Chase eases me back onto the couch and tucks the blanket around me. “Stay where you are, and that’s an order.”
I listen to cupboards open and close while my mind tries to fight off the images racing through my head-blood, bats, a dark figure behind the wheel of a white pickup. The pictures won’t stop until Chase comes back into the room.
“Here. Hot chocolate.” He sets a steaming mug on the coffee table, but not before finding a coaster.
“We have hot chocolate?” I inhale the warmth. I’m so cold, even though I know it’s hot outside.
“But no marshmallows.” He helps roll me to a sitting-up position. I’m still wrapped in the blanket, swaddled. I wriggle my hands out and reach for the cup, but a stabbing pain knifes the top of my head and forces me to sit back.
“What’s the matter?” Chase asks.
“It’s okay. I think I’m getting a migraine.” This time, I’m pretty sure it’s coming. I haven’t had a real one in a couple of months, but this sure feels like the beginning of the bad.
“Can you take anything for it? Can I get you something?”
I try to smile at him. “You didn’t see any aspirin in the cupboard, did you?”
“I’ve got aspirin. Wait here.” He races out of the house and is back in seconds. “Dad always keeps some in the glove compartment.” He opens the little plastic bottle and taps two pills into my palm. Then he caps the bottle and shoves it into his pocket.
I know these won’t do any good, but they can’t hurt. Chase brings me a glass of water from the kitchen and watches me swallow the pills. Then he hands me the mug of hot chocolate and sits beside me.
I take a sip of the chocolate because he went to all that trouble, but if this is a real migraine, I shouldn’t put anything into my stomach because it will come right back up sooner or later. Still, it feels great to hold heat in my clammy hands. “Nobody has ever taken care of me like this.” Steam from the cup floats away with my breath.
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
He puts his arm around me. “Then that’s a shame because you deserve to be taken care of.”
We sit like this, and Chase talks to me about his dad, his mom, and his life in Boston. I listen, tuned in to the sound of his voice more than the words. I have to close my eyes because the light digs into my skull like an invisible hatchet. My hair follicles prickle. The roots are needles sticking into my scalp. And yet, I have never felt more at home in my own home than I do right now.
When I wake up, I’m on the couch, the blanket tucked around me and a pillow under my head. There’s a note on the pillow. I have to squint to read it. My eyes are still blurry from the headache. Had to leave. Sorry. Call me if you need me.
I need him. But I don’t call. Instead, I go back to sleep and dream of him.
I don’t know how much time has passed when I wake up to the door slamming. I sit up so fast that my head takes a minute to catch up with the rest of me.
Rita bursts through the room, a cloud of smoke floating in with her. “What are you doing up? Did you sleep out here?”
“Rita, somebody was outside.” Light filters in. It’s morning.
“What?” She drops some things in the kitchen and drifts back into the room.
I shed the blanket. “And I got another one of those phone calls. Only this time-”
“Just hang up. I told you that’s how you handle prank calls. Hang up hard.” She yawns. “I’m going to bed. Are you going to court today?”
It’s no use talking to her. She doesn’t believe me. But Chase does. And that’s all I need now. “Yeah, Rita. I’m going to court.”
Raymond has good news when Chase and I get to the courthouse. He’s been granted his subpoena for Caroline Johnson to appear before the court-just like T.J. said would happen. I wish T.J. could hear it too. I text him the news. He doesn’t text me back.
It will take a couple of days to make it happen, but Caroline Johnson will have to sit in the same seat I did and answer Raymond’s questions, whether she wants to or not.
In the meantime, Raymond puts everybody who ever liked my brother on the stand to testify as character witnesses. As I listen to their accounts of Jeremy, I hope Jer is taking in all the kind words people are saying about him, from the woman at the IGA and the post office person to the first teacher Jeremy had here.
Chase and I sit through every testimony for the next three days. I can’t stop looking for T.J., expecting him to walk through the courtroom doors and take his seat with us. But he doesn’t show. It’s like he’s disappeared, like he was never there in the first place.
We still sit toward the back, surrounded by reporters. People greet Chase as if they’ve known him all their lives, but only a few speak to me.
On the day I’m sure Caroline Johnson will show up, she doesn’t, and Raymond has to call more character witnesses. He even recalls Sarah McCray, the woman who found Coach dead. Chase and I watch her take the stand, and I feel a dull thud on the side of my head. I close my eyes and touch the spot, hoping the migraine isn’t coming back.
“You okay?” Chase whispers.
“I think I’m getting a headache.”
He digs into his backpack. The security people searched it by hand before letting us come in. Chase brings out his little bottle of aspirin. “I brought it just in case,” he says. He shakes out two pills and hands them to me. “Here. Can you take them without water?”
I never have, but I toss them into my mouth and swallow. They scratch going down.
Raymond has Mrs. McCray identify herself again. After thanking her for returning to court, he begins the real questions. “Mrs. McCray, do you like Jeremy Long, the defendant?”
Mrs. McCray smiles at Jer. I watch my brother’s feet kick the floor, faster and faster. He doesn’t look at Mrs. McCray. “I’ve always liked Jeremy very much. He is such a polite, sweet boy.”
“And you let him ride your horse, Sugar, isn’t that right?” Raymond asks.
“I did.”
“You must have trusted Jeremy to allow him to handle your horse,” Raymond observes, facing the jury.
“That’s right. I don’t let just anybody ride my horses. A few of the children in town like to visit the horses and would like to ride mine. But horses are sensitive creatures. I can’t just let anybody ride.”
“And yet, you allowed Jeremy Long to ride your horse?” Raymond continues.
“Yes. I knew John would teach Jeremy what he needed to do to get along with my Sugar.”
“John, as in John Johnson, correct?”
“Yes.”
I look over at Jeremy. From where I’m sitting, it doesn’t look like he’s paying much attention to the testimony. He’s swaying, and his fingers are playing something on the table. He could just be listening to his own music inside his head… or he could be starting to get upset about something.
I see the judge glance his way, but Jer doesn’t see it. Neither does Raymond.
“Mrs. McCray,” Raymond says, “I’m sorry to make you think back to the day of the murder, but I do have a question I need to ask.” She nods and grips the chair with both hands. “When you first saw the body and realized John Johnson had been killed, murdered, even after Jeremy had bumped into you with that bat, was your first thought that Jeremy killed Mr. Johnson?”
“No! Not at all.”
“Were you frightened? Didn’t you fear that Jeremy might come back with his bat and go after you next?” Raymond asks.
“Certainly not! That sweet boy? How could I have had such thoughts?”
I feel like running up to the witness stand and hugging Mrs. McCray. I crane my neck to get a better look at Jeremy. I want to know if he heard her. But I see right away that he didn’t. Jeremy’s arms are raised, and he’s swaying. He’s closed his eyes. It’s too bright in here for him, at least when he’s like this-more agitated than usual. There are too many sounds-buzzing in the walls, screeches from chairs, murmurs from the gallery, where people are starting to watch Jeremy instead of Mrs. McCray.