Page 97 of Courtroom Drama
“What do you get?”
“I get that this was just a temporary thing.” I motion back and forth between him and me in the short distance between us. “You don’t have to get my number.”
“Iwantyour number,” he says. His blue-green eyes twitch once, and I almost believe him. I want to give it to him. Part of me says we can be friends. But I know I’d never be satisfied with that. And pretending would keep me in this unfulfilled place.
“Look, let’s just call this what it was. A nice, in-the-moment distraction from the case, and an opportunity for some closure on what happened all those years ago.”
His eyebrow twitches up, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say he is disappointed. He opens his mouth to respond, and I lean forward, wanting to know what he has to say. He pauses.
The conflict of us is palpable. Past versus present. Hurt versus longing. Reality versus hope. Head versus heart.
Before he can get any words out, Cam arrives at the door and steps in. “Can you believe we’re finally outta here?” He taps the backside of his left hand against Damon’s chest playfully.
Damon doesn’t take his eyes off me, even as Cam looks back and forth between us.
“Am I interrupting?” he asks.
Damon clears his throat. “No, man, you’re not,” he says stiffly, breaking our stare. The grimness of his face before he looks away leaves me gutted. “Why wait? We should get going,” Damon says to Cam.
“Definitely. See ya, Syd,” Cam says, though we’ve not exchanged contact information, so I doubt it.
“See ya,” I say anyway.
We are taken in the two shuttles back to the courthouse, where my car is still parked in the underground garage. For one of the only times, Damon and I don’t sit together on the ride. I don’t quite know whosedecision it was—Damon climbed into the shuttle, and though we made brief eye contact, I moved my bag off the seat so Tamra, ahead of him in line and eyeing the open seat beside me, could take it.
We exit the shuttles in the courthouse garage to avoid any remaining bystanders or paparazzi.
“Goodbye, dear.” Tamra hugs me warmly—so tight and genuine that I don’t want her to let go. “Give that baby a kiss for me,” she adds, cupping my wrist. I think of Gen and how much I want to see her.
“I will. I’m so glad you can get back to your grandbabies now.”
She smiles, her eyes more watery than usual. I try to imagine loving something so much that the sheer mention of it brings tears to my eyes.
I think to exchange numbers with her. The reality is, I would likely never reach out. We have such different lives. And she’s busy with her family. But still...
“Tamra,” I say, “would you want to exchange numbers? Maybe grab coffee or something sometime?”
She smiles, her eyes still full. “I was going to ask you the same thing but figured you wouldn’t be interested in an old lady like me.”
“Let’s make sure we actually do it. Get together, I mean.” I enter her number in my phone and text her so she has mine.
We hug again, this one a bit fuller than the first.
I say quick goodbyes to the others, including Cam again. I thank Xavier for being a truly excellent foreperson, all the while keeping account of where Damon is, who he’s talking to—ensuring he hasn’t slipped out.
Soon, the group has dwindled to just a few, and Damon and I find each other, as though it were inevitable.
47.
Jury Discharge (n., phrase)
when the jury is released at the completion of a trial
I guess I’ll go home now
The courthouse garage’s dim light flickers overhead, and the moldy smell reminds me of our time on the roof of the Singer Suites. Damon and I have edged closer, each waiting for the other to speak first. There are so many versions of what happens now. Maybe we offer quick goodbyes, skating over everything—past and present—with our hands up in defeat. Maybe we gaze longingly at each other for what feels like hours. Maybe we do say all the things we aren’t meant to say here, the words that keep us tied to this complex and hopelessly tangled thing. No matter what though, I know this is goodbye.
“Can I ask you something?” I say finally, taking a small step toward him. He does the same, and now there are just a few inches between us. I instinctively look around to see who might be watching, but then I realize it again. It’s over. We can do whatever we want. Part of me liked it better when someone was always telling me what to do and where to go.
