Acts of Love (37 page)

“How long had you been married?”

“Sixteen years.”

“And at the time of her death, you were separated?”

“Yes.”

“Mr. Waring, I'd like to get some sense of the relationship you had with your wife. Can you please tell us how you met?”

“We met in high school.”

“You got married very young, didn't you?”

“Yes. She was twenty, I was twenty-one.”

“Can you describe your early relationship for us?”

“It was the only thing that ever made any sense.” He stared past Fisk to the rows of featureless heads that filled the room, then down at his tented fingers, his lids flickering slightly. Two women of the jury could be heard clucking their tongues. “I don't mean that in a superficial way,” he continued softly. “I mean it quite literally. Nothing had ever made the slightest bit of sense to me before Ann, and I think she felt the same about me. I know she did. Maybe that's what they mean when they talk about finding your missing half. All the other stuff, the ups and downs, the stupid, petty stuff, even the arguments, none of that matters, really. Anyway, that's what it was like when we met. That's what it was always like. We couldn't wait to get married. Of course, we were young, but”—he smiled, despite Fisk's admonitions that he not, for Fisk saw Ted's smiles as dangerously close to smirks—“neither of us were the type to go to parties or proms, you know?” Ted saw Fisk's disapproval and straightened his mouth and his eyes. “We just…” His voice trailed off. “Nothing has made much sense since,” he whispered.

The courtroom was completely silent. Even Judge Carruthers found herself leaning forward, waiting. One of the old men in the back loudly cleared his phlegmy throat.

“I'm sure those early years were quite difficult. Not many couples who marry at such a young age make it. And yet you managed to stay together?”

“Yes.”

“Did you and your wife argue at times?”

“Of course. It's impossible for two people to live together and not argue, isn't it? I never trust a couple who say they don't have any disagreements. They're either lying or they're brain-dead.”

“Yes.” Fisk brushed this aside. “In all of the years that you were married, I'm sure that the two of you weathered some hard times together?”

“We did.”

“Did you ever strike your wife, Mr. Waring?”

“Never.”

“Even when you disagreed with her?”

“I would never do anything like that.”

“Mr. Waring, at the time of her death, did you still love your wife?”

“Yes. Very much.” There were deep fault lines in his voice. “How can you expect love to disappear just because some piece of paper says that on a certain date it's supposed to?”

“Did you want to reunite with her?”

“Yes. More than anything in the world. And we would have, I'm sure of that.”

“Mr. Waring, four nights before you took your daughters on their camping trip, did you see Mrs. Waring?”

“Yes.”

“Can you tell us the circumstances?”

“We met at Ali's school play.”

“Ali is your younger daughter?”

“Yes.”

“And what happened that evening?”

“You watch this child you created together, you look at each other…” He paused. “We went home together.”

“To the house at 374 Sycamore Street?”

“Yes.”

“What happened then, Mr. Waring?”

“We made love.”

“Did you force yourself on your wife, Mr. Waring?”

“No. Christ, no. There was still this incredible bond between us, that's what you have to understand. It never went away. We still loved each other. It was the most natural thing in the world. The separation had been a dreadful mistake. All we had to do was acknowledge it. And we were ready to do that.”

“Both of you?”

“Yes.”

“Would you say that it was a romantic evening?”

“Yes, it was. In some ways, more romantic than when we were young. We knew more.”

“Was there any fighting?”

“No.”

“Now, when was the next time you saw your wife?”

“When I picked up the girls to take them camping.”

“The afternoon of Friday, October 20?”

“Yes.”

“Can you describe for the court your meeting with your wife at that time?”

“I told her that I wanted to reconcile with her. I told her that I loved her.”

“And what was her response?”

“She promised to think about our getting back together.”

“Do you think she was serious?”

“Ann was always serious.”

“So you parted on good terms?”

“Yes. On very good terms.”

“And then you took your daughters camping. Mr. Waring, how would you describe your relationship with Julia during the past year?”

“Julia was very resentful about the separation. Well, no child likes to see her parents break up, I suppose. Why would they? Children love order. Anyway, she blamed me, though both her mother and I tried to explain that it was no one's fault per se. She's only a child. She was confused. It's understandable. But she had been very angry with me since that time.”

“And how did that anger manifest itself?”

“Sulkiness, withdrawal, sarcasm. Sometimes, she tried to sabotage me.”

“Sabotage you?”

“I found out later that there were times when I'd call the house to talk to Ann and Julia wouldn't tell her that I called.”

“She lied to Ann?”

“Yes. It was something that Ann and I were concerned about. We both found aspects of Julia's behavior distressing. Lying was certainly part of it.”

“I see.” Fisk paused for a moment. He did not look into the jury's eyes, but cocked his head in their direction—we are hearing this together. “Did you try to talk to Julia during your weekend up at Fletcher's Mountain?”

“Yes. I tried to explain to her once again that what had gone on was no one's fault. I wanted her to know how much I loved Ann, and her and Ali. I told her I wanted us all to be a family again, I wanted that desperately. I promised her it would be different this time.”

“Different in what way?”

