In the quiet of the room, every small sound echoed in Gavin’s ears. The tick-tick-tick of the clock, heels clacking on the marble floors of the courthouse, his brother, Marcus, chewing his fingernails on the opposite side of the wide oak table. Gavin ran his hand lightly across the wood, admiring the grain pattern and stain. I could make this, he thought to himself.

Turning his head to gaze around the room, he admired all the different wood furniture pieces. He could tell they were all real wood, not made with those cheap composite boards. Every piece of wood in this room was an authentic plank, taken from a genuine tree, hand crafted to become something new.

His eyes landed on his brother, who stared at him. Marcus opened his mouth as if to say something, then snapped it shut and shook his head. 

Words whirled in Gavin’s mind – different things he could say to give his brother peace of mind – but none of them felt right. They jammed up in his throat before he could vocalize them.

Marcus jolted in his chair at the sound of the door being thrust open. Gavin’s lawyer, Mary, strutted into the room and dropped her briefcase and a stack of files onto the table. With her hands free, she leaned over and slammed the door shut.

“Well?” Gavin asked.

Mary sighed. “It doesn’t look good for you. The DA is giving you one last chance to accept their plea deal.”

“Fuck their plea deal,” Marcus said. “Gavin’s not going to pay for something he didn’t do.”

“If we go forward with the trial, he’s going to be in prison longer. Do you understand that?”

“If he goes to prison, you’re not doing your job, lady. We’re paying you to keep him out of there.”

“It’s not always up to me. The amount of evidence they have for a crime he didn’t commit is staggering.”

Gavin pulled at the collar of his shirt, trying to loosen the tie around his neck. The skin of his arms itched uncomfortably under the sleeves of the dress shirt he had to borrow from his boss. He hadn’t worn this suit since his mom’s funeral, when he’d spilled red wine all down the front of his white shirt. Wearing this suit again now, in these circumstances, felt wrong; like he was spitting on her memory.

He could hear Marcus and Mary continuing to bicker over his case, but the words wouldn’t register in his mind. He tried to look around the room, to find something to focus on and ground him to the present moment, but it was of no use. None of this felt real.

I’m sorry… I’m so sorry.

Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.

He volunteered to do this. Without a second thought, in that moment, he knew it was the right thing. Wendy’s face flashed through his mind. The fear he saw in her eyes as she sat next to the body, covered in blood. Gavin would be lying if he said he felt bad for the guy. Wendy’s abusive ex-husband deserved what he got.

The bastard. That man was the only thing keeping Gavin and Wendy apart. She always told him she felt horrible, that she wanted to be ready for the connection they had, but she couldn’t do it. She finally managed to get herself and her daughter away from that man, and she wouldn’t let history repeat itself. No more relationships. Her sole focus was on her daughter. 

When he found her, she tried to plead with him. To compromise, to agree to let him spend time with their daughter as long as Wendy was present for the visit. But with a guy like that, it was no use. He went back to old habits, and Wendy had no choice but to defend herself; to defend her daughter; to fight back.

The thought of how fiercely Wendy loved her daughter – how hard she worked to protect her – gave him even more conviction to move forward. 

“I’ll take the deal.”

Neither Marcus nor Mary heard him over their own shouting match. He cleared his throat and said again, louder this time, “I’ll take the deal.”

Again, they didn’t hear him. 

He stood up, the chair scratching as it fell backwards behind him and clattered to the ground. He smacked a hand on the table and said again, “I’ll take the damn deal.”

Marcus and Mary finally stopped and stared at him. After a moment of silence, Mary said, “Good. I’ll go let them know.”

“What? You can’t do that,” Marcus argued.

Gavin shook his head. “It’s not your call to make.”

“Like hell it isn’t. This doesn’t just affect you, you know.”

“Oh, really, Marcus? Are you the one going to prison for eight years?”

“No, I’m just the one cleaning up your mess after you’re gone.”

I can’t let you clean up my mess, Wendy had told him.

I can’t let you go to prison and leave your daughter to grow up alone.

And he meant it.

Gavin ran a hand through his hair, messing up the way Wendy styled it that morning. He reached behind him to pull his chair upright again and sat back down. He let his elbows rest on his knees and dropped his head into his hands. 

Eight years. He’d be going to prison for eight years. He tried to imagine what it would be like to miss an entire eight years of his life, but it just didn’t seem fathomable. Then he imagined Wendy missing eight years of her daughter’s life. Missing every school award, every milestone, every little moment that makes a person’s childhood special.

“I need a definitive answer here,” Mary said. “Gavin, are you taking this deal?”

Gavin couldn’t bring himself to meet Marcus’ eyes. To see the disappointment and resentment stewing there. So he lifted his head to look directly into Mary’s eyes and said, “Yes. I’m taking the deal.”

Mary nodded and gathered her things, heading out the door. Marcus stormed out after her, leaving Gavin alone.

He looked around the room again, admiring all the ornate wooden furniture. The maple bookshelves, the oak table with matching chairs, the mahogany chest underneath the window. 

He stood from the table and turned to get a better view through the window. He took the time to admire the trees, the birds, the flowers blooming in the small garden patches throughout the landscaping.

It’s the right thing to do, he told himself. Images of Wendy flashed through his mind again. Memories of her smiling at him, laughing, pushing her daughter on the swings at the park. Images of her standing over a bloody body. 

Gavin held his head up high and said to himself, “It’s the right thing to do.”

Photo by EKATERINA BOLOVTSOVA from Pexels