“No. Not this time.”
“You’ve wasted your time coming here.” Her words were etched sharp into the ice of her eyes and face and voice. “Anybody who asks me is going to hear it all.”
“That’s your privilege.” Marcus found gentle relief in the truth that he really did not care. “I didn’t come to ask for anything. I just wanted you to know I’m sorry. For everything.”
Something flickered deep within her gaze, an instant of indecision. The chin lifted, but there was a slight quiver now threatening her poise. “You never could tell the truth. You never gave anybody anything without exacting your pound of flesh.”
“You’re probably right.” Life had always seemed to cost him more than it gave. He had previously sensed a rightness in using any advantage to win a little back. But not anymore. There was nothing to gain, nothing he sought except an acknowledgment of what truth the moment held. “I used my selfishness to keep from seeing just how hollow I always was.”
The quivering rose to touch the words as well. “You’re nothing in my life and never will be.”
Marcus nodded acceptance of yet another judgment against him. “I don’t deserve anything else.”
Carol pressed a fist against her face, clenching back the tremors. Only two hoarse words emerged to command, “Get out.”
“I’m sorry, Carol. For all I was, and even more for everything I wasn’t.” He trod the silent carpeted distance.
He reached the doorway when the voice behind him cried, “Marcus!”
He turned back, saw the hand half-raised toward him, saw the tension that marked her face and gaze. He waited, longing for all he had lost, and watched as the hand slowly retreated, and the face lowered to shelter in tearstained palms. Marcus left the house, wishing there were some way to thank her for trying at all.
On the trip home, Marcus watched the flight attendant push the drinks trolley past his row. The tiny bottles clinked their invitation, the light reflecting off the clear and amber liquids as it would the elixir of life. But the momentary feeling of having done the right thing quenched whatever thirst he might have felt. The feeling stayed with him through the night and into the next dawn, which arrived without either sweats or tremors.
Deacon Wilbur was waiting outside to greet him and Darren upon their arrival at church. The press gathered beyond the barriers to watch and film and be held at bay. Deacon asked, “You give thought to what I said?”
“Yes.” Marcus spotted Kirsten rising from the car with Alma and Austin, and noted the tension. A note of sorrow pealed with the church bell. He realized that Deacon was waiting for more of a response and added, “I flew up and apologized to my wife.”
Deacon Wilbur rewarded him with a single somber nod. “I’d call that a mighty fine first step.”
Marcus excused himself and walked over to the trio. Up close the strain was more evident. He greeted them with, “You’ve discussed it.”
Sunlight rested upon Kirsten’s head like laurels from another realm. “You were right. It had to be said.”
Alma was stiff with sorrow and kept a new distance between herself and the younger woman. Voice tight, she said merely, “We’d figured it was something like this.”
The look that Austin gave Alma held the hoary gaze of shared remorse. “Been thinking it for some time now.”
Kirsten quietly announced, “I’m leaving this afternoon. I’ve caused everybody here enough pain.”
Marcus could not protest, except to say, “You’ve caused me nothing of the sort.” But the words were not enough to dispel her sorrow. Nor to prevent her from entering the church alone.
Even so, the service held to its customary gift of space and peace. Marcus sat encircled by noise and friendship. He watched as a trio of youngsters gathered before the choir to add their dancing and high-pitched voices to a modern gospel song. Two of them wore New Horizons shoes; Marcus recognized the glittering rainbow arcs and the metallic glint to the laces.
It was then, as he sat experiencing a bizarre sense of comfort within his own blank world, that the idea formed and took shape. As if it had been waiting for him to reach out and open an unseen door. Marcus rose to his feet, gaping at the youngsters and their dance. He was right. He knew it with utter certainty.
Following the service he reentered the sunlight, marched over to Kirsten, and said, “I need you to come with me back to the house.”
She protested weakly. “I’m not sure-”
“I don’t have time to argue. I’ve got to get back and try to raise Charlie. We’ve got a lot of work to do.”
She studied his face. “Something’s happened.”
“Not yet.” He thought of something else that needed to be done and added it to his mental list. “But if we’re …”
He stopped as Alma approached and demanded, “What is it?”
Marcus could not help responding, “I think I’ve had an idea. A good one.”
Austin’s reply almost overlapped his, it was that fast in coming. “We want to help.”
He thought of all that needed doing, and could only say, “My place. Fifteen minutes.”
FORTY-SIX
The sight of six mortally weary people filing in the next day, all burdened with boxes and books and poster-sized packages, was enough to raise comment from every person in the courtroom, including the defense. Darren dropped his two boxes and retreated with the speed of one fleeing a burning house. Marcus finished stacking his load of books upon the plaintiff’s table before glancing toward the defense. There alongside an outraged Logan sat the ever-silent general, his gaze glittering with unspoken wrath. James Southerland, New Horizons’ CEO, observed him with the amused contempt no doubt reserved for opponents he was in the process of decimating.
Even Judge Nicols was caught off guard by the sight of the plaintiff’s table almost lost under a burden of papers and books. Her gaze lingered longest upon Charlie Hayes, whose face was gray with fatigue. Yet all she said was, “Mr. Glenwood, I believe it is time for your final remarks.”
Marcus rose to his feet and announced, “Your Honor, the plaintiff wishes to make an exceptional request for the reopening of evidence.”
“Exceptional!” Logan almost shouted the word. “Your Honor, outrageous is a better description!”
“Specifically, Your Honor,” Marcus continued, “we would like to reexamine a brief thirty-second portion of the video.”
“Your Honor, this man is insane!” Logan bounced off the table in his impatience to close the distance between himself and Judge Nicols. “He should be barred from ever entering a courtroom again. Not only do we object, we ask that he and this ludicrous case be thrown out of court! We request the court sanction him, and that you join with us in requesting the state bar revoke his license to practice law!”
Marcus waited until the only sound was Logan’s rasping breath, then continued, “There are numerous occasions in the past, Your Honor, where this has been granted.” He swept one weary arm over his table. “We have gathered a body of cases to substantiate our claim. I have also prepared a summary sheet of the relevant rulings.”
“Let me have it, please.”
“Your Honor-”
“One moment, Mr. Kendall.” She scanned the three-page summary, set it down, said, “I am familiar with most of these cases. Re-examination has been permitted only where pivotal evidence was overlooked.”
“Which has happened in this case, Your Honor,” Marcus responded.
“Your Honor,” Logan was so outraged it took him a moment to gather his thoughts, “we have still not seen any definite proof to connect the video either to the factory or New Horizons! You can’t possibly base such an action solely upon the fraudulent testimony of that Chinese girl. She’d say anything and everything to stay in this country. She perjured herself on the stand.” Logan had worked himself to the center of the chamber, and stood squared off and ready to battle for his position in the ring. “Your Honor, clearly they wish to reopen this evidence merely to evoke sympathy from the jury just prior to their deliberations. It is the basest sort of maneuver, and must not be permitted!”