mentioned before, you need to be engaged, look at the jurors now and then . . .”
But Kya had turned to leave.
* * *
• • •
JACOB LED HER BACK to the cell, where she picked up the package from Jumpin’—unwrapped by the warden and taped up haphazardly again. She opened it, saving and folding the paper. Inside was a basket with some tiny vials of paint, a brush, paper, and a paper bag of Mabel’s corn muffins. The basket was lined with a nest of pine straw, some oak leaves, a few shells, and long strands of cattails. Kya sniffed deeply. Pinched her lips. Jumpin’. Mabel.
The sun had set; no dust motes to follow.
Later Jacob cleared away her supper tray. “I declare, Miz Clark, ya didn’t eat much a’tall. Them poke chops and greens as good as dey git.” She smiled lightly at him, then listened as his steps clomped to the end of the hall. She waited to hear the thick metal door shut with heavy finality.
Then something moved on the hall floor, just outside the bars. Her eyes swung there. Sunday Justice sat on his haunches staring at her dark eyes with his green ones.
Her heart raced. Locked up alone all these weeks, and now this creature could step wizardlike between the bars. Be with her. Sunday Justice broke the stare and looked down the hall, toward the inmates’ talk. Kya was terrified that he would leave her and walk to them. But he looked back at her, blinked in obligatory boredom, and squeezed easily between the bars. Inside.
Kya breathed out. Whispered, “Please stay.”
Taking his time, he sniffed his way around the cell, researching the damp cement walls, the exposed pipes, and the sink, all the while compelled to ignore her. A small crack in the wall was the most interesting to him. She knew because he flicked his thoughts on his tail. He ended his tour next to the small bed. Then, just like that, he jumped onto her lap and circled, his large white paws finding soft purchase on her thighs. Kya sat frozen, her arms slightly raised, so as not to interfere with his maneuvering. Finally, he settled as though he had nested here every night of his life. He looked at her. Gently she touched his head, then scratched his neck. A loud purr erupted like a current. She closed her eyes at such easy acceptance. A deep pause in a lifetime of longing.
Afraid to move, she sat stiff until her leg cramped, then shifted slightly to stretch her muscles. Sunday Justice, without opening his eyes, slid off her lap and curled up next to her side. She lay down fully clothed, and they both nestled in. She watched him sleep, then followed. Not falling toward a jolt, but a drifting, finally, into an empty calm.
Once during the night, she opened her eyes and watched him sleeping on his back, forepaws stretched one way, hind paws the other. But when she awoke at dawn, he was gone. A moan struggled against the strength of her throat.
Later, Jacob stood outside her cell, holding the breakfast tray with one hand, unlocking the door with the other. “Gotcha yo’ oatmeal, Miz Clark.”
She took the tray, saying, “Jacob, the black and white cat that sleeps in the courtroom. He was here last night.”
“Oh, sorry as can be. That’s Sundee Justice. Sometimes he slips in wif me and I don’t see ’im ’cause of carryin’ the suppa trays. I end up closin’ ’im in with y’all.” Kind enough not to say locking.
“It’s fine. I liked having him here. Please, will you let him in whenever you see him after supper? Or anytime.”
He looked at her with soft eyes. “’Course I can. I’ll do that, Miz Clark; I sho’ will. Can see he’d be mighty good comp’ny.”
“Thank you, Jacob.”
That evening, Jacob returned. “Here’s yo’ food now, Miz Clark. Fried chicken, mashed taters wif gravy from the diner. Hope ya can eat sump’m tonight, now.”
Kya stood, looking around his feet. She took the tray. “Thank you, Jacob. Have you seen the cat?”
“Nome. Not a’tall. But I’ll keep an eye out.”
Kya nodded. She sat on the bed, the only place to sit, and stared at the plate. Here in jail was better food than she had seen all her life. She poked around the chicken, pushed the butter beans. Having found food, her stomach was lost.
Then, the sound of the lock turning, the heavy metal door swinging.
At the end of the hall