Sam said, “Adam Humphrey would be a good character witness. He clearly didn’t want to denigrate her like some of her other friends have.”
“Friends don’t denigrate you,” Charlie said. “I bet you could get Mindy Zowada on TV and she’d talk about love and forgiveness, but you read the shit she’s posting on Facebook and you’d think she was two seconds away from grabbing a pitchfork and a burning torch and heading to the jail to pull some kind of Frankenstein shit.”
“People understandably feel that she’s a monster. She murdered—”
“I know who she murdered.” Charlie looked down at her hands as if she still expected to find Lucy’s blood on them. “That Humphrey kid better get a good lawyer. This ‘femme fatale’ angle is going to catch on quick. They’re going to hog-tie him to Kelly whether he had anything to do with her or not.”
Sam refrained from commenting. She felt guilty for unburdening herself to Lenore at the diner last night when she would not break privilege for her own sister; however, unlike Lenore, Charlie would definitely be called to the witness stand. Sam did not want to put her sister in the position of having to choose between perjuring herself or providing evidence that might cause a jury to vote for execution.
This was one of the many reasons Sam did not practice criminal law. She did not want to have her words lead to the literal difference between life and death.
Sam changed the subject, asking Charlie, “What now? I assume we have to make arrangements for Dad.”
“He already took care of that. He pre-funded everything, told the funeral director how he wants it to go.”
“He could do all that but couldn’t draw up a will or a DNR?”
“Rusty always wanted to make a good exit.” Charlie looked at the clock on the wall. “The service starts in three hours.”
Sam felt sucker-punched by the news. She had assumed she would be looking for a hotel today. “Why so quickly?”
“He didn’t want to be embalmed. He said it was beneath his dignity.”
“Surely one day wouldn’t matter?”
“He wanted it to be fast so that you didn’t feel like you had to come, or for you to feel guilty because you couldn’t make it.” Charlie turned off the television. “It’s not like him to let something drag out.”
“Unless it was one of his stupid stories.”
Charlie shrugged rather than making a pithy comment.
Sam followed her into the kitchen. She sat down at the counter. She watched Charlie tidy the counters and load the dishwasher. She said, “I don’t think he suffered.”
Charlie took two mugs down from the cabinet. She poured coffee into one. She added tap water to the other and put it in the microwave. “You can leave after the funeral. Or before. I don’t think it matters. Dad won’t know, and you don’t care what people here think.”
Sam ignored the pointed remark. “Ben was very kind to me before he left last night.”
“Where’s your tea?” Charlie retrieved Sam’s purse from the bench by the door. “It’s in here, right?”
“Side pocket.”
She found the Ziploc in Sam’s purse and slid it across the counter. “Can we acknowledge that Ben’s not living here without actually having to have a conversation about it?”
“I think we’ve been doing that for a while.” Sam pulled out a tea sachet. She tossed it to Charlie. “Do you have milk?”
“Why would I have milk?”
Sam shrugged and shook her head at the same time. “I didn’t forget that you’re lactose intolerant. I thought maybe Ben—” She saw the futility in a drawn-out explanation. “Let’s try to get through the day without arguing again. Or continuing the argument from yesterday. Or whatever it is we’re doing.”
The microwave beeped. Charlie found a potholder. She put the mug on the counter. She pulled a saucer from the cabinet. Sam studied the back of her shirt. Charlie had put her math club handle in iron-on letters on the back of her shirt: Lois Common Denominator.
Sam asked, “What’s going to happen to Kelly Wilson? Will that alcoholic, Grail, get the case?”
Charlie turned around. She placed the mug in front of Sam. The saucer was on top for unknown reasons. “There’s a guy in Atlanta, Steve LaScala. I think I can get him to take over. He might call you for your impressions.”
“I’ll leave you my number.”
“Ben has it.”
Sam put the saucer on the bottom. She dipped the tea bag in and out of the water. “If this LaScala won’t do it pro bono, then I’ll pay him.”
Charlie snorted. “That’s gonna be over a million bucks.”
Sam shrugged. “It’s what Dad would want me to do.”
“Since when do you do what Dad wants you to do?”
Sam felt their temporary peace start to tear at the margins. “Dad loved you. It was one of the last things he talked about.”
“Don’t start that.”
“He was worried about you.”
“I’m sick of people being worried about me.”
“On behalf of people, we’re sick of it, too.” Sam looked up from the mug. “Charlie, whatever is bothering you, it’s not worth it. This anger you have. This sadness.”
“My father is dead. My husband left me. The last few days have been the shittiest days I’ve had sin
ce you were shot and Mama died. I’m sorry I’m not happy and peppy for you, Sam, but my give-a-fuck is broken.” Charlie drank her coffee. She looked out the kitchen window. Birds had flocked to the feeder.
This was the time, perhaps the last opportunity, for Sam to tell her sister about Anton. She wanted Charlie to know that she understood what it meant to be loved, and what a crushing responsibility that love could sometimes be. They could trade secrets the way they had when they were little—I’ll tell you about that boy I have a crush on if you tell me why Gamma put you on restriction for three days.
Sam said, “Rusty told me that the letters from Zachariah Culpepper were nothing. The police know about them. He’s just desperate. He’s trying to get a rise out of us. Don’t let him win.”
“I think you forfeit your participation trophy when you’re on death row.” Charlie put down her coffee. She crossed her arms. “Go ahead. What else did he say?”
“He talked to me about the death penalty.”
“Did he make you put your fingers on his wrist?”
Sam felt hoodwinked yet again. “How did he never get run out of town for selling fake band instruments?”
“He didn’t want me to go to Culpepper’s execution. If the state ever gets around to doing its job.” Charlie shook her head, as if the death of a man was a mild inconvenience. “I’m not sure if I want to go. But nothing Rusty says, said, is going to influence my decision.”
Sam hoped that was not true. “He told me about a photo of Mama.”
“The photo?”
“A different one, one he says that neither of us has seen.”
“I find that hard to believe,” Charlie said. “We used to go through all of his stuff. He had no privacy.”
Sam shrugged. “He said it was in his office at home. I’d like to get it before I leave.”
“Ben can take you by the HP after the funeral.”
The farmhouse. Sam did not want to go, but she would not leave town without having at least one piece of her mother to take back to New York. “I can help you cover that.” Sam indicated the bruises on Charlie’s face. “For the funeral.”