I said I guess he wasn’t going to get out of prison and Mom just nodded and so I asked her if she’d known that all along. She said it was the kind of thing you could never really know but that she was proud of me for trying so hard.
So how come I feel so crappy, I asked, if I did the right thing?
Mom put her arm around me and said life was like that sometimes.
We stood there for a long time and just stared at Renegade, who never even moved toward his hay.
Why doesn’t he move? I finally asked. Why is he so crazy?
He’s spent a long time waiting for Dallas to come home.
It was totally bizarre, but when she said that, it was like I already knew it, and when I looked at the horse’s face, I saw something like sadness in his eyes.
That’s why he’s so banged up, Mom said quietly. It takes a toll on you, waiting.
I said I wish I knew how to stop.
Mom said me, too, little man. Me, too.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Winona was a wreck. For the past twenty-four hours she’d been working nonstop: rereading the transcripts, rehearsing her oral arguments, getting ready for what could well turn out to be the single most important day in her life.
Even a month ago, she would have been certain about the outcome of today’s proceedings. Then, she’d had the kind of confidence that came from a belief that the world worked in a predictable way, that endings could be foreseen based on an understanding of the events that came before.
Now she knew better. The prosecution’s dogged determination to preserve the conviction had proven Vivi Ann’s point. They had even thrown in a ridiculous argument about the requisite finality of verdicts—as if reliability were somehow more important than fairness. There might be an animal called absolute truth, but it couldn’t be caged and certainly didn’t roam the halls of justice. In her research for Dallas’s case, she’d read about more than one hundred men who’d been freed from prison in the past five years based on DNA testimony . . . and even more who hadn’t. Those unfortunate souls were all too often in Dallas’s position: DNA evidence neither tied them irrefutably to the crime nor wholly exonerated them. It amazed—and shamed—Winona how inflexible district attorneys and police could be once they decided on a defendant’s guilt. Often no amount of evidence could dissuade them, and so they kept fighting, making specious, ridiculous arguments that kept innocent people in prison for decades.
“Breathe,” Aurora commanded beside her.
“I’m going to faint.”
“No, you’re not. Now breathe,” Aurora said again, more gently this time, as she guided her to the long, low table on the left side of the courtroom. “Good luck,” she whispered, and she was gone.
Winona sat down, looking through glazed eyes at the yellow legal pads, boxes of files, and stacks of pens in front of her. An open laptop stared bleakly back at her. She could hear the courtroom filling up. She wanted to turn and look, but knew it would only heighten her anxiety. Too many of her friends and neighbors would be there; they’d come to be calmed, to be told that the system had worked.
Then she heard a door open and the rattle of chains. The courtroom went quiet.
Winona finally stood and turned.
A pair of uniformed guards were leading Dallas toward her. He was dressed in the new blue suit she’d purchased for him, with his hair drawn back into a loose ponytail. Even in chains, with his steps shortened and his wrists manacled together, he managed to look defiant. It was those pale gray eyes that did it. She saw the way he searched the faces in the crowd until he saw Vivi Ann; only then did his angry defiance soften.
Vivi Ann stood perfectly erect, her shoulders drawn back, but when she saw Dallas, everything about her melted. It looked as if only Aurora and Noah, who held her tightly between them, kept her from sinking slowly to her knees.
Dallas shuffled up to Winona, shackles clanking, and sat in the chair beside her. “She looks . . .” His voice trailed away. “And Noah . . . my God . . .”
“Do you want me to bring them here to talk to you? I’m sure—”
“No.” It was barely spoken. “Not like this.”
Winona touched his hand, and he flinched, reminding her how long it must have been since someone last touched him in an attempt to comfort.
The judge strode into the courtroom, taking his seat at the bench. “Be seated,” he said, putting on his glasses and glancing down at the papers. “We are here for oral arguments on the defendant’s motion to vacate the judgment and sentence and to dismiss the case.”
Sara Hamm stood. “Sara Hamm for the state, Your Honor. That is correct.”
“I’ll hear from the defense,” the judge said.
Winona released her hold on Dallas and stood up. “Winona Grey for the defendant, Dallas Raintree. As you can see from the pleadings, our motion is based on new evidence, specifically the testing of DNA found at the scene of the crime. At trial . . .”