Deadly Southern Charm

“I told Mother everything was fine. No need to worry her. I knew I could fix my marriage by having one perfect weekend with Aaron, reminding him that we were made for each other. So the day after Mother’s birthday, I told her I was going back to Sunset Beach. That Aaron and I needed a romantic weekend alone.”

Remembering this day was difficult. When I gazed at the courtroom now, I couldn’t focus on anyone or anything. I was back at the shore in my mind, with the seagulls squawking and the air thick with moisture, a storm in the offing.

“I stopped at a little grocery store near our beach house. I bought wine and flowers and some nice salmon steaks. When I pulled into the garage in the late afternoon, I was surprised. Aaron’s car was there. I’d expected to beat him by a few hours. I smoothed my blouse and skirt and went inside the house, calling for him. ‘Aaron, I’m home.’ But he didn’t respond.

“I put the fish and wine in the refrigerator, arranged the flowers in a crystal vase, and set it on a table beside the staircase. I was about to look for Aaron on the deck when I heard music coming from upstairs. Soft and sultry. That’s where Aaron was, I realized. He’d planned an evening of seduction. Finally he was getting with the program. This was how things were supposed to be.

“I scurried up the stairs, fluffing my hair, glad I’d worn nice lingerie. I’d only taken a couple of steps into our bedroom before something hit the back of my head hard and I blacked out. I don’t think I was unconscious very long. But it was long enough for Aaron to tie me to the upholstered armchair in the corner, the rope wound around my stomach—over my clothes, where it wouldn’t leave marks. When I awoke, woozy and confused, he was standing over me with a glint in his eyes as he raised our gun at my face—the one we’d gotten for home protection.”

That point still galled me. I should sue that gun company. But back to Aaron.

“He told me in an ice-cold voice that he was going to kill me. ‘But before I do,’ he said, ‘I want to make sure you know why.’ Then he told me in excruciating detail how I’d enraged him every time I pushed him to achieve, as if that had been a bad thing. His voice kept rising as he went on, until he was screaming at me. He called me horrible names. For the first time, I’d wished we’d bought a home with nearby neighbors. Someone nosy who could’ve phoned the police.”

I’d never imagined privacy would turn out to be a problem.

“Anyway, at the beginning I protested. But he shoved the gun closer, so I shut up. Its barrel seems much bigger when it’s pointed at you.” I sighed. “Aaron ranted about my shortcomings for a while. Then, as thunder rattled the windows, he untied me and told me to stand. Said we were going for a drive.”

I half laughed, still finding it hard to believe. “He really planned to kill me. After all I’d done for him, this was how he was going to repay me. We started down the stairs, the gun pressed to my spine.

“‘Move it,’ he said, nudging me to walk faster.

“I twisted toward him, pleading. ‘Please don’t do this. We can work things out. You love me. I know you do.’

“He laughed in a cold, distant way. There was no changing his mind.

“After we reached the bottom of the staircase, I turned again. But before I could say another word, he yelled, ‘Shut up, Emily. I’m tired of your bitching.’ He didn’t see the vase in time, not until I’d grabbed it and smacked him on the side of the head.

“Aaron fell, dropping the gun, water and flowers flying. For a moment I stood in shock, but only a moment, because Aaron opened his eyes and lunged for the gun. I snatched it off the floor, aimed, and fired.

“I’d never fired a gun before. The jolt shook my body. But nothing shook me more than watching Aaron begin to bleed as he slumped back onto the tile floor. With the gun still heavy in my hand, I ran to the phone and called the police.”

Fat tears slipped onto my cheeks now, like the driving rain that had been slamming into the beach house that night, and I could see the jurors again. Wide-eyed. Mouths open. The pregnant woman held her palm over her heart. The divorcée offered me a sad smile, as did some of the men.

“It was self-defense,” I continued. “But it was still my fault. I drove Aaron to it by not loving him enough, by not accepting him for who he was. And for that, I’m sorry.”

Surely now that the jurors understood why Aaron tried to kill me, they would believe what happened and how I had no choice but to defend myself. Surely they would.

The room was silent for a few seconds but for my sniffling.

“Mrs. Forester, would you like a short break?” the judge asked.

“Yes.” I nodded. “But I’m done.”

“Any more questions, Mr. Gilmore?” the judge asked Bob.

“No, Your Honor.”

“All right,” the judge said. “We’ll call it a day and resume with cross-examination at nine o’clock in the morning.”

* * * *

By the time court resumed the next day, I’d gotten control of myself and was ready for the prosecutor. Good thing. Gerard came at me hard, hammering that Aaron’s salary couldn’t support my “expensive tastes.” He claimed I pushed Aaron to seek a promotion so he’d qualify for a big life insurance policy. That I’d arranged for the kids to not be at the beach house the weekend Aaron died so no one could contradict my story. It felt like the jurors’ opinion of me started to turn. Frowns creased their faces when they looked my way.

Finally Gerard finished with me, he and Bob made their closing arguments, the judge gave lengthy jury instructions, and the jurors were sent out to deliberate. Bob and I went back to his office to wait. Mother and Daddy wanted to come, but I wasn’t up for company. Bob ordered in lunch, but I couldn’t eat. Now that I had no more control over the verdict, my energy had evaporated.

Not three hours had passed before the court clerk called. The jury was back.

“A deliberation this short probably means a guilty verdict,” Bob said. “You should prepare yourself.”

No. It couldn’t be.

Calmly I returned with Bob to the courtroom. Mother and Daddy smiled at me, but fear had washed the color from their faces. I was glad my children weren’t there to see this. Glad my sister, Danielle, had agreed to let

them stay with her back home in Wake Forest during the trial. I was even glad, for once, that Danielle drank too much, just like Aaron had. I know it sounds bad, but the kids were smart enough never to get in a car with Danielle, so they’d be safe. And they’d be preoccupied. Danielle’s drinking problem would give Seth and Lucy something to worry about besides me.

Soon the jury filed in, and the judge got straight to business.

“Has the jury reached a verdict?” he asked.

“Yes, we have, Your Honor,” the foreman replied.

He was lanky, a carpenter—one of the jurors I hadn’t been able to read while I testified. Bob hadn’t wanted him on the jury. Said he’d hate me. The way the foreman refused to meet my eyes now, I feared Bob had been right.

While a clerk handed the judge a slip of paper with the verdict on it, Bob and I stood. He touched my arm, and it felt good, reassuring, until I remembered that Aaron had touched my wrist like that during our wedding ceremony, making me feel certain our marriage would succeed. Look how well that had turned out.

The judge scanned the verdict, nodded, and the clerk returned the paper to the foreman. He rose from his seat in the jury box and began to read aloud.

“We, the jury, find the defendant, Emily Forester”—he raised his head and looked at me dead on—“not guilty.”

I clapped my hand over my mouth as my mother said, “Thank God,” and the courtroom audience began buzzing with a mixture of surprise, glee, and—mostly—anger. But I couldn’t pay much attention to what anyone else was saying. I kept hearing the foreman’s words echoing in my head.

Not guilty. Not guilty. Not guilty.

I collapsed into my chair, my eyes watering, halfway between tears and laughter. The jurors understood. They got it, even the ones I hadn’t been able to read.