Tiffany and I arrived at the same time, pulling open the door to courtroom eight together, all brown wooden pews and worn carpeting inside.
Manning stood before a judge in an orange jumpsuit, his back to us, a head taller than anyone in the room. The judge, elevated above the rest of us, looked down at Manning and spoke words I barely registered. “ . . . count of attempted robbery in the first degree . . . felony . . . do you understand the nature of the charges?”
The brown-haired, suit-wearing man next to Manning looked over his shoulder at me. Dexter? I mouthed to him, but he just glanced at the ground and turned forward again.
Manning nodded once. “I do.”
The judge shuffled some papers. “Are you entering this plea freely and of your own will?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Do you understand that by pleading guilty, you’re giving up your right to a trial?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
Guilty? I must’ve misheard. My ears rang. Not guilty—that’s what he’d said. I took a few steps farther into the room, my heels sticking on the threadbare carpet. Tiffany grabbed my elbow to pull me back.
“I understand there’s a plea bargain on the table,” the judge continued. “The prosecutor will now state the terms of the agreement to the court.”
A man at the table to Manning’s left stood. “Your honor, we’re offering to reduce the charge from attempted robbery to burglary in the first degree with a low-term sentence of two years.”
The judge looked at Manning. “Do you understand the terms of the plea agreement?”
“I do.”
“Two years?” I asked aloud. A few people looked over at me.
Tiffany tugged on my elbow while the judge asked questions I didn’t understand. “Let’s sit,” she said.
I ripped my arm from her grip and walked toward the divider separating the gallery from the court. Tiffany hurried after me.
“Mr. Sutter, how do you plead to the charge?” the judge asked.
Manning didn’t even hesitate. “Guilty, Your Honor.”
Tiffany and I looked at each other. No. He had no reason to plead guilty. It must’ve been a mistake. It had to be. I went for the gate, but Dexter turned, put his hand up to stop me, and shook his head.
“The court will accept your plea of guilty . . . sentenced to two years for a felony charge . . .”
I gripped the sides of my head, covering my ears. “Manning,” I said. “Please don’t.”
Manning turned as quickly as he could, his hands cuffed in front of him. My vision blurred with tears, but our eyes met, his imploring me.
“What are you doing?” Tiffany asked him. “You’re not guilty.”
“Ma’am,” the judge said. “Please don’t communicate with the inmate.”
“It’s okay,” Manning said immediately, his voice hushed. I didn’t even think he understood what he was saying. He came to the wall. “Everything’s okay. You shouldn’t be here.”
A man in uniform started toward us.
Dexter checked over his shoulder. “Time to go, Manning.”
“Not yet,” I said, but my voice came out as a whisper. I had to undo this. All of this had started because I’d gone over to talk to him on the wall, because I’d forced him to let me in the truck, made him drive me around when we should’ve gone straight back. “I can help—”
“It’s okay, Birdy. I’ve got this,” Manning said calmly, leaning in. “You did good.”
“No I didn’t.” My voice and hands shook. We were so close. I wanted to feel his stubble on my cheek, to have him whisper in my ear that this wasn’t happening. He couldn’t even touch me with his hands shackled. “This is my f—”
“I did this to myself,” he said. “It was the only way. You have to trust me.”
“But you’re innocent.”
“Be good, Birdy.” He looked at Tiffany. “Thank you for—”
“Defense,” the judge said. “That’s enough. Communicating with the inmate is grounds for arrest.”
“Come on, Manning,” Dexter said.
The man dressed like a security guard grabbed Manning’s arm. “Let’s go, inmate,” he said, leading him away.
Tiffany’s chin wobbled. “Can I come see you?”
“Your sister needs you,” he told Tiffany over his shoulder.
Her contorted expression eased, smoothing out. I looked from her to Manning just as he disappeared into the back.
Dexter stayed with us. “It was the best-case scenario,” he said. “The odds were stacked against him.”
“But he’s innocent,” I said. “I was—”
“I know,” Dexter cut me off sharply. He looked me in the eye. “It doesn’t matter. It’s over. If we do anything more, it can only hurt him.”
My chest tightened. I had to steady myself on the divider. Manning had told me to trust him. Dexter clearly knew about me already. The information I had could make things worse, I understood that—I’d only hoped the opposite was true.
Dexter handed Tiffany a business card and a clear plastic bag with hardly anything in it.
“What is this?” she asked.