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Authors: Dandi Daley Mackall
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are so hot and thick they’re clinging to my throat. “I can’t believe I did that to Jeremy. I should have let those reporters tear me apart, piece by piece. I deserve it.”
“Don’t beat yourself up, Hope,” T.J. says. We’re sitting as far apart as possible. I’m gripping the door handle.
“You didn’t say anything wrong,” Chase whispers, so soft I’m not sure he really said it.
“Are you kidding?” I’m too loud, but my heart is pounding in my ears. “Raymond and I practiced, but not for that. Not for
those
questions. That prosecutor, Keller, he tricked me. He got me to say exactly what he wanted, that my brother is strange, but not insane. I’ll never forgive myself if I—”
Nobody except Jeremy has ever seen me cry. I cover my face and try not to let out the sobs that rack my body. But I can’t control anything. I hear the animal noises coming from me as if they’re from someone, or something, else. T.J. reaches out his hand, but I don’t take it. “I thought I was doing sogreat,” I say between sobs. “I wanted the jury to know Jer the way I do. Then they’d have to see that he couldn’t murder anybody. But all I did was make them see he’s not insane.”
“It’s not up to you, Hope,” T.J. says, sliding his fingers through his slicked-back hair. “And anyway, you did better than that fancy psychiatrist.”
I know T.J. is trying to help. But it’s not helping. My head’s pounding, and I feel like I’m going to throw up. This is no time for a migraine attack.
“Hope?” Chase’s voice is soft, but firm. He expects me to answer.
“What?”
“Did you say anything in court that you don’t believe?”
“No!”
“Do you believe your brother’s crazy?”
“Of course I don’t!”
“Well, then, you couldn’t say anything except what you did, could you? Not under oath.”
I don’t answer.
“What the jury saw today was a sister who loves her brother. That’s it. Jeremy’s attorney can still make a solid case for insanity.”
“But Jer’s not insane.” The fire has gone out of my voice. Out of me.
“Okay,” Chase says, not looking back at us, not glancing in the rearview. “But isn’t that the best outcome of the trial? If they find Jeremy insane, they’ll just send him to some kind of mental facility, right? And if he’s okay, they’ll see that and let him go eventually.”
“He’s right, Hope,” T.J. whispers.
I’m shaking my head. “Jeremy wouldn’t survive in a mental hospital. He needs to be with me. He needs me. We need each other.”
“Great,” Chase mutters. “That TV woman is there again.”
When I look up, I can’t believe we’re in front of my house. The blue van is parked in the same spot as yesterday. “I can’t face them. Not after what I did today. I don’t even want to face Rita.”
Chase does a one-eighty and heads north. “Where do you want to go?”
“We can go to my house,” T.J. offers.
In a few minutes, we’re walking up to the Bowers’s two-story white house. There’s not much of a front yard, but what there is looks like a green carpet. Impatiens hang in baskets from the front porch, and black-eyed Susans form gold-and-brown clumps big as bushes against the house.
T.J. goes in first. “Hey! Anybody home?”
His mother comes downstairs carrying a laundry basket. “That you, Tommy?” T.J.’s real name is Thomas James, but his mom is the only one who calls him Tommy. When she sees Chase and me, she balances the basket on her hip and pushes thin strands of brown hair out of her freckled face. “Well, how are you, Hope? Good to see you too, Chase.” If she’s surprised to see him, she doesn’t show it.
I’m
surprised he’s still here, and I’m pretty sure I’m showing it. He tried dropping us off, but T.J. wouldn’t have it. Chase is hanging back, close to the door, like he’s ready to bolt first chance he gets.
T.J. takes the laundry basket from his mom. “We needsomeplace to hide out for
“Don’t beat yourself up, Hope,” T.J. says. We’re sitting as far apart as possible. I’m gripping the door handle.
“You didn’t say anything wrong,” Chase whispers, so soft I’m not sure he really said it.
“Are you kidding?” I’m too loud, but my heart is pounding in my ears. “Raymond and I practiced, but not for that. Not for
those
questions. That prosecutor, Keller, he tricked me. He got me to say exactly what he wanted, that my brother is strange, but not insane. I’ll never forgive myself if I—”
Nobody except Jeremy has ever seen me cry. I cover my face and try not to let out the sobs that rack my body. But I can’t control anything. I hear the animal noises coming from me as if they’re from someone, or something, else. T.J. reaches out his hand, but I don’t take it. “I thought I was doing sogreat,” I say between sobs. “I wanted the jury to know Jer the way I do. Then they’d have to see that he couldn’t murder anybody. But all I did was make them see he’s not insane.”
“It’s not up to you, Hope,” T.J. says, sliding his fingers through his slicked-back hair. “And anyway, you did better than that fancy psychiatrist.”
I know T.J. is trying to help. But it’s not helping. My head’s pounding, and I feel like I’m going to throw up. This is no time for a migraine attack.
“Hope?” Chase’s voice is soft, but firm. He expects me to answer.
“What?”
“Did you say anything in court that you don’t believe?”
“No!”
“Do you believe your brother’s crazy?”
“Of course I don’t!”
“Well, then, you couldn’t say anything except what you did, could you? Not under oath.”
I don’t answer.
“What the jury saw today was a sister who loves her brother. That’s it. Jeremy’s attorney can still make a solid case for insanity.”
“But Jer’s not insane.” The fire has gone out of my voice. Out of me.
“Okay,” Chase says, not looking back at us, not glancing in the rearview. “But isn’t that the best outcome of the trial? If they find Jeremy insane, they’ll just send him to some kind of mental facility, right? And if he’s okay, they’ll see that and let him go eventually.”
“He’s right, Hope,” T.J. whispers.
I’m shaking my head. “Jeremy wouldn’t survive in a mental hospital. He needs to be with me. He needs me. We need each other.”
“Great,” Chase mutters. “That TV woman is there again.”
When I look up, I can’t believe we’re in front of my house. The blue van is parked in the same spot as yesterday. “I can’t face them. Not after what I did today. I don’t even want to face Rita.”
Chase does a one-eighty and heads north. “Where do you want to go?”
“We can go to my house,” T.J. offers.
In a few minutes, we’re walking up to the Bowers’s two-story white house. There’s not much of a front yard, but what there is looks like a green carpet. Impatiens hang in baskets from the front porch, and black-eyed Susans form gold-and-brown clumps big as bushes against the house.
T.J. goes in first. “Hey! Anybody home?”
His mother comes downstairs carrying a laundry basket. “That you, Tommy?” T.J.’s real name is Thomas James, but his mom is the only one who calls him Tommy. When she sees Chase and me, she balances the basket on her hip and pushes thin strands of brown hair out of her freckled face. “Well, how are you, Hope? Good to see you too, Chase.” If she’s surprised to see him, she doesn’t show it.
I’m
surprised he’s still here, and I’m pretty sure I’m showing it. He tried dropping us off, but T.J. wouldn’t have it. Chase is hanging back, close to the door, like he’s ready to bolt first chance he gets.
T.J. takes the laundry basket from his mom. “We needsomeplace to hide out for
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