mouth “I love you” to my brother as he looks at us with grief-filled eyes that reflect his heavy soul. Two deputies approach him, and I watch as one puts handcuffs on him behind his back. Eric gives up no resistance and hangs his head as he’s escorted quietly out of the courtroom.
“Sentencing hearing one week from today. Court is adjourned,” the judge says, pounding his gavel.
Outside the courtroom, there are reporters and other people milling about. One reporter, a lady with short black hair and too much makeup, shoves a microphone in my face. The light from the camera behind her causes me to squint.
“Miss Andrews, how do you feel about the verdict today? Do you think the decision was a fair one?”
My mom starts sobbing again.
“I... please just go away,” I mutter, trying to move out of their way.
The horde follows us.
“Miss Andrews, how much time does your brother think he’s going to get—”
“Enough!”
Mom and I freeze and turn at the loud, commanding male voice. I see Carter Lockwood standing there, shoving the cameraman back and telling the female reporter to get lost. The widower and his daughter exit the courtroom and the reporters begin rushing over, clamoring for a statement from them.
“I’m sorry,” Carter says, looking down at me with regret, sadness, and anger in his dark-blue eyes. He looks at my mom. “Mrs. Andrews. How are you?”
She shakes her head and a sob jerks up again.
“Not good, as you can see,” I snap, putting my arm around her.
“Yeah, poor choice of words,” he replies. “Sorry about that.” He’s staring at me with that intensity again. “Do you ladies have a ride home?”
I nod and lift the tissue to my nose. I must look like a wreck. Normally, I would be very self-conscious about how I looked around Carter Lockwood—I’ve had a mad crush on him since I was thirteen, after all—but today, I couldn’t care less. A deep sadness for my brother is all that consumes me. “We took a Lyft. I was too messed up to try and drive in that traffic, and of course Mom’s upset, too...”
