His Last Wife

“First call I made,” Lebowski said before his voice waned with, “you know . . . I think Thirjane just felt—”

“I know,” Kerry cut in quickly to hide her disappointment. “It’s probably not the best place for Tyrian, anyway. I’m just happy he’s safe with his grandmother.”

“I’m sure you two have a lot to talk about,” Val said rather dubiously, but Kerry was too busy sorting her feelings to pick up on it.

“You sure do,” Lebowski said, unaware of the unique meaning behind Val’s declaration. “But not before we get you out of here, dear.”

Kerry slid on the heels and handed the garment bag back to Lebowski.

“It’s going to be a circus out there when we leave these doors. All kinds of people with all kinds of questions. You stick with me. You stick behind me and say nothing. Now is not the time for comment. We’re out of the woods on this, but I have a feeling more is to come and I don’t want the DA switching things up on you. You understand?” Lebowski ordered.

“Sure,” Kerry confirmed. “I get it.”

One of the guards showed up at the door and opened it so Lebowski could lead the women out of the room and into daylight, but Kerry grabbed Lebowski’s arm just before he stepped over the threshold. Val and the assistant were behind them.

“I almost forgot. Did you get the ten thousand dollars you requested?” Kerry asked him. “I know it’s an odd time, but I just want to make sure it’s taken care of.”

“What ten thousand dollars? My office didn’t send a new invoice,” Lebowski declared, looking at his assistant.

Kerry turned to Val. “But Val said she was—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Val stepped in. “I must’ve gotten the invoices confused. We’ll check on it. Okay?”

There was this long, distressing silence as both parties, Kerry and Lebowski, added up the inconsistency, felt that something must be wrong, but then assured themselves that they were just being suspicious. Still, notes were taken. Dispatches received. Ears and red flags raised and that was clear in Kerry’s tone when she said, “Sure.”

The guard holding the door said something to rush the party along and Lebowski grabbed Kerry’s shaky and sweaty hand like he was leading her into the doorway at the senior prom.

“It’ll be fine,” he said to her with Val looking over Kerry’s shoulder. “Just fine.”

When the doors of the jail finally opened, the media and a crowd of onlookers swarmed in from every angle. There were cameras and flashing lights, microphones, and people hollering out questions that sounded like charges to the two Mrs. Taylors.

“Did you kill your ex-husband and now you’re getting away with it?” Kerry heard.

“How could you support the woman who killed your husband?” Val heard. She felt eyes digging into her from all angles. Like they all knew what she had done. Knew her part.

Kerry glanced over her shoulder at Val and grabbed her hand knowingly as Lebowski led them, pushing through the crowd en route to a blacked-out SUV waiting by the curb.

From the cameras hovering from the news helicopters above, it seemed like people were just everywhere. Tightest at the nucleus where the little group was moving and then thinning out from there. On the outskirts, people held up signs that read “JAMISON IS ALIVE” and “THE CIA KILLED TAYLOR,” contradicting ideas that somehow seemed to unite certain groups.

While Lebowski hadn’t intended on saying too many words to the media and wanted to wait until his client was safe at home before releasing a statement, as the crowd tightened around them, he knew he would have to say something to wet their tongues before he asked for privacy or they would follow the SUV across town, on the highway, and line the street outside of Kerry’s home.

Nearly at the SUV, he stopped and signaled for Kerry and Val to stay behind him.

“While my client is very excited and anxious to get home to her son and family, we know that you are all equally excited and anxious to hear something from us. I’ll answer a few questions and then we’ll ask for privacy until we release an official statement.”

Ready with questions, reporters jumped right in, organizing their microphones in front of Lebowski to be sure to capture every utterance.

Lebowski ignored most of them and pointed to one of the journalists he knew in the crowd.

“Please, tell us how you feel, Kerry. Over three months in jail, and now you’re released. What does it feel like?” the reporter asked.

The crowd went quiet, anticipating Kerry’s response.

“I’ll speak for Mrs. Jackson,” Lebowski said. “She just told me that she’s only thinking of her son right now. A good Southern mother, she wants to be home with him so they can eat dinner as a family tonight, she can tuck him into bed and say prayers with him. While tragedy has struck this family, they thank God that they have a lot to be thankful for.”

Lebowski nodded to another reporter he knew.

As he listened and answered the second reporter’s question, Val pretended to listen, but she was busy looking through the crowd. In the faces before her there were people she knew who hadn’t been so nice to her when she was the first lady of the city. Some who’d put pictures of her online and made her the punch line of jokes about the mayor marrying a stripper. One who’d plastered her face on the cover of a magazine and put the headline “THE LADY IS A TRAMP” over her forehead.