July 28, Tuesday
WHEN MY juror number was called to come forward for more questioning, both attorneys seemed ready to pounce. I settled nervously into the witness stand and waited for the judge to nod and say, "Proceed."
The U.S. Attorney went first. Lead attorney Lorna McDavid approached with the focused energy of someone who had prepared for this conversation the way athletes prepare for competition.
"Have you ever felt judged unfairly by someone who didn't know the whole story?"
A short inventory of the past eighteen months offered approximately forty examples. I decided to be brutally honest.
"Yes. When my marriage ended, people formed opinions very quickly. Some of those opinions were about what kind of wife I must have been, based on the outcome, without any particular knowledge of the marriage itself." I met her eyes. "An outcome is not an explanation."
She made a note. "Do you believe a person's reputation is always accurate?"
"No. I think a reputation is a story other people tell. I try to watch what someone actually does rather than rely on what I've heard. Those two things don't always line up."
She nodded slowly. "Can someone make serious mistakes and still be a good person?"
I considered this longer than the others.
"Yes. Provided they actually reckon with what they've done." A pause. "Serious mistakes without accountability are just—a pattern. That's different."
The lead defense attorney, Bryan Stone, rose before she'd fully returned to her seat. He took up a lot of room with animated hand gestures.
"Have you ever had to hold someone accountable for something they did?"
"I'm a mother," I said. "It's about sixty percent of the job description. But I can't say I've always been successful."
He waited for more.
"I've also held myself accountable. That's harder, in my experience, and takes longer. But it matters more."
He tilted his head, recalibrating something. I'd noticed he did that when an answer didn't land where he'd expected it.
"When two people tell conflicting stories, how do you figure out who's telling the truth?"
"I watch for consistency—not in the facts they present, but in the small details.
People who are telling the truth tend to have the texture right.
The things they don't think to embellish.
People who are constructing a story tend to be very good at the headline and shakier around the edges.
" I thought for a moment. "I also pay attention to what they choose not to say. Omission is information."
Both attorneys wrote something at roughly the same moment, which I found interesting.
"Final question," Stone said. "Do you believe actions matter more than intentions?"
This one I sat with. The room was quiet enough that I could hear the air conditioning.
"I think intentions matter enormously," I said.
"They tell you who someone is trying to be.
But actions are what everyone else has to live with.
So in terms of consequences and accountability—yes.
What you actually do carries more weight than what you meant to do.
" A beat. "I say this as someone who has spent countless hours explaining to children that good intentions don't make a mess clean up itself. "
Stone looked at me for a long moment after I finished. Then he nodded, as if something had been confirmed.
The U.S. Attorney caught my eye briefly as I stood. Her expression hadn't cracked into warmth exactly, but it had shifted.
I walked back to my seat, picked up my knitting, and tried to determine what any of that meant.
The professor leaned over from two seats away.
"Good answers," he said quietly.
"Thank you," I said, realizing what I'd enjoyed most about the questioning was the courtesy of being allowed to finish a complete thought. I'd been speaking in phrases and incomplete sentences for most of my adult life.