My father looked at them.
Then he picked up his check, and his briefcase, and walked out without closing the door.
PART 5 — FINAL
On the morning of November 6th, the Bellmont County courthouse smelled like wet wool and floor wax.
Courtroom 2 held about sixty people.
Half of them were my mother’s prayer circle, in good coats, clutching their purses.
My father had told them it was a family matter that needed their support.
I sat at the front table with Janet on one side and Anders on the other, in a gray suit that fit him badly.
The little silver cross hung outside his shirt where everyone could see.
Bruce and Sherry sat in the first row behind us.
Cindy Jernigan, who had traded two shifts to be there, sat beside them in her good blue dress.
At the back, in muddy boots and a clean flannel shirt, sat a quiet man in his fifties whom I had met once, the tenant of my grandmother’s orchard.
