Page 31 of The River Is Waiting

Dixon must sense how much this has triggered me, because she reaches over and covers my fist with her hand. “Calm down,” she whispers. “Leave it to me when it’s my turn.” So instead of shouting out in protest, I take a few deep breaths and focus instead on Dixon’s pen, the veins in my hand, the wedding ring on my finger.

“Her twin brother’s death has no doubt left little Maisie with a profound sense of loss that she can neither understand nor articulate. And what about her future when she can better understand who her father took away from her? Niko was her soulmate and companion from their time together in utero until April the twenty-seventh of this year when he abruptly went missing from her life.”

Here, she pivots away from the judge and faces me. I look away from her. Shift in my seat. She takes several steps toward me until she’s standing just a few feet away. My heart is thumping. I sense she’s about to go in for the kill.

“At the defendant’s arraignment several weeks ago, I admitted I have no expertise in child psychology. Since then, however, I have familiarized myself with several studies about how the death of a co-twin puts the surviving twin at greater risk for future psychiatric problems. The damage is particularly acute if the loss occurs during the child’s preverbal stage. The trauma Maisie no doubt has been suffering since the abrupt disappearance of her soulmate is likely to have serious repercussions into her adolescence and adulthood. As one article stated, ‘The mind will likely forget the traumatic event, but the body will remember.’ The bottom line, Your Honor,” she says, “is that we must not deny the defendant’s victim, little Niko Ledbetter, or his sister, the justice they deserve.”

Dixon stands and objects. “Your Honor, may I remind you that Attorney Reitland has no credentials as a child psychiatrist or a PhD inbehavioral science. Nor has she solicited any such expert to affirm her suppositions. This is pure speculation, based on articles I suspect she’s read in mainstream periodicals likePsychology Todayor articles on the internet. And even if these were valid sources, which I suspect they’re not, the points being made are not germane to the specifics of this case.”

Judge Palazzolo sustains the objection.

I lose it then. Cover my face with my hands and sob. Because I’ve been scared about the impact of Niko’s death on Maisie. I, too, have searched the internet and found some of the same studies she’s talking about now. Other than confiding to Dr. Patel about my fears concerning Maisie’s future, I’ve kept what I found to myself, so I’m unprepared when Reitland so publicly exposes those bleak findings about surviving twins. I keep struggling to compose myself, but the shame of having probably doomedbothof my kids in different ways keeps me in its grip. I think I have a handle on it, then start up again. This lasts for a couple of minutes.

“Miss Dixon, does your client need a fifteen-minute recess?” the judge asks. Before Rachel can answer, I shake my head vehemently. Say I’m all right, that I want to keep going if I can just have another minute. One of the sheriffs places a box of tissues in front of me. I wipe my eyes, blow my nose, and get control of myself again.

“Ready to resume, Mr. Ledbetter?” the judge asks.

“Yes, Your Honor. Thank you. Sorry for the interruption.”

“Not at all,” she says. “Attorney Dixon?”

Rachel has washed the pink out of her hair and dressed professionally in a gray pantsuit. There’s not a whole lot she can do for me, given my admission to Detective Sparks and my decision to plead guilty, forgoing the lie that could have rendered those tox-screen results inadmissible. Addressing the judge, she paints a sympathetic picture of the extenuating circumstances and mitigating factors that argue for leniency. She portrays me as a talented commercial artist who was an asset to the company that employed me, as was expressed in the letter of support from my former manager, Rhonda Tolliver. She also references letters of support from mysupervisor at the warehouse where I’ve been working, my AA sponsor, Dale, and Dr. Patel.

“I trust you have read these letters, Your Honor, but if I may, I would like to read aloud a few lines from Dr. Patel’s letter,” Dixon says. Judge Palazzolo nods.

“Initially, the patient came to me with his spouse for bereavement counseling. Mrs. Ledbetter elected not to continue counseling, but Mr. Ledbetter has attended eight more sessions. In that time, I have found him to be remorseful about the cause of his son’s death and serious about rehabilitating himself. In the time I have been treating him, Mr. Ledbetter has made very good progress. If he is sentenced to prison, I am concerned that his progress may be arrested or, worse, that he may regress.”

