The courtroom was small.
County courthouse, third floor, a window that didn’t open and a ceiling fan that didn’t turn.
Forty seats.
Thirty-eight of them full.
I hadn’t expected that either.
Officer Benning, from the gate, in civilian clothes, in the back row.
Three women from my cell block who’d gotten out before me and seen the docket online.
The young couple from Marjorie’s house.
The husband had brought the shovel. I don’t know why. He held it across his lap like it was evidence.
And in the second row, with a lawyer on either side of him, my husband.
Brian Foster.
Thirty-nine. Still handsome. A Swiss watch on his wrist that hadn’t been there when I went in.
He didn’t look at me.
Nicole sat across the aisle from him.
Not beside him.
Across.
I noticed.
So did Samuel.
Our father’s watch was on her wrist.
She saw me see it.
