The local chapter of MADD has taken a strong interest in this incident. President Norma Alice Davidson demanded publicly that charges be brought against this young driver. “Only stiffer penalties will make teens take notice of the danger,” she said.
Prosecuting attorney Uslan declined to comment about whether Ms. Baill would be charged with DUI vehicular homicide. A memorial service for Mia Farraday will take place Wednesday at Grace Church on Pine Island at 4:00 P.M.
*
All over Pine Island, there were reminders of Mia’s death: on the high school reader board, WE MISS YOU, MIA; on the movie marquee, IN MEMORY OF MIA. There were signs in store fronts and taped to car windows.
But those reminders weren’t the worst of it. Now, as Lexi walked up Main Street, she was bombarded by memories. She and Mia had painted ceramic platters together there, at the Dancing Brush … they’d bought designer jelly beans at the candy store and books at the bookstores.
Books.
That was what had brought them together in the first place, two lonely girls who, before each other, experienced the world from afar, through words.
Can I sit here?
Social suicide.
Eva handed Lexi a wad of toilet paper. “You’re crying.”
“Am I?” She wiped her eyes, surprised to find how hard she was crying.
Eva touched her arm gently. “Here we are.”
The lawyer’s office was just off Main Street, tucked back in a tree-lined quad that housed a yarn shop, an antique shop, and an art gallery.
The small, squat brick building had big windows and a bright blue door that read: Scot Jacobs, Attorney at Law.
Lexi followed Eva into the office. The main room held a big oak desk, three plastic chairs, and a framed black-and-white photograph of driftwood on a beach. A tired-looking older woman with black horn-rimmed glasses sat behind the desk.
“You must be Alexa,” the receptionist said. “I’m Bea.”
“Hi, Bea. This is my Aunt Eva.”
“You both can go in now.”
“You ready for this?” Eva whispered to Lexi.
Lexi shook her head.
“Me either.” They walked down a narrow hallway, past a conference-type room.
At the back office, a youngish man sat behind a big glass desk. At their approach, he rose. In a crumpled blue suit and overwashed pink shirt, he looked like the kind of attorney they could afford, and of course they couldn’t really afford him. His hair was unstylishly long, a little tousled, and he needed a shave, but his brown eyes were kind and compassionate.
“Hello,” Lexi said, moving forward to shake his plump, slightly damp hand.
Lexi sat down in one of the two upholstered chairs that faced the desk. Beside her, Eva put her purse on the floor and sat down in the other chair. “Thank you for agreeing to see us,” her aunt said.
Mr. Jacobs steepled his pale fingers and studied Lexi. “You’re in a bad spot, Miss Baill. Your accident has sparked a firestorm around here. The regional MADD organization is fired up. They want an example made of you.”
“What does that mean?” Lexi asked.
“They think that if you go to prison, kids will get the message. And a lot of people want to see this message go out to kids.”
“Prison? Prison?” Lexi said, feeling the floor drop out from under her.
“But she’s a kid,” Eva said.
“Actually, she’s eighteen. That makes her an adult, and she was legally intoxicated at the time of the accident. Of course, at her age, point zero is the legal limit.”
“They send girls to prison for an accident like this?” Eva asked.
“When alcohol is involved, they can. They can also go for probation and community service. There are a lot of potential outcomes here, and a lot of choices along the way. That’s what I’m for: to help guide and defend Lexi.”