Blessed Are the Wholly Broken (20 page)

Court Clerk:  State your name for the record, please.

Phillip Lewinsky:  Phillip Daniel Lewinsky.

Court Clerk:  Spell your last name, please.

Phillip Lewinsky:  L-e-w-i-n-s-k-y.

The Court:  Your witness, Mr. Stone.

Defense Attorney:  Good morning, Mr. Lewinsky.

Phillip Lewinsky:  Good morning.

Defense Attorney:  Mr. Lewinsky, when did you first realize your wife, Anna Lewinsky, was pregnant this last time?

Phillip Lewinsky:  I don’t remember the exact date, but it was sometime during the summer of 2011. But that doesn’t matter.

Defense Attorney:  Excuse me?

Phillip Lewinsky:  None of it matters now. It was an accident.

Defense Attorney:  Yes, but we’ll get to that. Let’s go through some of the events leading up to the accident. Now, once—

Phillip Lewinsky:  No, I don’t mean that. I mean Anna hurting the baby. That was an accident.

Defense Attorney:  Mr. Lewinsky, wait and let me ask the questions before you answer.

Phillip Lewinsky:  Brian, I appreciate everything you’ve tried to do. I really do. But I need to let everyone know Anna would never have hurt Peter. She wouldn’t have. I was sleep-deprived, not thinking right. I was confused. I thought I saw something I didn’t, and I reacted in anger, shoving Anna—

Defense Attorney:  Your Honor, I need to request a short recess to speak with my client.

The Court:  Fifteen minutes, Counselor. We have a busy day ahead of us. We’ll reconvene at nine-thirty sharp.

“What the
hell
are you doing?” I’d never seen Brian so angry; I do believe, had the guards not been close by, he would have hit me.

“Finishing this. That’s enough, Brian.” I raised my hands in surrender. “No more. I meant what I said; I appreciate everything you’ve done, not just now, through all this, but always. You’ve been a good friend to me. The best.”

“Phillip, we’ve got this. We’re closing in on the finish line; it’s almost over. You’re
this close
to walking out of here,” he held thumb and index finger a half-inch apart.

“To what?”

“Pardon me?”

“Walking out of here to what? There’s nothing there.”

He threw his hands up in frustration. “Look, it’s been hell; I know that. You and Anna were dealt a shitty blow, a whole bunch of shitty blows. But you’re still young, Phil. You can start over. I know it doesn’t seem like it, but you can. You can meet someone else; hell, you can even have kids! You still have friends; you still have me. We can do this.”

“No, Brian. I don’t want to. The thought of ‘starting over,’ as you say, exhausts me.”

“So…what?  You plan on spending the next forty years of your life locked away in prison?” He gestured wildly about the room. “Or I guess you might get really lucky and they’ll sentence you to death, Phil, because if they win, that’s what they’re going for.”

“No. That’s not my plan.”

“Then
what
?” At Brian’s raised voice, the guards moved towards us, but he waved them off.

“First, we need to change my plea. I can’t continue with this…this
smearing
of Anna. It’s like watching her die all over again every single day.”

Brian took a deep breath. “I’ve told you from the very beginning in order for us to save you, you couldn’t protect Anna.”

“You did,” I agreed. “And while I didn’t like it, I had to do everything within my power to get out, to take care of Peter. But I don’t have Peter now, do I? So we’re smearing Anna’s name for what?  To prove my innocence? It’s not worth it, Brian. Let’s let her rest in peace. Let’s give her mother some peace. There’s nothing for me out there,” I inclined my head to the window and the bright spring sky beyond, “and there’s no longer a reason for me to betray Anna. Let me change my plea.”

Brian’s expression softened. “Phil, it’s not that simple. This is a capital case, remember? And the death penalty is a real possibility. We can’t just waltz in there and change your plea. There are stipulations, regulations. For one thing, the evidence is pointing the other way. For another, I can’t possibly argue that a guilty plea would be in your best interests. Look,” he stepped toward me and put a hand on my shoulder. “I know how awful this has been for you. I can’t even begin to imagine what the loss of Peter must feel like. But things will get better. You have to trust me. I’m going to go to the judge and ask for a continuance—”

“No.”

“Be reasonable, Phil. A mistrial, then. Your little outburst in there surely prejudiced—”

“No. Let’s just be done with it. Let the defense rest and move on.”

“You don’t think Young is going to have a field day with you in there?”

“I don’t care. I’ll tell him the same thing I was telling you. It was an accident. Anna was clumsy; she leaned over to take in the view and lost her grip. I was confused; I panicked. Or I was angry. Take your pick; it doesn’t matter. The end result was that I shoved her.”

Brian shook his head. “I can’t let you go back in there, Phil.”

“Then you’re fired. Send in one of the other attorneys.” I motioned him towards the door.

“You’ve lost your mind.”

“Yes.”

Brian paced, as he always did when agitated. “You can’t do this, Phil. Please. Let me help you. I know you think it’s all over, but it isn’t.”

“But it is. I’m not willing to destroy Anna’s memory. Think about it, Brian. If Peter is lucky enough to recover, he’ll someday learn about the trial. And he’ll discover what? That his mother tried to throw him off a tower? No. I won’t have that. If he were still mine, if I had some influence, I could explain to him how much his mother loved him. But he’s not, and I don’t. He’ll be at the mercy of tabloid reporters who care nothing of his feelings; they care only about selling a story. It will hurt him to know his father killed his mother, but it might destroy him to think his mother tried to kill him. Let me do this, Brian. For Peter.”

