Thomas looked back at her once.
He did not appear to know her.
She was not memorable in the way of someone who has designed themselves not to be.
She kept her sunglasses in her hand, on then off, then on again, a small nervous habit.
She looked like someone who had been told to come and who was not sure she wanted to be there.
Mrs. Wilkes sat in the second row on my side of the gallery.
She was seventy-one years old.
She was a small woman with white hair and the kind of face that has been weathered by decades of work and that has come through the weathering with something intact, something clear and direct in the eyes.
She had called me on a Thursday in September.
Six months after the withdrawals.
Three months after my lawyer had begun expressing doubt.
She had read about the hearing in the county paper.
