"Yes," I admitted. "I want justice."
"But whether you're there or not won't affect the verdict. The evidence against those guys is conclusive and overwhelming, Mal. According to everything DeMarco has said, forensics has a make on the fingerprints found on the car, and ballistics on the gun. And then there's the confession of one of the youths. You know they're going to be found guilty and sentenced to life. There's no way out for them. So, if I'm truthful with you, I agree with David. I don't think you should go. You can't contribute anything, and it would be painful for you to bear."
I said nothing, simply sat there looking at her, biting my lip worriedly.
Sarah went on, after a moment's reflection, "Why put yourself through it all over again?"
"I feel uneasy about not going…"
"You've been so much calmer since you came back from Yorkshire, and made such progress. I think it's important to forge ahead, to think about the project here, to get oh with it. And listen, there's another thing… the press. Can you honestly cope with another media circus?"
I shook my head. "No, I couldn't."
Sarah got up and walked to a window, then stood looking out. She was silent. I stared at her for a moment, noticing that she held herself rigidly; her shoulder blades protruded slightly under her thin cotton shirt. She was tense, worried; I knew her so well, as she knew me.
Leaning back in my chair, I closed my eyes, turning the whole thing over in my mind. Eventually I sat up and said quietly, "I just feel Andrew would want me to be in court."
Swinging around to face me, Sarah exclaimed vehemently, "No, he wouldn't! That'd be the last thing he'd want! He would want you to take care of yourself, look to the future, do exactly what you are doing now. He'd hate you to cause yourself unnecessary heartache, Mal, he really would. Please believe me, there is nothing to be gained by going to that trial."
"But you'd go with me, wouldn't you?"
"How could I let you go alone? But honestly, David knows what he's talking about. He's been a criminal lawyer all his life, he knows how horrendous these kinds of trials are; and then again, he cares about you, wants the best for you. I'd listen to him, if I were you."
I nodded slowly and reached for the phone. I dialed my mother's apartment.
David answered. "Hello?"
"It's me," I said in a subdued voice. "Sarah's here, David, and she agrees with you about the trial. I've made a decision, but I just wanted to ask you again… do you really think I shouldn't be there?"
"I do, Mal."
"I've decided not to go."
I caught a note of relief in his voice as he said, "Thank God. But there's something I should point out to you, something you may not know. You can be present for the sentencing, to make a statement to the judge, if you so wish, stating your feelings about the kind of sentence you think should be imposed on the criminals."
"I didn't know that."
"How could you? In any case, Mal, you may very well want to go to court at that time. And naturally I would come with you, and so would your mother. Think about it."
"I will, David."
"You made the right decision. I'll tell your mother, I know she's going to be pleased. Good night, honey."
"Good night, David."
I told Sarah what he had just said; she listened carefully as she always did, and then she went and sat down in the chair. Finally, she said, "Maybe you should go to the sentencing, Mal. Somehow that makes sense. Sitting through a trial, no. It would make you ill. But saying your piece to the judge, expressing your loss, your pain, well, that's a whole different thing, isn't it?"
"It is. Maybe I'll do it," I said. Then I got up and walked to the door. "Come on, Sash, I'll buy you a drink. I don't know about you, but I could really use one."
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Connecticut, July 1989
Once I had made up my mind not to be present at the trial, I managed to push it to the back of my mind.
There was no point dwelling on it, since that served no good purpose and only tended to deflect me from my goal. This was forging ahead with the shops and the café at Indian Meadows.
Every day there was something new to keep me busy, yet another decision to be made, plans to be approved, additional merchandise to be ordered, labels to be manufactured, and countless other jobs.
There were times when I would stop in the middle of doing something and wonder at myself and all that had happened in two months.
I had come back from Yorkshire with the idea of opening a shop and a café, and everything had taken shape immediately. I had formed a company, applied to the town of Sharon for commercial zoning permits, borrowed money from my mother, my father, David, and Diana, and opened a business bank account.
They had all wanted to give me the money, to become my partners, but I had refused. I did not wish to have any partners, not even Sarah, who had also volunteered to be an investor.
I told them I would repay their money with interest, as soon as I could, and I had every intention of doing so.
Armed with my newly printed business cards and my checkbook, I had gone to the product showrooms in New York. Two were housed in a building on Fifth Avenue and another in one on Madison Avenue, and it was there that I found everything I needed for the kitchen shop. It was Sarah who had told me about these showrooms, pointing me in the right direction, explaining that I didn't have to travel to foreign countries to buy the merchandise for my different lines.
"You'll find the best of everything right there in Manhattan," she had explained. "I talked to various buyers on the home floors at Bergman's, and they recommend these particular showrooms." She had handed me the list and gone on, "You'll see from the notations next to each showroom that you can get French, Italian, Portuguese, and Spanish pottery, porcelains, and cookware, all that kind of stuff, and table linens as well. Everything you want for the tabletop, in fact."
She had also told me that the International Gift Show was held twice a year in New York at the Jacob Javits Convention Center. "And there are other gift shows, held on the piers at the passenger-ship terminal on the Hudson. There's a wealth of American products as well as merchandise from all over the world."
I felt as if I had walked across the world, the first day I went on a buying trip to Manhattan.
I covered every one of the showrooms on Sarah's long list, and I thought I had lost my feet by the end of the day.
In fact, I was so exhausted by four o'clock that I took a cab up to my mother's apartment, where I promptly collapsed. Even after a rest and dinner with her and David, I hadn't had the strength to drive to Sharon. Since I no longer had an apartment in New York, I spent the night in my old room.
I drove back to Indian Meadows the following morning, feeling that I had accomplished miracles on my first buying trip.
Eric stood poised in the doorway of my studio. "Am I interrupting you, Mal?" he asked.
"No, it's okay, come on in," I replied, putting down the watercolor I was holding. "I'm just trying to sort through these paintings. Sarah's going to take them to that good frame shop in New Preston this afternoon, and I was just trying to select twenty of the best ones to begin with."
He came and stood looking over my shoulder at the watercolors, which I had spread out on the table. After a moment studying them, he said, "They're all beautiful, Mal, it's hard to choose."
"They're not bad, are they?" I said, glancing at him. "But you look as if you're bursting to tell me something, so come on, what is it?"
"They all want to come and work for us, Mal!" Eric exclaimed, grinning broadly. "Billy Judd, Agnes Fairfield, and Joanna Smith. So I thought I'd hire 'em, if that's all right with you."