"And why would Mrs. Sabich want to obscure the fact she had taken her own life, in your view?"
"For my son's sake, I believe."
"And by your son, are you referring to this handsome lad in the front row?"
"I am." My father smiles at me for the benefit of the jury. It is not a moment when I feel much like being exposed, and I struggle even to smile back.
"And why would your wife want your son not to know she had died at her own hand?"
"Nat is an only child. I think my son would be the first to say he had a hard time growing up. He's a fine man with a fine life now. But his mother was always very protective of him. I'm sure Barbara would want to limit the anguish and injury to Nat if she ended her life that way."
Stern says nothing but nods slightly, as if it all makes sense to him. As it does to me. It's the kind of unspoken lore that accumulates in a family that my own depression descends from my mother's. Because of that, my mom would not have wanted me to know she'd been unable to tame the savage god. It would have been too bleak a prophecy for me.
"And Rusty, to the best of your knowledge, did your wife have any history of suicide attempts?"
"Because of the depth of Barbara's depressions, Dr. Vollman had always advised me to keep my eyes open. And yes, I was aware of one attempt that had taken place in the late eighties when Barbara and I were separated."
"Move to strike," says Molto. "If it took place while they were separated, Judge Sabich cannot be testifying from personal knowledge."
"Sustained," says Yee.
Stern nods agreeably and says, "Then we shall have to call another witness."
Molto stands again. "Same motion, Your Honor. That was not a question. It was stage directions."
"Was that an objection, Your Honor, or a review?" responds Stern.
Yee, who has a sense of humor, is smiling broadly, revealing his small teeth. "Boys, boys," he says.
"Question withdrawn," says Stern.
During this byplay, my father's eyes have again found mine. I know now why he was apologizing yesterday. The move to Detroit when I was ten did not make my mother any happier, whatever she might have anticipated. As kids always do, I knew something was desperately wrong. I had frequent nightmares and would awaken with the covers in turmoil and a screaming heart and would shout out for my mom. Sometimes, she came. Sometimes I had to get up to find her. She was almost always sitting in her bedroom in the dark, so lost to herself that it took her several seconds to see me standing right in front of her. More and more often, I would simply wake up to check on her. One night I couldn't find her. I went from room to room, screaming her name, until I thought about the bathroom. She was there, in a full tub. It was an amazing moment. I was not accustomed any longer to seeing my mother naked. But that mattered far less than the fact that she had a small lamp in her hand, which had been plugged in across the room with an extension cord.
I want to say I stood there for a minute. I'm sure it was actually far less than that, only seconds, but she waited far too long before turning back to me, and life.
'It's okay,' she said then. 'I was going to read.'
'No it isn't,' I said.
'It's okay,' she said. 'I was going to read, Nat.'
I cried, wild with despair. She stood up in the nude to hug me, but I had the good sense to go straight for the phone to call my father. My mom was diagnosed as bipolar within a few days. The road back to my dad, to our family, to our former life, began then. But that moment, like a specter, was never fully banished from the times my mom and I were together for the rest of her life.
"Did you and your wife ever discuss the fact that she had been suicidal?"
"Objection," says Molto. "Hearsay."
"Did you and your wife ever discuss whether she would commit suicide?"
Across the courtroom, Tommy frowns. But he is finally stuck. For reasons I could never understand in law school, what my mother said about the past is hearsay and what she said about the future is not.
"When we began living together again in the late 1980s, she assured me repeatedly that she would never do that again to Nat-that he would never walk into a room to confront that." I know this is true, because she made the same promise hundreds of times to me.
"Was Nat living at home last year when Barbara died?"
"No."
"And does your wife's promise concerning Nat also inform your belief about why she would prefer to make her suicide appear to be a death by natural causes?"
"It does."
"To the best of your knowledge, Rusty, did Barbara make any attempt at suicide while you were living together?"
"No."
"And so, you had no experience with the outward behavior your wife might exhibit if she were intent on taking her life?"
"I did not."
"But if she had made it apparent that she were bent on such a course, what would you have done?"
"Objection. Speculation," says Molto.
"Would you have attempted to stop her?"
"Of course."
The second question and answer are interjected quickly before Judge Yee can rule on the initial objection.
"Sustained, sustained," says Yee.
"And so if Barbara was intent on killing herself, Rusty, she would have had to hide that fact from your son and you?"
"Judge!" Molto says sharply.
On the stand, my father's head shoots around in Molto's direction and he answers, "Yes?" He draws back at once, flabbergasted by his own mistake. "Oh, my God," he says.
Yee, that merry fellow, is wildly amused, and the entire courtroom chortles along with him. It's comic relief in a grim discussion, and the laughter goes on for a while. At the end, Yee shakes a finger at Stern.
"Enough, Mr. Stern. We all have point."
Stern responds by declining his head, a hobbled effort at a humble bow, before he goes on.
"Was your wife familiar, if you know, with John Harnason's case?"
"We talked about the matter when it was before me and afterwards. She was interested because she'd read about the case in the papers, and also because I'd described the way Mr. Harnason had accosted me after the oral argument. And of course in the weeks before Barbara died, Mr. Harnason was the subject of television ads being aired by my opponent in the election for the state supreme court. My wife complained to me often about the ads, so I know she saw them."
"Did Mrs. Sabich read the Court's decision in the Harnason case?"
"Yes. I dissented very rarely. Barbara didn't take great interest in my work, but, as I said, she'd followed the case and she asked me to bring home a copy of the decision."
"And to review what is already in evidence, the decision discusses the fact that certain drugs, including MAO inhibitors, are not covered in a routine toxicology screen?"
"It does."
Stern then turns to other subjects. My dad explains at some length that he and my mom ended their separation in 1988 with an agreement that she would stay on her meds for bipolar disease, and that was why he was so involved in picking up her pills and even putting them away. All this is clearly meant to explain why his prints are on the bottle of phenelzine. Stern then whispers to Marta, who steps across the courtroom to speak to Jim Brand. She returns with an exhibit in its glassine envelope.
"Now, Rusty, Mr. Molto asked you about your visits to Dana Mann. Do you recall that?"
"Of course."
"And was your wife acquainted with Mr. Mann?"
"Yes. Dana and his wife, Paula Kerr, were both law school classmates of mine. We had socialized a lot as couples, especially then."
"And did she know Mr. Mann's specialty in practice?"
"Certainly. Just one example, but five or six years ago, while Dana was president of the Matrimonial Bar Association, he'd asked me to give a speech to the organization. Paula came, and so Barbara had also attended the dinner."
"Now, Mr. Molto asked you on cross-examination about your two visits with Mr. Mann. And I believe you indicated that the second time you saw him, September 4, 2008, you briefly thought you were going to file for divorce. Correct?"