Page 44 of Courtroom Drama
“Oh yeah? Why?”
“Because you’re easy to talk to. And you care about people. Look at the way you’ve taken up for Margot, someone you don’t even know.”
I open my mouth to argue but think better of it. I’ve shown my cards so clearly to him on how I feel about the case, and so early on at that. There are “real” people in my life I’ve spent far less time with and know far less about than Margot, though some of the evidence this past week has planted small seeds of doubt about her in my mind.
“You think Margot’s guilty, don’t you?” I blurt out. Until now, I’ve done well not talking about the case. Sure, I’ve broken a few other rules, but I have not directly conversed about case details. But as I get to know Damon, in so many different ways in such a short period—through his handwritten notes, his presence beside me in court, our time in the presidential suite, the bits he shares with me through our talks—I can no longer ignore the thing that’s been nagging at me since seeing him again.
“Did you really just ask me that?” he says, eyes narrowing playfully.
I clasp my hands in my lap. “I’m serious. I want to know.” Actually, Ineedto know.
He looks at me thoughtfully, the dimple in his chin deepening as he pushes his bottom lip into the top one, seemingly careful to choose his words before he speaks. “It’s still early in the case,” he says, cocking his head to one side.
I raise my eyebrows at his nonanswer.
“I really don’t know what to think yet. Isn’t that the point? To hear all the evidence presented and then make your determination? Anything before that would be...” He sucks at the corner of his lip.
“It would be what? Wrong?”
“I was going to say unfair.”
Right. So he thinks I’m being irresponsible by possibly siding with Margot. But he doesn’t have the seven seasons of backstory I do.
“For the record, I’m not saying you—”
“I get it,” I say, trying to ward off the annoyance gnawing at my belly. “I get it,” I repeat, this time more softly.
I know there will be people who don’t view this case the way I do, who don’t know the things I do about Margot. But Damon... the more I get to spend time with him again, the more I can’t bear the thought we might disagree on something as important as someone’s life. That once again, some outside factor causes us to end up in opposite corners of a maze where we can’t manage to find the midpoint.
I won’t share details of Margot’s life with Damon again like I did in the presidential suite. I know it was wrong to do, that it messed with the integrity of not only the case itself but of how Damon wants to approach his role here. But there are things about Margot I wish he knew. That I wish all the jurors knew. I wish I could tell Damon the things about Margot that make her so much more than what the prosecution is presenting her to be.
Like when her favorite charity, Sea Save, was struggling financially and almost had to close down four years ago; she and Joe anonymously donated $500,000 to keep it afloat. The only way the money was tracked back to her was via a Reddit thread that I guarantee no jurors would possibly know about. Those types of acts don’t make headlines. Joe didn’t care about Sea Save. He did it because it was important to Margot.
Or how they used to read books together. How they’d each get a copy of the same book and read separately together, silently side by side in bed or poolside on a quiet afternoon. The show caught several small moments over the years of the two of them razzing each other about being further along than the other, jokingly threatening to divulge spoilers.
They readThe AlchemistandBeloved, memoirs likeWhen Breath Becomes AirandMen We Reaped. They read books that always landed on the Books That Matter lists, that included commentary on societal shortcomings and race relations—books I aspired to read but only occasionally saw through to purchase. They both cared about the state of the world, despite being part of the select few who netted most from it. Sure, they had moments of being out of touch or acting selfishly; Joe, as we now know, most of all. But shouldn’t the good matter, too?
I don’t want to go too far down that road, so I change the subject. “How do you come up with the signs?” I ask.
He pauses a moment at my abrupt change in direction, then answers, “I don’t know, I just try to get people to look up.”
“My favorites have been when big-ticket artists are in town for concerts.”
He nods and semi-grins, and I appreciate his willingness to follow me down this windy road of conversation.
“There was so much Taylor Swift content,” I say.
“CUT OFF? DON’T GET BAD BLOOD, SHAKE IT OFF.Yeah, that was me.”
“That one on Valentine’s Day?”
“NO VALENTINE? YOUR SEAT BELT WILL HUG YOU.Also me.”
“I almost spit out my coffee when I saw that one!”
His eyes grin and it’s boyishly prideful. I take delight in prying it out of him.
“And the one at Christmas...”
