Finding My Way Home

Chapter 11

Ethan

My day starts with a visit to the municipal courthouse. Michael Dougherty has a bail hearing scheduled for ten in the morning. My cousin Brian is waiting for me in the lobby of the building. He doesn't look happy. "What's wrong?" I ask him. I already have a fucking headache.

"I want to prepare you in the event the judge grants bail. It is highly unusual for a judge to deny bail. I will recommend electronic monitoring. The fucker's attorney cornered me a few minutes ago. Dougherty is sorry. He was getting off a night shift, had a few beers. He was tired and fell asleep at the wheel. The accident wasn't malicious. You know the drill."

"I trust you, Brian. Do what you need to do. If I must testify for my wife, I will. I don't want this fucker to get off easy. I want him to pay for what he did to my wife."

"The facts of the accident are on record. Let's go. I need to be in the courtroom in ten minutes. Stay quiet, and only speak if the judge asks you a question. This is not a formal hearing. Do not look at the defendant. No outbursts, Ethan."

I nod in agreement. Brian knows my temper. I keep it under control, but when someone hurts my family, it's hard to keep quiet. When we enter the courtroom, 'the fucker,' which is my new name for him, sits at the defendant's table. If I didn't know his age, I would swear he was seventeen years old. I take my seat next to Brian and watch the proceedings.

Fifteen minutes later, the fucker leaves the courtroom. The judge set bail at twenty-five thousand dollars, remanded him to house arrest with an ankle monitor, and revoked his driver's license. We are due back in court in one week for jury selection. I feel better once I step out into the fresh air. "Thanks, Brian. I owe you big time. Do I need to be present for the jury selection?"

"Yes. It will be in Diane's best interest if you are involved in the jury selection and questioning."

"Send me a text message with the date as soon as possible. I'll block off the time."

"How is Diane?"

"Not good. I have a meeting with a few therapists later this afternoon to discuss therapy options."

"Good luck. Keep me posted. Is it okay if I visit Diane?"

"Not right now, Brian. She is confused and does not want visitors."

"Oh, wow, I am sorry to hear that. Let me know when Carol, and I can visit her."

"I will. Thanks."

*****

Before I visit Diane, I have an appointment with her primary therapist. We have agreed to a full assessment of all cognitive responses. It is the only way to figure out the extent of my wife's limitations. How do I explain this to her? I must believe that somewhere deep within her, she understands me. It is close to dinner when I finally go to see her. I don't know what they put in front of her, but it is not food. I cringe in sympathy as I watch her stare at the tray. She looks up when she sees me standing in the doorway. She looks down again at her tray. Her mouth opens, her brow creases. She is trying so hard to speak, and then she starts to cry.

I am by her side a few seconds later. Her tears shatter me. It doesn't matter at this moment that she has no memory of our life together. Diane needs the comfort of a warm embrace. I wrap my arms around her trembling body, and she sinks into me. I don't know how long I hold her in my arms, but the close contact soothes both of us. Eventually, she calms down and takes a few deep breaths. I run my thumbs along her flushed cheeks to wipe away the tears. Her eyes never leave mine. There is a connection. It may be broken, but it's still there. We both feel it.

"I bet you feel better after a good cry, don't you?"

Diane nods her head. She looks down at her food and pushes the tray away from her. I take a few seconds to look at her dinner. They pureed her food. It is disgusting, but she needs the nutrition.