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Authors: Barbara Delinsky
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their mindlock as gently as possible. “They’d like us back upstairs now.”
Slowly dropping his hand, Ben took a deep breath and straightened. “Later, Abby, later,” he murmured as he stood back to let her pass.
Abby pondered his words as she lay on her bed late that afternoon. Later. When would that be? And what would happen then? More critically, what did she want to happen?
But just as courtroom issues were shady at points, so the question she asked herself had no easy answer. On the one hand, she wanted Ben to tell her of his thoughts, to reassure her that the spark between them was real, to kiss her and hold her in proof of its existence. On the other hand, she wanted him to say nothing further, to be as detached and self-contained as the other jurors appeared to be. For one fact simply couldn’t be denied. She and Ben were members of a jury impaneled to make an important decision in the days ahead. The thought of a love affair in the process was preposterous.
It was a war between emotion and reason with no truce in sight. Shifting restlessly, she looked toward the wall…his wall. What was he doing now, thinking, wearing? Would he really write a book on his experience as a juror? And who had he spoken to last night on the phone just before she’d received her call from Sean?
Bolting upright in self-reproach, she threw herself into the chair, snatched up a notebook and pen, and began to record what had happened in court that day. It was something she’d decided to do when she’d first been impaneled, something she felt might make the restriction the judge had imposed on discussionof the trial easier to bear. True, it was a personal outlet of sorts. But having passed a full day in court, she saw another benefit. Given the abundance of details introduced into evidence, her notes might well be of help to her when the time for deliberations arrived.
Writing quickly, she re-created the events of the morning, then moved on. The afternoon’s session had commanded concentration as intense as had the morning session. This time, the witness had been the police officer who had tracked down and finally rescued Greta Robinson. The testimony had been tedious, laced with dates and times and locations. There had been a missing person’s report and a subsequent search, then the appearance of the witness who claimed to have seen the abduction. There had been lead upon lead, one falling flat on the next, until a pair of hikers had returned from a wooded area far north with reports of a locked cabin…and a woman’s cry from within.
A soft knock on the door made her jump. Catching her breath, she laid her pen and paper on the table and went to answer it. On the other side stood Ben, wearing a plaid shirt, jeans, and sneakers, looking handsome enough to shake her breathing all the more.
“You weren’t sleeping?” he asked by way of apology, only then taking in her own sweater and jeans.
“No, no,” she offered with a wave toward the table. “I was just making some notes for myself…but I could use the break. Things get very dramatic, even in hindsight.”
“I know what you mean.” He hesitated. “How about a walk?”
Was this the “later” he’d promised? “Can we?” she asked, her eyes alight. “I mean, are we allowed out, uh, on our own?” For some reason she felt foolishly young just then. She couldn’t decide whether it was the need to get permission to go out…or her giddiness at the thought of going out with Ben.
“I’ve checked with the desk, and they say we’re allowed to walk by ourselves…as long as we stay within sight of the inn.”
Both recalled the morning’s run, when they’d ventured much farther than that. Ray had been with them then. Now, though, neither of them particularly wanted his company.
“Sounds fine.” She turned toward the closet. “Just let me get something for my feet.” Kneeling, she retrieved her sneakers and sank into the chair to put them on.
Ben
Slowly dropping his hand, Ben took a deep breath and straightened. “Later, Abby, later,” he murmured as he stood back to let her pass.
Abby pondered his words as she lay on her bed late that afternoon. Later. When would that be? And what would happen then? More critically, what did she want to happen?
But just as courtroom issues were shady at points, so the question she asked herself had no easy answer. On the one hand, she wanted Ben to tell her of his thoughts, to reassure her that the spark between them was real, to kiss her and hold her in proof of its existence. On the other hand, she wanted him to say nothing further, to be as detached and self-contained as the other jurors appeared to be. For one fact simply couldn’t be denied. She and Ben were members of a jury impaneled to make an important decision in the days ahead. The thought of a love affair in the process was preposterous.
It was a war between emotion and reason with no truce in sight. Shifting restlessly, she looked toward the wall…his wall. What was he doing now, thinking, wearing? Would he really write a book on his experience as a juror? And who had he spoken to last night on the phone just before she’d received her call from Sean?
Bolting upright in self-reproach, she threw herself into the chair, snatched up a notebook and pen, and began to record what had happened in court that day. It was something she’d decided to do when she’d first been impaneled, something she felt might make the restriction the judge had imposed on discussionof the trial easier to bear. True, it was a personal outlet of sorts. But having passed a full day in court, she saw another benefit. Given the abundance of details introduced into evidence, her notes might well be of help to her when the time for deliberations arrived.
Writing quickly, she re-created the events of the morning, then moved on. The afternoon’s session had commanded concentration as intense as had the morning session. This time, the witness had been the police officer who had tracked down and finally rescued Greta Robinson. The testimony had been tedious, laced with dates and times and locations. There had been a missing person’s report and a subsequent search, then the appearance of the witness who claimed to have seen the abduction. There had been lead upon lead, one falling flat on the next, until a pair of hikers had returned from a wooded area far north with reports of a locked cabin…and a woman’s cry from within.
A soft knock on the door made her jump. Catching her breath, she laid her pen and paper on the table and went to answer it. On the other side stood Ben, wearing a plaid shirt, jeans, and sneakers, looking handsome enough to shake her breathing all the more.
“You weren’t sleeping?” he asked by way of apology, only then taking in her own sweater and jeans.
“No, no,” she offered with a wave toward the table. “I was just making some notes for myself…but I could use the break. Things get very dramatic, even in hindsight.”
“I know what you mean.” He hesitated. “How about a walk?”
Was this the “later” he’d promised? “Can we?” she asked, her eyes alight. “I mean, are we allowed out, uh, on our own?” For some reason she felt foolishly young just then. She couldn’t decide whether it was the need to get permission to go out…or her giddiness at the thought of going out with Ben.
“I’ve checked with the desk, and they say we’re allowed to walk by ourselves…as long as we stay within sight of the inn.”
Both recalled the morning’s run, when they’d ventured much farther than that. Ray had been with them then. Now, though, neither of them particularly wanted his company.
“Sounds fine.” She turned toward the closet. “Just let me get something for my feet.” Kneeling, she retrieved her sneakers and sank into the chair to put them on.
Ben
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