Accused

FIFTY-ONE

Scott knew now that it could never be the same. She could not be his wife or Boo's mother. He had wanted her back every day since she had left two years before. Every day he had woken wanting her. Every day he had run to forget her. Every day he had gone to bed missing her. Now he didn't want her back.

He didn't want her sleeping in a prison cot, but he didn't want her sleeping in his bed.

She had cheated on him, she had lied to him, she had used cocaine while living with him that summer. And with their daughter. Had she killed Trey Rawlins, too? Had she lied about everything? All the reasonable doubt they had created in the jurors' minds had been washed away like the West End homes during Ike with those three words: "I traded sex." With those three words, Rebecca had sentenced herself to prison-unless Scott could explain to the jury why her prints were on the murder weapon and aligned as if holding the knife to stab something. Or someone.

"A. Scott?"

"Yes, honey?"

"You lied to me about that, didn't you?"

"About what?"

"Mother using drugs."

"You've been watching the trial on cable."

"I had to."

"Yes. I lied to you."

"Why?"

"Because I didn't think you needed to know that about your mother."

"I wish I didn't. There's a lot I wish I didn't know about Mother."

"Me, too."

"I've decided."

"What?"

"About mother and us."

"What have you decided?"

"I don't want her to come back to us."

The sun doesn't set in July in Texas until after nine. They had eaten dinner in town. Boo wanted to talk, so Scott took her for a walk along the seawall while the others went back to the house. Except Louis. He came with them.

"I'll always love Mother, but I don't think she's right for us anymore. I like our family the way it is now."

Scott put his arm around her little shoulder and pulled her close. They walked on a while then she said, "Mother's testimony today-that wasn't good, was it?"

"No. It wasn't good."

"Do you think the jury will send her to prison?"

"Yes, I think they will."

"Do they have air-conditioning in prison?"

"No."

"But it's hot in Texas."

"Yes, it is."

"She'll sweat a lot."

"Yes, she will."

"I don't want that."

"Me neither."

"I'll worry about her."

"Boo, you're only eleven. You've got to stop worrying about everyone else-your mother, my health…"

"A. Scott, I'll always worry about you."

He pulled her closer. The peacefulness of the seawall seemed so incongruous with the turmoil inside Scott's mind. His client-his ex-wife-the mother of his child-would be sentenced to life in prison.

"I've decided something else, too," Boo said.

"What's that?"

"I don't want cable."

They walked on past joggers and bikers and skateboarders and, across the boulevard, the San Luis Resort Hotel that sat atop two concrete coastal artillery bunkers built during World War Two and armed with 12-inch guns to blow any German U-boats attempting to land on Galveston Beach out of the water. Scott felt as if the defense had been blown out of the water that day-by the defendant. They walked until they came to a fruit stand where an old Latino man was selling fresh watermelons, cantaloupes, apples, and oranges. He had a friendly face. "I have cold melons, on ice," the old man said. "They are very fresh, just up from the valley."

Texas' Rio Grande Valley produced the state's vegetables and melons. They stopped, and Scott pointed at a big watermelon.

"Three big slices."

The old man leaned down behind his makeshift counter and lifted a huge green watermelon. He placed it on the white wax paper that covered the counter. He turned then came back with a large knife. He gripped the knife with the blade pointing downward, raised it about two feet above the belly of the melon, then stabbed the defenseless watermelon in its gut all the way to the hilt of the knife. He then dragged the knife down lengthwise, slicing the melon. He removed the knife, flipped the melon around, and repeated the procedure down the other side. The melon fell open into equal halves, exposing the red pulp… just like the watermelon they had seen in the refrigerator at Rebecca's house on their tour of the crime scene.