on my shoulder and softly says, “Thank you; I think you were fantastic.”
“I wish you were on the jury,” I say.
He smiles. “So do I.”
I’LL NEVER AGAIN describe waiting for a verdict as the most stressful thing I have ever faced. Not after sitting in that hospital room while Laurie was in a coma, fighting for her life. Nothing compares to that, but waiting for the jury to rule is no day at the beach.
I’m naturally pessimistic when it comes to this point in the trial, and Kevin is naturally optimistic. The truth is that neither of us knows what the hell he is talking about. Jury verdicts are impossible to predict.
It’s an accepted maxim that the longer the jury is out, the better for the defense. That is because defense teams usually consider a hung jury to be a victory, and the longer a verdict watch goes, the more likely that somebody on one side or the other is holding out.
Of course, like everything else, this accepted maxim is by no means always accurate. I have seen juries vote to acquit in an hour, and vote to convict after two weeks.
So the way I deal with my stress is to hang out and try not to think about the verdict. The longest I have successfully avoided those thoughts is about twenty minutes, but as I recall they were a very peaceful twenty minutes.
I make it a point to visit Steven once a day, though it’s unlikely I make him feel any better. I scrupulously don’t give him my opinion as to the outcome; instead I mouth meaningless phrases like “I’m cautiously hopeful” and “We’re not going to know until we know.” Real profound stuff.
We’re in the third day of waiting when Laurie comes into the den. It’s in the morning, and she knows I like to obsess and agonize in the den in the morning. After lunch I prefer obsessing and agonizing in the living room, and after dinner my choice is to obsess and agonize while pacing around the house. The variety appeals to me.
Laurie generally knows enough to leave me alone at these times, so her entry is a small surprise. I worry for a moment that she is going to tell me that the jury has reached a verdict, but I haven’t heard the phone ring. I’m not sure why I hate being told that a decision has been reached, but it might be that it’s because at that moment it feels officially out of my control.
“Hi,” she says. It’s not a particularly interesting way to open a conversation, but the tone in her voice indicates that she has something on her mind.
“Uh-oh,” I say as I stand up and gird for the worst. For some reason I gird better standing.
“I know you don’t like to talk when you’re waiting for the jury, but I’ve figured things out as well as I’m going to, and I know you were anxious to have this conversation, so…”
So intense was my focus on the jury that the situation with Laurie had almost been totally out of my mind, but now it is staring me in the face. I don’t want to hear bad news now, but if I don’t hear what she has to say, I’ll agonize and obsess about it as well. That won’t be good; when it comes to obsessing and agonizing, I’m basically monogamous. One thing at a time.
“Say it really fast,” I tell her. “Whatever it is, say it really fast.”
She laughs. “You’re impossible, you know that?”
“You’re not going fast enough.”
“I want to live here, with you.”
Did she say what I think she said? “Did you say what I think you said?”
“If you think I said I want to live here with you, then yes.”
I go over and kiss her, mainly because that way she won’t be able to talk and tell me she changed her mind. Then I ask, “What about getting married?”
“That’s up to you,” she says. “I’m fine with it, but I don’t need it. We love each other, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and that’s enough for me.” She smiles. “Besides, I’m already in the will.”
I kiss her again. “What made you decide to live here?”
“Probably what I went through. Life is too precious, and it’s too damn short. I hope we each have a hundred years left, but if we don’t, or even if we do, I want to spend it with the