Whatever the judge’s reaction is, I see her grab a pen and make a note.

Dixon then emphasizes my virtues as a stay-at-home dad and the twins’ primary caretaker: our visits to the park, story hour at the library, our participation in the YMCA’s toddlers’ swimming class, my disinclination to use the TV as a babysitter. She says my “brutal honesty” in having confessed to Detective Sparks about my impairment on the morning in question is evidence of my underlying good character and asks that the judge take this into consideration before she renders her decision. She also points out that, for the past twelve weeks, I have been attending AA and NA meetings faithfully, as indicated by the signatures of the various chairpersons of those meetings, and that I trained and have been working successfully as a “picker-packer” at the Amazon warehouse in Waterford for the past nine weeks. I have no doubt that Dixon is the crackerjack defense attorney her father described to my father, but she’s pretty much been hamstrung by the confession of the guy she was hired to defend.

Attorney Dixon asks Judge Palazzolo to disregard Reitland’s predictions about Niko’s lifespan and Maisie’s future emotional state, as these are purely speculative and should have no bearing on the judge’s decision “unless Attorney Reitland has access to a crystal ball and canknowthe future rather than merely making predictions.

“Finally,” Attorney Dixon says, “there can be no greater punishment for Corbin Ledbetter to endure than getting out of bed each and every day for the rest of his life having to face the fact that he is responsible for his son’s death and the heartbreaking loss he has inflicted on his loved ones. I think it’s impossible for us to imagine the degree of guilt, shame, and remorse that is, and will be, this man’s daily burden. Your Honor, don’t you think that’s prison enough?”

Dixon instructed me to look at Judge Palazzolo when she said that and, if I had any tears left, to shed them then. Unable to do either, I bow my head and stare at the floor.

Reitland could have asked for the maximum of ten years in prison; instead, she has asked for six. Attorney Dixon has requested a suspension of my entire sentence, three years of probation, and community service. Judge Palazzolo says she needs a few minutes of silent deliberation before rendering her decision. “All rise!” the bailiff calls as she stands and heads, slump-shouldered, back to her chambers.

While we wait, Dixon speaks some hollow words of encouragement. I thank her, try to smile, and ask her what happened to her pink hair. “Gone with the wind,” she says. “My wife hated it.” After that, we two wait in silence.

“All rise!”

Judge Palazzolo speaks more to the gallery than to me. “In some cases, sentencing someone for a crime that’s been committed is not a difficult decision to make. Cut-and-dried, you might say; just follow the guidelines. But cases like this one are more complex, more difficult. They’re the ones that can keep you up at night, before and after you’ve rendered your decision.”

She turns then to me. “Mr. Ledbetter, I sympathize with you and your family; you have all had to endure an unfathomable loss. Nevertheless, I cannot unhear Attorney Reitland’s argument that, in order for your little boy to have the justice to which he is entitled, the state must hold you accountable for the tragedy that resulted from your having broken thelaw. That said, I amnotgranting the prosecutor her request that you serve six years in prison. My decision is that you are to be incarcerated for a period of five years, suspended after three, and another three years. I will not mandate your attendance at twelve-step meetings during your incarceration because I believe recovery from addiction must be self-motivated, not ordered by the state. That said, I sincerely hope that this is something you will want to continue to work on for yourself and your family. Good luck, Mr. Ledbetter. I wish you well.”

And with that, she gavels my case to a close and exits the courtroom.

Two court sheriffs approach with cuffs and shackles. I look over my shoulder at Emily, hoping to make eye contact, but she is already heading for the exit with her mother. From there I look over at my parents, still seated. Mom is glum but stoic. Dad’s in tears. Who would have thought?

And there behind them is Dr. Patel, who has come after all. Her hands are clasped in front of her, and when she sees that I’ve spotted her, she offers me the gift of a compassionate smile.

Outside, I squint in the bright summer sunshine. I’m boosted up and into the back of a transport van. A few minutes later, I’m on my way to Yates Correctional Institution, where I will spend the next thirty-six months of my life.

PART TWO:Day by Day by Day by Day by Day

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

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