Ted lowered his head and sighed. “Things had been a little rough for a while between Ann and me. Well, all couples go through stages like that when things are changing. I'm not proud of that, but no one that I know of ever died of growing pains. Anyway, we didn't do a very good job of hiding it from the children. If we were guilty of anything, we were guilty of that.

They probably heard more than they should have. How could they understand it all?”

“Can you answer the question, Mr. Waring?” Judge Carruthers interrupted.

“I told Julia that there would be no more yelling,” Ted said matter-of-factly. “I shouldn't have done that. It was a mistake. I admit that. But that's what I told her.”

“Why was it a mistake, Mr. Waring?” Fisk asked gently.

“Because when, unfortunately, Ann and I did raise our voices, it upset Julia. It upset her greatly. She misunderstood it, and I think she panicked.”

Reardon rose to his feet. “Objection. The witness cannot know what was going through Julia's mind.”

“Sustained.” Judge Carruthers turned to the jury. “You will disregard the last answer.”

Fisk took a breath and began again. “Let's go back to the trip for a moment. You arrived home at approximately four o'clock on Sunday afternoon, correct?”

“Yes.”

“And who was carrying the gun?”

“I was.”

“Why did you carry the gun into the house, Mr. Waring?”

“I was giving it to Julia. We'd had such a good time that weekend that I thought we could do it again before hunting season ended. All four of us.”

“To your knowledge, was the safety bolt locked at the time?”

“Yes. As a matter of fact, that morning I had made a point of teaching the girls how to check the safety bolt.”

“What happened when you got home?”

Ted's granite eyes darkened even further. “Ann and I began to squabble,” he said quietly. “I wish we hadn't, but we did. But it wasn't any worse than other times. It was just what we did. Part of knitting ourselves back together. It was just our way. But I guess after all the talk about how much things had changed, the raised voices confused Julia.”

“And what did she do?”

“She yelled ‘Stop! Don't!'”

“Why do you think she yelled that?”

“Because she wanted the arguing to stop.”

“Is it possible that she yelled ‘Stop! Don't!' because you had raised the gun?”

“No. Absolutely not. Never. She hated it when we argued. She can be very strict, you know.”

“When Julia yelled, ‘Stop! Don't!' how far away from you was she standing?”

“About a foot. Two at the very most.”

“And then what happened?”

“All of a sudden, she leapt at me. Maybe I should have seen it coming, but I didn't. She just lunged from out of nowhere and landed on my right arm.”

“The arm that was holding the gun?”

“Yes.”

“Can you tell us what happened next?”

Ted ran his hands through his hair. His features seemed to implode, falling to the center of his face, and he paused to rearrange them. “The gun went off,” he said softly. “Julia landed on me in an instant, right on my forearm, with all of her weight, and the next thing I knew, the gun had gone off. When I looked up”—he stopped, licked his lips, swallowed—“when I looked up, Ann was slumped against the steps, and her head…” He shut his eyes, unable to continue.

“You are certain that the gun went off only after Julia landed on you?”

“Yes.”

“Mr. Waring, did you at any time raise the gun and aim it at your wife's head?”

“No. I loved her. I loved her more than anything in the world.”

“Did you purposely pull the trigger?”

“Never. The gun went off when Julia landed on it. The force of her weight on my arm must have somehow loosened the safety bolt.”

“When the police arrived, what did you tell Julia to do?”

“I told her to tell them the truth. Just tell them the truth.”

“And did she?”

“No,” he answered softly.

“It is your contention that Julia lied to the police?”

“Yes. I wish I knew why. God, I wish I knew. All I can think is that she was scared to admit what really happened.”

Reardon rose. “Objection. This is conjecture.”

“Sustained.”

“I have no further questions,” Fisk said calmly.

Ted took a deep breath, relieved to be done. He wiped his damp palms against his pant legs and glanced up at Judge Carruthers. Like her ex-husband, she thought, most arrogant when he was being most humble. She picked up her gavel.

“This court is adjourned until tomorrow morning.”

 

A
T SIX O'CLOCK
, the house was dark. Julia could hear the murmur of the television set behind the closed door where Ali lay playing with her Etch-A-Sketch and only occasionally looking up at the screen. Sandy was still not back from work. She was home much less frequently now than when they had first moved in, and even when she was in the house, she had become a cipher, drifting down the hallways, through rooms, asking little, saying little. Julia, who had squirmed and sputtered under the earlier scrutiny and eagle-eyed concern, felt both liberated and lost in the silence that had taken its place. She stood before the mirror in Sandy's bathroom, scouring the medicine cabinet. She settled on an ebony eyeliner pencil, and outlined her lids in black. She put the pencil back precisely where she had found it and took up the powdered blush next, then a coral lipstick, and black mascara. She closed the mirrored door and reached for the glass atomizer on top of the toilet, spraying a cool mist of Chanel No. 19 behind her ears, as she remembered her mother used to do on special occasions. She was already wearing the lace bikinis beneath her short skirt. She went back to the bedroom, where Ali was now sitting cross-legged on the floor, drawing with colored pencils.

“I'm going over to Molly Keenan's house,” Julia said, remaining at a distance to keep Ali from noticing her made-up face.

“Who's Molly Keenan?”

“A friend.”

Ali looked at her suspiciously. Julia didn't have many friends.