The judge removed his hand from the microphone.
“The jury will disregard the last question,” he said, looking over at the jury box. “The details of the family court hearing are sealed for the protection of the child.” He looked down at the court reporter. “Strike it.”
The court reporter nodded.
“Okay, Mr. Mitchell,” the judge said. “You need to tread lightly here. Remember that your witness is a minor.”
“I apologize, Your Honor,” Mitchell said. He looked over at the jury, a rueful expression on his face, as if to communicate that he was being prevented from revealing something very important that they needed to hear. “One last question, Joelle, and then we’re finished.”
Joey nodded, and Mitchell turned away from the jurors to face her directly, his hands in his pockets.
“On the night that Charles died,” Mitchell said, “your mother testified that she woke up around one a.m. to discover that Charles was not in bed beside her. She went looking for him and found him in the guest bedroom. He was in bed with you.”
Ruby’s lawyer now had the same gleam in his eye that Duffy had earlier.
“Was Charles sexually abusing you, Joelle? Please remember, you’re under oath.”
Joey took a deep breath, and when she exhaled, she looked over at her mother. To anyone but her, Ruby’s face was neutral, almost expressionless. But to Joey, her eyes were commanding her daughter to say everything they’d agreed she would say.
For once, her mother was expecting her to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. If you don’t tell them about Charles, I will die in prison.
I love you, Mama. I’m sorry.
“No.” Joey spoke clearly into the microphone. “Charles was a really nice man. I liked him. He never touched me. Not once. Not ever.”
* * *
Joey stepped down from the witness box. She had to pass her mother on the way out of the courtroom, but she would not make eye contact, she would not say goodbye. As far as she was concerned, they had already said their goodbyes, in the visitors’ area of the jail where Ruby asked for her help.
All the years Joey had told her mother what was happening to her, what was being done to her, Ruby did nothing. Half the time, she accused Joey of lying. The other half, she blamed Joey for inviting it. Either way, it never stopped. Her mother had never, and would never, protect her. Ruby was only out for Ruby.
The only way for Joey to save herself … was to save herself.
She walked with her head up, her eyes staring straight ahead. But before she could pass her mother, Ruby reached into the aisle and gripped Joey’s arm.
“You lying little bitch.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
It took the jury ninety-three minutes to declare Ruby Reyes guilty of first-degree murder in the death of Charles Anthony Baxter.
Joey wasn’t present for the sentencing. She heard about it from Deborah first, and then an hour later, it was all over the news. Ruby had received a life sentence, with the possibility of parole after twenty-five years. Though Joey had been expecting it, it felt like her mother had died. And all there was to do now was grieve.
The next chapter had officially begun.
That night, Joey fell asleep a few minutes after her head hit the pillow, drifting off to the sound of the frogs at the pond. They were croaking in unison as they always did, their loud, throaty harmony providing an amphibious white noise she found peaceful. Just before sleep found her, she imagined a little frog conductor standing up on his hind legs, his skinny arms directing the choir. How else would they all know to start and stop at the same time …
She jerked awake to find Tito Micky perched on the edge of her bed.
He had never come in this far before. But tonight, he was sitting at the bottom of her mattress, the side of his face illuminated by the slice of moon beaming in through the windows, a silhouette with half a face. The curtains were never fully closed. The boys didn’t like to sleep in total darkness, and though Joey would never admit it to them, she felt the same.
Bad things happened in the dark.
Her uncle stared at her with whiskey-glazed eyes. Joey blinked, then blinked again. Maybe this was a dream. Maybe her testimony at the trial had brought up some terrible memories.
She felt his hand on her thigh.
“Joelle,” he breathed. The smell of whiskey on his breath was pungent.
Across the room, she could hear the boys snoring in their bunks. She could hear the frogs and smell the swampy damp of the pond below. She could hear the rustle of the wind in the trees outside. She could hear Tito Micky’s slight wheeze.