I could see him struggling. He was a defense attorney. But more than that, he was my friend. Mine, and Anna’s, too.

“I’ll step back and let you and the rest of the team decide where to go from here,” he finally said. “But don’t fire me, Phil, because if you do, I can’t visit you as freely as I have. At least allow me that.”

“Of course. And Brian,” I paused as he turned to look at me. “There’s one more thing I need from you.”

As I wait, I feel peaceful for the first time in months. There are many things I would change if I could go back in time, but at this point wallowing in my regrets is an exercise in futility. What’s done is done, and I’ve tried to leave it the best I can. In the beginning I saved Peter, and in the end, I saved Anna.

The one I worry about is Brian.

“What was done with the equipment removed from my office?” I asked him the day I sealed my fate with the jury. “Where is it now?”

He looked surprised at my question, coming out of left field as it did. “It’s in evidence, of course. Why do you ask?”

“Do you have access to it?”

“I suppose I do, if needed. Why?” A frown creased his forehead.

“What about the safe?”

His eyes widened. “No,” he said.

“There was a man in Phoenix last year, a banker,” I began, “who was found guilty of burning down his multi-million dollar home.” I stopped as Brian stepped towards me, his fists clenched.

“Don’t even say it, Phil. I mean it. Not another word.”

“He collapsed in court, just after hearing the guilty verdict.” I pressed on, trusting Brian wouldn’t strike me. “He’d taken cyanide.”

“Which was found during autopsy,” said Brian. “This is a crazy thing to even be talking about. I’m leaving. I’ll send the other attorneys in.”

“But it wouldn’t be found during my autopsy.” Brian held up a hand as if to ward off my words, and turned to the door. “It would be assumed I had a heart attack. Look at my history. There would be no reason for a toxicology screen to be ordered. Two-hundred milligrams, even less, is all it would take.”

Brian turned back to face me and I was struck by his appearance. He looked as if he’d aged ten years in as many minutes. All color had drained from his face and when he put up a hand to wipe sweat from his brow, I saw that it shook. “You can’t be serious. Do you realize what you’re asking?”

“I’ve got nothing, Brian. Nothing to live for, nothing to lose. One way or another, I’ll get the job done. It would be better all the way around if it looks natural. You don’t have to help me, but you can’t stop it from happening.”

“I’ll report this to the guards,” said Brian. “They’ll put you on suicide watch.”

“It won’t do any good,” I responded. “They can’t keep me under surveillance forever.”

“Phil,
why
?”

“Everything I cared about is gone. You say I can start over, but why would I even want to? Anna and I had a lot of good times in our years together, but we also had a lot of heartbreak. I don’t want to go through that again with anyone.”

“What makes you think it would be like that? Don’t you think things might be different with someone else?”

“But I don’t want someone else. I want Anna.”

Brian dug his palms into his eye sockets. “I don’t know what to say to you.” He lowered his hands and I was surprised to see tears. In all the years we’d known each other and through all the changes we’d weathered in the twenty-plus years of our friendship, I’d never seen Brian cry.

“You say you’ve lost everyone you cared about,” he said, his voice rough. “I lost them, too. I know it isn’t the same, couldn’t be the same. But you and Anna were the closest I’ve ever come to having a real family.” He stopped, and I watched his throat work as he swallowed. “Has it ever occurred to you,” he said through gritted teeth, “have you ever once thought maybe it wasn’t just Anna I stuck around for?” He slammed through the door and left me staring after him, stunned.

I haven’t seen Brian since that day. He wasn’t with the other attorneys at the table as I underwent cross-examination and court was adjourned. He was absent during closing arguments the following week, and again two days later when the verdict was read. I was found guilty, of course, which is as it should be.

I hear the jingling of keys and stand to be cuffed for my final trip to the courthouse. The cuffs won’t be removed for the courtroom this time, the need to present as innocent until proven guilty no longer a concern.

The trip is quick, the guards quiet, and I sit alone with my thoughts. I miss Peter terribly, even though I only knew him for the briefest of moments. I haven’t heard anything of him in weeks. I understand and accept he isn’t mine; I suppose I always knew it in some still, small place in my heart, but I still love him as if he were. I know that removing myself is the best thing I can do for him.

I miss Anna, too. She feels very close to me this morning, almost close enough to hold her hand across the seat. My hand reflexively closes, forming itself around the shape of hers I still feel in my memory.

I was raised in the church; Anna and I attended regularly on Sunday mornings, and although I’m not completely clear on some of the details, I do believe in some sort of afterlife. I believe, too, that Anna and I will spend it together, whether in heaven, hell, or some other place entirely, a place set aside for people who make terrible mistakes based on the best of intentions.

The hallway seems dim after the brightness of the sunny day, and it takes my eyes a moment to adjust before I see Brian waiting at the door to the courtroom. He looks terrible. He’s lost weight; his suit coat hangs limply from shoulders that are no longer broad, his cheeks are deeply creased, the downturned corners of his mouth nearly lost in the folds.

He grasps my cuffed hands in both of his and leans forward, wishing me luck in a voice loud enough for the guards to hear, then leans close. “Fidelity,” he says softly, and then I feel it, the small hardness he presses into the palm of my hand, and I know that as always, Brian is there for me. My chest feels hot, my throat constricted, and for one brief second I lay my head against his shoulder. “Fealty,” I return. I owe my friend so much.

I will wait until the very last minute, after the verdict is read and before I’m searched for my return to the jail. I’ll wait until Brian is gone; I’ll spare him the sight of it. After all he’s done for me, I can surely do that much for him.