July 20, Monday
THE JURY pool had dropped to about seventy-five, and the room had the compressed, purposeful quality of something approaching a conclusion.
I was knitting a new pair of knockers in a lovely shade of creamed coffee.
The attorneys were still conferring, still producing documents, still doing whatever billable thing they'd been doing for two weeks, but the energy had tightened. Both tables seemed to know we were near the end of the list, and the end of the list had consequences.
When my number was called, I made my way to the witness stand and settled into the seat.
The judge looked at me over his glasses in the way I'd come to recognize as his version of a friendly hello.
"Juror 247, you indicated you have two teenage children living in your home. Who would provide care for them during a six-month trial?"
"Their father has joint custody, so he'd take on more of that responsibility. My sister lives in Atlanta and would step in if needed." I paused, then decided the oath required honesty in both directions. "My kids are sixteen and fourteen. They're not helpless, they just behave as if they are."
A low laugh passed over the gallery.
"Would your absence create a hardship for your family?"
I thought about the texts I'd already received that morning.
mom where are you?
i can't find my good jeans
tucker has the poops
i need cash
Mom?
MOM
Jesus, Isabel, will you answer the kids? I'm working here.
"No," I said. "I don't believe my absence would create a hardship for my family."
"Have you discussed the possibility of serving with your children?"
"Yes—in a general sense. I tried to help them understand why jury service matters. Why it's part of how the system functions, and why it falls to ordinary people rather than professionals." I kept a straight face. "They weren't fully persuaded. But they listened."
The judge nodded. "Your questionnaire indicated your divorce was finalized recently. Would that circumstance affect your ability to focus on the evidence before you?"
There it was. The question I'd known was coming and had quietly rehearsed.
"I'm still adjusting," I said. "I won't pretend otherwise.
But I've been managing a household, two teenagers, a job search, and the general reconstruction of my life for the past year, and I've managed to keep all of those things in separate compartments without them spilling into each other. " I considered this.
The judge made a note.
I exhaled, looked up from my hands—
And met the deputy's eyes directly.
He was at his post. Of course he was at his post. He'd heard all of it: my divorce, my teenagers, my unemployment. His expression gave me nothing. He was very good at his job.
I was sent back to my seat and I resumed knitting. At the end of the session the judge dismissed eight more jurors.
But I was still standing.