She leaves her scent behind and the lingering sense of doom that I’ll make the wrong choice. God, really? She’s leaving this up to me? Someone’s life’s in my hands, the hands of a fuckup. Does she have any idea what she’s doing?
I pick up the first sheaf of paper. Bruce Swanson was convicted of the brutal murder of his parents, Doug and Nancy Swanson. As the only child he stood to inherit his parents’ vast estate, which entailed a personal fortune of close to eleven million dollars, a company worth twice that, and various real estate properties worth millions more. The conviction hinged on hinky DNA evidence and a questionable witness—a cousin who inherited everything when Bruce went away. As an only child, I’m tempted to choose poor Bruce who should be sitting on fat stacks instead of a thin prison mattress.
I force myself to put the paper down and pick up the next one. D’Shawnte Devon was convicted of attempted murder for the drive-by shooting of a rival gang member based on faulty eyewitness testimony. Three people—who also happen to be members of his gang and thus deemed unreliable—said that D’Shawnte was at a barbecue at the time of the shooting. There was nothing to tie him physically to the crime and although the eyewitnesses later recanted, D’Shawnte remains in prison for a crime he didn’t commit.
That one sucks. D’Shawnte reminds me of me and my bad luck. I’m starting to see what Cora was saying about not being able to choose. You only have to have a smidgeon of empathy to want to do something that could change these people’s world.
The third page has a photo of a woman. A young woman. Nineteen. Dang. She looks younger. Like maybe fifteen. Carla Ruiz is an undocumented immigrant in prison for the murder of her son. Even though the coroner declared the boy’s death an accident the district attorney filed murder charges and won. There’s a note about a witness that wasn’t called by the defense who could’ve corroborated the coroner’s report. She was convicted for a crime that wasn’t even a crime. That’s harsh. She lost her son and then her freedom. I wonder what will happen to her if she’s freed. Will she be forced to go back to Mexico or will she get to stay in the United States?
I set her sheet next to the other two, my gaze bouncing from one to the other, then the other. Who to pick? Eeny meeny miny moe? Roshambo? Put their names in a cup and draw one?
Cora’s depending on me to make a decision based on something real not something arbitrary. I’ll probably have to justify my decision. It would be pretty tough to defend rock, paper, scissors.
I look at their faces. They’re all young. Under thirty when they went inside. They’re older than that now. D’Shawte is in his forties. Bruce is thirty-six and Carla is nearly thirty. I should pick D’Shawnte. He’s been in the longest. But Bruce reminds me of myself except for the rich parents. Carla lost her son. That’s a horrible thing. Uuuugh. I just don’t know.
I set the pages aside and try to go back to the computer searches I was doing. But my gaze strays. With a sigh I tear up little pieces of paper, write their names on them, and shake the folded scraps in my hands. I hope this is the right thing to do. I close my eyes and choose. Carla. I’m disappointed and yet not. I take her page out and look at it again.
“Well?” Cora stands in the doorway ankles and arms crossed. “Were you able to pick one?”
As subtle as I can I scoop up the little pieces of paper and ball them in my hand. I can’t let her know how I couldn’t come to a decision. That I let fate randomly decide. I don’t know why I did it. Fate has never been anything but a bitch to me.
I hold up the page. “Carla Ruiz.”
She unfolds herself and comes toward me. She takes the sheet and nods. “This one got to me too. What made you choose her?”
I knew it. “She lost twice—her son and her freedom. That’s too much for anyone let alone someone so young.”
“Yeah. I thought the same thing.” There’s a look in her eyes that I don’t like seeing. Sadness. She’s too pretty to be sad. “Beau was a year younger than her when he went to prison.”
“That must’ve been awful.”
She nods, her focus on Carla’s photo.
“How’s Vera doing?” I have to ask. Then I hold my breath, waiting for the answer.
Cora’s bright blue eyes slide from the paper to me and there’s a warm wave crashing over me, making my breath catch. Her eyes are the same the same blue as the streaks in her hair. Startling. Mesmerizing. Totally off-limits.
She smiles. “She’s coming home today. That’s why Beau isn’t here. He’s getting her settled in.”
“That’s good. I’m glad.” So, so glad. It’s like someone just lifted a stadium off my shoulders.
“Thanks for taking up the slack.” She motions with the paper. “And for helping me choose.”
“Sure. Any time.”
She starts to turn away, then comes back. “We’re still a little short around here. You’ve been so great about working over time and filling in, I hate to ask…”