Here on Earth
Page 94
Louise Justice can’t help but think of that windy night, all those years ago, when she saw the bruises on Belinda’s arm.
“Well, you’re not walking,” Louise decides.
“Really, it’s not far,” Gwen insists, but the Judge, who’s come in for dinner, has seen the stubborn expression on Louise’s face. He won’t get dinner for another hour, that much is sure.
“I’ll drive you.” The Judge has made up his mind. This way he can stop at the cemetery, as he does two or three times a week.
They go out to the Judge’s old Saab, with Sister leading the way.
“Give the front tire a wallop,” the Judge tells Gwen.
Gwen looks at him, then grins and kicks the Saab’s tire.
“Helps it to start,” the Judge informs her.
The old sedan wheezes when the Judge gives it some gas, but it jolts into action, and they start for Route 22. Usually, the Judge doesn’t like to come this way, but lately, he can’t bring himself to drive on the old road that leads past Fox Hill. He doesn’t want to see that house empty, and all its windows dark. When they make the turn at the devil’s corner, the car skids a bit.
“Terrible spot,” the Judge says. “Best avoided.”
As soon as they pull into the driveway and the Saab sputters to a stop, Gwen grabs the door handle. She intends to say a quick thanks, and get out. She’s ready to hold her tongue and watch her ways, avoiding Hollis at all costs. But the Judge is already getting out of the car.
“I think I’ll come inside,” he says. “Give my regards to your mother.”
Before Gwen can stop him, the Judge is headed to the front door at a pace a younger man would have trouble keeping up with.
The dogs in the driveway are barking and Sister is growling as Gwen carries the terrier and races after the Judge.
“This probably isn’t a good idea,” she says.
“Oh?” The Judge has stopped to study her.
She can’t tell him that she’s afraid his presence will anger Hollis, and then they’ll all have to pay the price. “You don’t need to bother.”
“It’s no bother,” the Judge says, as he goes up and knocks on the door.
Gwen doesn’t want him inside, the Judge knows that. He has seen this over and over again in court. He cannot count the times he has heard that phrase “Don’t bother” come out of the mouths of victims, especially in domestic disputes. When he first came to the bench he didn’t understand the code people use, the ways a fact can be twisted and still manage to be the truth. He didn’t mean it, I didn’t mean it, We didn’t mean it, and yet, it’s done. After all the years he’s spent in a courtroom, Bill Justice has acquired a lie detector implanted in his brain. And the funny thing is, after seeing how easily people tore each other apart, he could still come home and lie to his wife and persuade himself it was for her own good.
It’s Hollis who opens the door, and he stops short when he sees the Judge. “To what do we owe this pleasure?” His tone is reasonably agreeable, not that that’s the way he feels. “You’re not selling Girl Scout cookies, I’ll bet.”
“I thought I’d bring Gwen home,” the Judge says.
Gwen slips into the house, trying her best to be invisible. Hollis lets her by, but he doesn’t open the door to invite the Judge in. If it were anyone else but Bill Justice at the door, he’d probably just slam it shut. Because it is the Judge, Hollis smiles gamely.
“Teenagers,” Hollis says, assessing the Judge’s face to see if Gwen has told him about their run-in and coming up with very little. The Judge, after all, is a poker player, a good game to know for someone in his line of work.
“I thought I could say hello to March,” the Judge says.
“I think she’s asleep,” Hollis has the nerve to say, even though it’s not quite seven.
This lie might have passed had March not heard the red dogs barking, then looked out her window and caught sight of the Judge’s car. She’s pulled on a sweater and come downstairs in her bare feet.
“It’s so nice to have you stop by,” she says to the Judge when she gets to the door. They never have company out here, and although March tells herself she doesn’t miss a social life, she’s inordinately pleased to see the Judge. “I’ve been meaning to call Louise. I never did thank her for that wonderful dinner.”
March has her hair pulled back, and the Judge is surprised to see how white it has turned. She’s skinnier than he remembered as well; could it be she’s lost this much weight since Thanksgiving?
