are asking you to convict her of the crime of murder in the first degree, after showing you a multitude of evidence, based on motive, physical evidence, and witness testimony.”
I don’t recall much about the details of the case, but as she speaks, a memory is sparked from the news reports I briefly scanned last year. Supposedly this lady drugged her husband, then smothered him with a pillow in his sleep.
I study her while the opening arguments go on and on. A diminutive woman in her 50s, the most diabolical act I can imagine her doing is accidentally burning a tuna casserole. The prosecutor tells us that we will learn, based on police reports and witness testimony, that there was no forced entry, that Ellen had access to prescription sleeping pills, that they had quarreled, and that Ellen had previously bragged to friends about one day killing her husband.
I try to keep an open mind as I listen. Mostly my mind is occupied elsewhere. The way Wren’s knees look in that skirt she’s wearing. The way her oversized sweater pairs with that skirt.
The lead defense attorney speaks to us in an over-the-top, impassioned tone that immediately makes me not like him. “This woman, the defendant, is a victim of police blundering at the crime scene, of emotional manipulation by investigators, and of a husband whose ill treatment of her drove her to a dependency on prescription sleeping pills.”
It seems a bit of a stretch. I can’t imagine why cops would take any pleasure in pinning this on someone who looks like a Sunday School teacher, but that’s just my own prejudice. Also, I don’t like the lead defense attorney’s flashy cuff links or his hair gel. I in no way would ever pay a man like that to defend me in court; he appears to be a weasel with political aspirations himself. I don’t trust him as far as I could throw him.
Still, doesn’t mean she did it.
Throughout the day, my mind and my body are far more attuned to Wren. Her breath, the occasional nervous clearing of her throat, her little ass shifting around in her seat.
When we break for lunch, the bailiffs bring us a mess of fast food burgers and fries in the jury room.
“I don’t eat this shit,” I mutter to myself as I grab a sack of fries and head to a corner, away from everyone else.
Of course, the little bird follows me. “Oh my god, are you vegan too?”
I stare at Wren and wait for the punchline. Surely it’s obvious I am not a vegan.
“No,” I finally say. “I just have standards.”
I admit my attitude has not earned me any points with the other jurors. Clearly I’m occupying this corner of the conference table by myself for a reason. But it’s not working on Wren.
“Can I sit with you?"
I nod and gesture to the seat adjacent to me. You’d think she’d be bored of sitting next to an old dude like me by now. But she’s here, yapping away, asking questions, and telling me all kinds of things I don’t care to know about.
“I guess when you think about it, we both have high standards,” she says, sipping her sugary drink through a plastic straw.
I offer a confused grunt while I shove a salty french fry in my face.
“You don’t like fast food and neither do I. Different reasons, I’ll grant you that, but hey, I like a guy with strong opinions.”
She likes a guy? This guy? Is that a tease? I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with that.
“Tomorrow I’m ordering us ribeye, if I gotta pay for it myself,” I grumble.
Wren responds with just the right amount of chuckle that is worthy of what I said. I appreciate that she doesn’t pretend I’m funnier than I am. Some people laugh too hard at things that aren’t funny; those people freak me out.
Still, she’s got a sexy laugh. Cheerful but also husky. I’d like to hear more of it, but that would require me speaking more.
The more I take the chance to speak, the likelier it will be that I will embarrass myself. Surely she’ll figure out quickly that I find her attractive. Right now, I’m hungrier than any amount of salty french fries will be able to satisfy. Now that we’re somewhat face-to-face at this table, rather than side-by-side in the jury box, everything about her is enhanced. Her pink lips make me think of what it’d be like to kiss