August 8, Saturday
I WALKED into the monitored call room and sat down in front of the community laptop. To my chagrin, the marshal stationed near the door was Deputy Wells. I felt awkward talking to Warren within the man's earshot.
Which was absurd.
Warren's face filled the frame before I'd even settled into the chair, already mid-exhale, the universal prelude to a complaint.
"You can't be sitting in a courtroom on a Saturday."
"No," I agreed.
"So what do you do?"
"Read. Knit. Do laundry." That last bit was a lie—our laundry was done for us. But I had to give him something.
"You could be home, helping with the kids. Instead I'm the one scrambling."
I glanced, briefly, toward the door. Wells hadn't so much as shifted his weight, but I wondered what he might make of Warren's voice through a laptop speaker.
"Warren, we have limited time. Let's go over the kids' schedule. Do you have any questions about pickups or appointments?"
"The kids are a wreck. Lily cried the other night. Josh barely talks at all. Meanwhile, my whole week is upside down because apparently I'm running the household solo."
"I ran our household practically solo," I said quietly.
"While I was out making a living!" he shouted.
At the raised voice, Marshal Wells turned his head.
"Warren, this is getting us nowhere. What can I do to help from here?"
"Nothing," he said evenly. "Because you decided jury duty was more important than your own family." His voice climbed half a register, the particular pitch he reached when he'd convinced himself of his own martyrdom. "You're being incredibly selfish."
I let the accusation sit for a beat, then pushed it down, the way you tuck a stray thread back into a sweater before anyone notices. "Our time's almost up," I said, keeping my voice level. "I trust you'll manage. If there's a scheduling emergency, call Elaine—she said she's available."
Warren's mouth twisted. "Your sister can't stand me. You know that."
"Take care, Warren. Give the kids my love."
I ended the call before he could get another word in.
I stood, but my skin was stinging from his accusations.
I confess that some small part of me had hoped that my absence would force Warren to recognize my contribution to our family, the things I'd sacrificed for the greater good.
I'd even fantasized that he'd come back on his knees and beg me to forgive him and give us another chance.
But I realized, sadly, that I'd underestimated his contempt for me, and instead of illuminating my sacred role, my absence had only made him hate me more.