“I got out of the truck, not caring about the storm; I just wanted to get to her. Blood ran down her face from a cut on her forehead. Mud covered her from the neck down. Her pretty dress was torn, she was drenched and shaking.
“When I realized someone had beat her, I almost puked. I remembered how she acted afraid of her husband when he came into the restaurant in Dallas. It must have been him. Our eyes met and I backed towardthe truck. She followed me.
“I hopped back in the cab and leaned across the seat to push open the passenger door; it didn’t open from the outside. She stood there for a minute, a mix of fright and relief crossed her face. Not sure if she would survive another ten minutes in this storm, I told her to climb in. She must have been exhausted enough to listen because in she climbed.
“The sight of her broke my heart. She was bruised and broke from head to toe. I could tell she hadn’t slept in days. Dark circles surrounded her eyes, and she blinked so slow I thought she would fall asleep. A red “M” on her neck looked like someone had branded her. How sick do you have to be to stake your claim on a person as if she was something you owned, like a cow?
“I didn’t load her down with questions; that girl had been through enough. She didn’t have to explain why she was out in this storm in the middle of the night. I knew she had been trying to escape him. I simply looked in her eyes and asked where he was.
“The only words she spoke were when to turn. I followed her directions and pulled in the driveway beside a run-down trailer. There we were; no reason to turn back. No way she would survive a life with this guy. I reached under my seat and grabbed the nine I had bought from some shady dude in the city.
“I knocked and knocked, andno one came so I kicked in the door. I don’t know what I thought would happen; I know he wouldn’t answer to a stranger, make a drink and discuss what he had done. The brand on her neck crossed my mind and something inside me broke.
“The house was dark; the storm probably knocked out the power. When the lightning flashed, I saw the state of the house—torn up from a party—and a man sitting in a chair directly across from me, eyes wide open. A twelve-gauge sat beside his chair.
“I stood frozen, the pistol aimed at his forehead, listening for any movement. My eyes adjusted to the darkness just enough to see an outline. The next flash of lightning lit up the room and I let the hammer drop before he could aim the twelve.
“I’ve never been a good shot with a handgun, but I was sure I must have hurt him bad; he didn’t shoot back. With the next flash of light, I was able to confirm my suspicion. The bullet landed dead in the center of his forehead. I must have stood there forever looking at him; a surreal feeling overcame me, like I wasn’t in my own body.
“The shot was loud enough for neighbors to hear; I knew someone would call the cops. As I walked out the door, I picked up his pack of cigarettes. I didn’t try to run. I didn't try to hide my pistol; what was the use? I sat it on the hood of the truck and lit a smoke.
“The rain had stopped, so I justsat on the porch smoking one of his cigarettes and waited for the cops to come. When they got there, one cop pushed me up against the truck, and I saw her through the windshield. Shaking. Scared. I could tell she was in shock, she barely blinked. As they cuffed me, I offered a little smile and shrugged. She mouthed, “Thank you,” and they took me away.”
Silence hung in the courtroom. I paused to survey the jury; not one of the people sitting in the box had a dry eye. I finished my testimony. “I get it, we’re thrown into the cruel world alone—on our own—but damn, the sight of a lady who’d been beaten like my mom was my entire life flipped that switch for me. I couldn’t just keep driving. I couldn’t ignore her.The rage that overtook me was something I’d only felt once before. That time I was a scared fourteen-year-old kid.”
Finished with my side of the story, I bowed my head and took a deep breath. When I faced the jury again, I spoke the final words in my defense. “Lord have mercy on me.”
Chapter 28
Kennedy, age twenty-one—December 2009
JAKE’S ACCOUNTof what happened brought all the emotions of my years with Cody to the surface. The sound of Jake’s voice soothed me, but the words were unsettling. I had cried for so long that I thought all my tears had dried up. I was wrong. My lawyer handed me her handkerchief and I dabbed my eyes.
After the judge called me to the stand and I was sworn in, I leaned my head back and sent up a silent prayer for strength.
“Mrs. Miller. May I call you Kennedy?”
I nodded. No one spoke, so I glanced at the Judge.
“You need to speak your answer so it can be recorded.”
“Oh. Sorry.” I responded to the judge, then focused on my lawyer. “Yes, you can call me Kennedy.”
“Kennedy, would you please explain to the jury, in detail, the events which led you to walking down themiddle of the road during a thunderstorm? Then please tell them why you got into a stranger’s truck.”
“Okay. Um.” I had gone over where to start and what to include with my lawyer, but my nerves pushed the memory away. I had never been in a courtroom before, and the reality of the situation was overwhelming. It was hard to believe the direction my life had taken. My husband was dead, and I wasn’t sorry.
“Kennedy?”
I must have paused for too long. “Oh. Sorry. Um. In detail, okay.” I took a deep breath and glanced at the twelve men and women who stared at me.
“Cody, my husband, had some friends over to celebrate his coming back to Alaska.” Simply speaking the words brought me back to that night. As I recounted the incident, as my lawyer called it, the scene played back in my mind.
One of the mengrabbed me around the waist and lifted my skirt. His warm hand stroked my inner thigh. “Yeah, baby. I bet you paid for the ride home with this.”
Fury filled my gut, and I picked up the first thing I could reach, twisted out of his grip, and hit him over the head. I lifted the heavy frying pan and held it like a baseball bat to defend myself. My broken arm throbbed inside the cast, and I knew I’d done more damage thangood.
A vase flew from somewhere in the living room and hit me on the head. I dropped the pan and covered my forehead with one hand. Blood trickled down my face, but I didn’t feel the pain.
