Trial Junkies

avowed heterosexuals-especially Matt-she'd have to wonder.

'It ain't a date if Ronnie isn't late,' Matt murmured.

'Hey, I'm here, aren't I?'

He squeezed her hand. 'You are indeed. Good to see you, babe.'

'Likewise,' she said, squeezing back. 'What's it been-two years? Shame it takes something like this to get us all to-'

Someone shushed her and Ronnie whirled around, looking for the offender. An old woman with a couple extra chins was scowling at her, and Ronnie resisted the urge to flip her off. Instead, she smiled sweetly, then turned her attention to the front of the cathedral, staring blankly at the casket as the priest stood over it, mumbling something in…

Holy crap, she thought.

The casket.

Jenny's casket.

Despite her morbid interior monologue a moment ago, Ronnie had been having a hard time getting her head around the idea that Jenny was really gone. Ever since she'd heard the news, it had felt like an abstract notion, a concept so surreal that she had found herself unable to feel anything but a kind of detached numbness.

Until now. Looking at that casket.

Jesus.

Not that she and Jenny had been all that close. Some might say they didn't even like each other. But that wasn't strictly true.

Oh, they'd had their troubles in the past, no doubt about it, but even when you were envious of Jenny, even when you knew that she was as close to perfection as a human being could get, that she had been blessed by all the angels in Heaven-for a while, at least-there was something about the girl that made it impossible to dislike her.

In short, she was the exact opposite of Ronnie, and her death was a testament to how seriously screwed up the universe truly was.

Matt squeezed Ronnie's hand again, then leaned toward her, keeping his voice low. 'Check it out. Third row. Left side.'

Ronnie shifted her gaze and felt her heart kick up a notch, surprised to see none other than Ethan Hutchinson sitting close to the aisle, looking much better than he had in, like-forever.

Not that she could tell all that much from this angle. But the last she'd seen of him was a clip on Celebrity Death Watch, when he'd been too zonked to even realize he was on camera. She hated the show, thought it was unnecessarily cruel and invasive, but she'd been riveted to the screen like a rubbernecker at a train wreck, and her heart had broken for the guy.

It didn't help that she'd always had a bit of a crush on him.

She had heard that he had finally gotten his act together, but she had to admit she'd been skeptical-and wrong, apparently. Because here he was. Looking good. Almost like the old Hutch.

Ronnie didn't know why she was surprised to see him here. He had been head over heels for Jenny since the day they met, and she knew there had to be a storm raging inside of him right now.

Because the simple truth of the matter was that Jennifer Keating had not deserved to die. Not by a long shot.

And Hutch had to be feeling it more than any of them.

— 5 -

When the mass was over, when the songs had been sung, the prayers spoken, the memories shared, Hutch breathed a sigh of relief.

Thank God it was behind him now.

He wasn't sure how much more he could take.

He had been touched by the outpouring of love for Jenny, the friends and family who had spoken of their affection for her, telling stories about her childhood, her teenage years, her work in the community, the cases she had tried and won…

And more than once, he wished he hadn't removed his sunglasses. Found himself unable to hold back tears when Jenny's father spoke about the death of his wife, and about the time they had almost lost Jenny to influenza as a child. How grateful he was that she had been spared, if only for a short time.

'She was, and always will be, my little angel,' Keating said. 'But I take comfort in knowing that she's with her mother now, in the Lord's Kingdom. And I know that one day I'll join them in the arms of God.'

Surprisingly, none of the old gang had gotten up to speak, but Jenny's father had never really approved of them. He had apparently decided that her years as an undergrad were to be erased from her history.

Yet Jenny's life, her womanhood, had been defined by those years, and to discard or deny them only proved how little Keating knew about his own daughter. For all of the talk, all of the memories that had been presented here today, none of the people who spoke had captured the essence of who she really was.

Not to Hutch's mind, anyway.

Ten years may have been a long time not to be in contact, yet he felt as if he had known Jenny better than any of them. And if he had returned her calls, if he had gotten together with her for lunch or a drink-or whatever-that instant chemistry they had always shared would have kicked in immediately. That deep understanding of each other that no one else could grasp.

And as he sat there in the pew, listening to the drone of the organ music, Jenny's friends and family getting to their feet around him, Hutch suddenly realized why he hadn't returned her calls.

He had been afraid to. Because Jenny had known him far too well. Could see into him with a razor sharp precision that cut past all the Hollywood bullshit and went straight for the soul.

The life he had been leading was a fraud, one he had lucked into. And there was no doubt in his mind that she would have called him on it. Would have forced him to see himself for exactly what he was-a lost, insecure man in search of something-anything-that would define him as a human being.

Hutch had never set out to be an actor or a celebrity in the first place. Had never studied drama or tried out for any school plays. Had been nothing more than a twenty-one year old pre-law undergrad, trying to figure out what to do with his life, when he was 'discovered' at a keg party in University Village by a local casting director hunting for new faces.

His, she told him, was just made for TV.

An arguable comment at best.

At her urging, Hutch auditioned for a supporting role in an upcoming series pilot about a Chicago medical examiner who investigated cold cases. And to everyone's surprise-including his own-he got the part.

Before he knew it, he was on a Hollywood sound stage, completely out of his element, playing the snarky young lab assistant, spouting lines that would make even a third-rate pulp writer wince in pain. But for reasons known only to the Gods, the show was picked up and became an instant hit.

Hutch moved to Los Angeles, where most of the series was shot, and his character got so popular that the storylines started focusing on him rather than the designated star, an old television veteran named Jack Van Parkes.

Needless to say, this made for an unpleasant working situation, but he slogged on simply because he had nothing better to do.

Then, of course, there was the money.

And the fame.

The cars. The women. The booze.

The drugs.

Within a couple years of getting the gig, Hutch was a show business cliche. Had left the show and moved on to features and become a spoiled, over-privileged brat with enough yes men around him to get him believing the hype. And when his first three movies tanked, followed by another three that went straight