handbag. Memories came flooding back. The more he raged, the more she knit. Losing herself in stitches and patterns.
'Mom?' I said, approaching nervously. I hadn't seen her in a long time. That pale, thin body turned around, hand still at her mouth. She cocked her head to one side, trying to determine whether she knew the man standing in front of her.
'Is that…oh my God, is that you, Henry?'
Suddenly she righted herself, ran over as fast as her sensible shoes could carry her. She flung her arms around me and I found myself nearly supporting her entire body weight. She sobbed onto my shoulder as I bit my lip, did everything I could not to break down as well.
'The police…they called me at Spano's house…
What have they done to him?' she wailed. My mother pulled away, looked at me, hoping for some answer, some assurance that this might have been a terrible joke.
'He's going to be okay, Mom,' I said, trying to inject belief into that line when deep down there was none.
'It's a big misunderstanding.'
'When are they going to let him out? I bought chicken breasts for dinner.'
'Mom,' I said, 'I don't think he'll be back in time for dinner.'
'Then when will he be back?'
I looked at Amanda. Her eyes said, What do you want me to do? My mother looked so lost, confused. It wasn't that I didn't have the heart to tell her the truth about my father and Stephen Gaines, it was that for whatever reason, she'd lost the ability to truly under stand just how many wrongs this man had committed toward her. Over the years her defenses had rusted.
Nothing allowed in, no anger, hostility or resentment out. I wondered, now, if my attitude toward him, my anger, was compounded by the lack of hers.
'I don't know when,' I said. I took her hand. Held it. She held on to mine, but her eyes were far off, distant, trying to process the situation but clearly failing. To her, the notion of my father being arrested was like him being sent into outer space.
'Well, what do I do?' she said. 'Should I wait at home for him to be released?'
'Home is a good idea, Mom,' I said. 'Do you have money?'
She thought about this. 'I don't know our checkingaccount information, but we keep a jar of emergency money in a safe.'
'How much is in there?' I asked.
'Five thousand dollars,' she said.
'That should be enough for now,' I said.
'Mrs. Parker?' Amanda said. My mother turned to her. 'My name is Amanda Davies. I'm Henry's… friend.
I'm a lawyer, so please don't talk to anybody you don't know. Don't speak to reporters, don't give anybody money, and only talk to the police if you have a lawyer present. If you need one, tell the detective on the case and he'll help you retain one, free of charge. We'll do our best to get your husband out of this as soon as we can. So put that chicken in the freezer.'
'Thank you, dear,' my mom said, her eyes twin kling as she smiled at Amanda. 'You said you're a friend of Henry's…are you two in college together?'
My mouth opened, but I didn't say anything.
Amanda responded, 'Something like that. You're welcome to come to New York with us if-'
'Oh no, I could never do that.' It was definitive. I wondered when my mother last left the state.
'Do you want us to, I don't know, come over for dinner?' I asked.
'Oh no,' she said fervently. 'The house is a godawful mess.'
I nodded, felt my eyes begin to sting.
'Then I'll call you as soon as we get back,' I said.
'Be strong. We'll sort this out. Remember what Amanda said. Don't talk to strangers, and also don't believe anything anyone says about Dad.'
'I know your father,' she said sweetly. 'If anyone says he did something wrong, they just don't know
James.'
'I love you, Mom. It's good to see you.' I ap proached, wrapped my arms around her. She hugged me back, fragile, like the tension in her joints might cause them to shatter. When we untangled, I held her hands for an extra moment, then she let them go. Sitting back down, she turned her attention to the ceiling. And we walked away.
'You okay?' Amanda asked. She could tell I was rattled. More than that. It was all my memories-good, bad and wrenching-flowing back at once.
'I'm not sure yet.'
'Will she be okay?'
'She's survived being married to him for almost thirty years. I think a little while without him will be easier.'
'How are you holding up?' she asked.
'Given the circumstances? Could be worse. I haven't had the nervous breakdown I was sure was coming when I saw her.'
'Do you believe your father's story? About the gun?
The money?'
I sighed. 'Guess I have to. You know what's funny?'
'What?'
'I've never felt closer to him. Guess not too many sons and fathers can have being accused of murder as a way to relate to each other.'
10
Amanda and I sat in the first row of the Bend County
District Courthouse as my father was led into the room in handcuffs. My mother sat next to us, her eyes distant like she was viewing a movie, not watching her husband accused of murder. He was seated at a small wooden table next to a man in a natty suit, his temporary courtappointed lawyer, Douglas Aaronson. Once the case was transferred to New York we'd have to find him new representation. None of us could afford much of anything, so the best we could hope for was someone competent enough to either prove my father's inno cence, or at least keeps things progressing until we could prove it ourselves.
Judge Catherine Rawling entered the courtroom.
'All rise,' the bailiff said. Everyone stood up. Aaronson had to prompt my father. He stood up awkwardly.
Rawling was younger than I would have expected for a judge, late thirties, with close-cropped blond hair. Her face was emotionless as she took her chair. She looked at my father for a moment.
'Be seated,' she said, averting her gaze. Chairs and benches squeaked as we obeyed. 'Counselor, I'm under the impression that Mr. Parker has agreed to sign the nonjudicial waiver. Is that correct?'
The lawyer next to my father stood up, hands at his sides. 'Yes, Your Honor.'
'Do you have that document present?'
The bailiff, a hulking bald man, approached the table and took the paper from Aaronson. He brought it up to
Judge Rawling, who put on a pair of reading glasses and pored over the sheet. Once finished, she looked up.
'I now remand James Parker to the custody of the New
York Police Department, who have a warrant out for Mr.