“Well, you’re not walking,” Louise decides.
“Really, it’s not far,” Gwen insists, but the Judge, who’s come in for dinner, has seen the stubborn expression on Louise’s face. He won’t get dinner for another hour, that much is sure.
“I’ll drive you.” The Judge has made up his mind. This way he can stop at the cemetery, as he does two or three times a week.
They go out to the Judge’s old Saab, with Sister leading the way.
“Give the front tire a wallop,” the Judge tells Gwen.
Gwen looks at him, then grins and kicks the Saab’s tire.
“Helps it to start,” the Judge informs her.
The old sedan wheezes when the Judge gives it some gas, but it jolts into action, and they start for Route 22. Usually, the Judge doesn’t like to come this way, but lately, he can’t bring himself to drive on the old road that leads past Fox Hill. He doesn’t want to see that house empty, and all its windows dark. When they make the turn at the devil’s corner, the car skids a bit.
“Terrible spot,” the Judge says. “Best avoided.”
As soon as they pull into the driveway and the Saab sputters to a stop, Gwen grabs the door handle. She intends to say a quick thanks, and get out. She’s ready to hold her tongue and watch her ways, avoiding Hollis at all costs. But the Judge is already getting out of the car.
“I think I’ll come inside,” he says. “Give my regards to your mother.”
Before Gwen can stop him, the Judge is headed to the front door at a pace a younger man would have trouble keeping up with.
The dogs in the driveway are barking and Sister is growling as Gwen carries the terrier and races after the Judge.
“This probably isn’t a good idea,” she says.
“Oh?” The Judge has stopped to study her.
She can’t tell him that she’s afraid his presence will anger Hollis, and then they’ll all have to pay the price. “You don’t need to bother.”
“It’s no bother,” the Judge says, as he goes up and knocks on the door.
Gwen doesn’t want him inside, the Judge knows that. He has seen this over and over again in court. He cannot count the times he has heard that phrase “Don’t bother” come out of the mouths of victims, especially in domestic disputes. When he first came to the bench he didn’t understand the code people use, the ways a fact can be twisted and still manage to be the truth. He didn’t mean it, I didn’t mean it, We didn’t mean it, and yet, it’s done. After all the years he’s spent in a courtroom, Bill Justice has acquired a lie detector implanted in his brain. And the funny thing is, after seeing how easily people tore each other apart, he could still come home and lie to his wife and persuade himself it was for her own good.
It’s Hollis who opens the door, and he stops short when he sees the Judge. “To what do we owe this pleasure?” His tone is reasonably agreeable, not that that’s the way he feels. “You’re not selling Girl Scout cookies, I’ll bet.”
“I thought I’d bring Gwen home,” the Judge says.
Gwen slips into the house, trying her best to be invisible. Hollis lets her by, but he doesn’t open the door to invite the Judge in. If it were anyone else but Bill Justice at the door, he’d probably just slam it shut. Because it is the Judge, Hollis smiles gamely.
“Teenagers,” Hollis says, assessing the Judge’s face to see if Gwen has told him about their run-in and coming up with very little. The Judge, after all, is a poker player, a good game to know for someone in his line of work.
“I thought I could say hello to March,” the Judge says.
“I think she’s asleep,” Hollis has the nerve to say, even though it’s not quite seven.
This lie might have passed had March not heard the red dogs barking, then looked out her window and caught sight of the Judge’s car. She’s pulled on a sweater and come downstairs in her bare feet.
“It’s so nice to have you stop by,” she says to the Judge when she gets to the door. They never have company out here, and although March tells herself she doesn’t miss a social life, she’s inordinately pleased to see the Judge. “I’ve been meaning to call Louise. I never did thank her for that wonderful dinner.”
March has her hair pulled back, and the Judge is surprised to see how white it has turned. She’s skinnier than he remembered as well; could it be she’s lost this much weight since Thanksgiving?
