“Silence,” Compton ordered.
Bible winked at Andrea. “I wish my wife was here to tell my boss to stop breaking my balls.”
“Well your wife sure as fuck ain’t gonna kiss ’em and make ’em better.” Compton took a deep breath, transitioning back into her boss role, telling Andrea, “The judge asked to speak with you. I believe she wants to offer her thanks, but keep it brief. Dr. Vaughn is circling the drain. He won’t last through the night.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Compton gestured up the hallway, but it was easy to spot Franklin Vaughn’s hospital room. Two Marshals flanked the door, their chests so muscled that they looked like hot air balloons. Somehow, they recognized Andrea. One gave her a nod. The other opened the door.
She had expected to hear the whirs and beeps of machinery, but the room was silent. The only light came from the fixture over the bathroom mirror. Someone had left the door ajar to keep out the darkness.
Judge Esther Vaughn was seated in a wooden chair facing her husband’s bed. The large briefcase she had saved from the fire was at her feet. Her attention was squarely on her husband. Franklin Vaughn had no tubes or IVs hooked into his body, not even a cannula for supplemental oxygen. He was clearly receiving palliative care.
Andrea moved the cough drop to her cheek. “Ma’am?”
The judge’s shoulders flinched as if Andrea had shouted the word. But she didn’t turn around. She said, “Sit down, Marshal.”
Andrea hesitated. There was a large, upholstered chair on the other side of the bed that you’d find in almost every hospital room across the country. Andrea had sat in a similar one for untold hours while her mother was recovering from multiple breast cancer surgeries.
She walked around the bed. She didn’t sit down. Nor did she look at Franklin Vaughn. “Chief Compton said you wanted to speak to me, ma’am?”
Esther slowly tilted up her chin. She studied Andrea, taking in her soot-covered skin and dirty scrubs. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, ma’am.” Andrea felt her throat tighten with the need to cough. “I’m sorry Dr. Vaughn isn’t well. Can I get you anything before I leave?”
The judge fell silent. Andrea listened to Franklin Vaughn’s shallow breathing. Without thinking, she started to count his breaths. She was taken back to her mother’s hospital room. For days, Andrea had monitored Laura’s every inhalation, written down every medication and test, jumped up to help every time Laura moved, for fear if she let her guard down her mother would die.
Andrea blinked. She couldn’t tell if the tears in her eyes came from her memories or the fire. “Ma’am, if you don’t need anything else, I’ll—”
“I was thinking about when Judith was delivered,” Esther began. “The birth of a child should be a celebration. Don’t you agree?”
Andrea pressed together her lips. The judge was looking at her husband again. Esther’s hand reached out, but only to hold onto the bed rail.
“The doctors came to us for our decision. Franklin and I had argued so many times over whether or not we would let Emily go once the child was safe,” Esther said. “I wanted to turn off the machines. Franklin said that we could not. The world was watching. Our world was watching. But Emily made the decision for us. She developed a postpartum bacterial infection in her uterus. Puerperal fever, they called it. The infection turned septic. Everything happened very fast.”
Andrea watched Esther’s fingers tighten around the bed rail.
“When Franklin suffered his stroke last year, the doctors came to me for a decision.” Esther’s voice had grown harder. “I had such a vivid memory come back to me. He and I were in the study. He was so angry, so insistent, that we should keep her alive. I asked him what he would want for himself were he in Emily’s place. His face turned completely pale, and he said—‘Promise me, Esther. You must never let me linger.’”
Andrea watched Esther’s hand slowly fall away. The woman’s head bent down as she stared at the floor.
“I broke my promise. I made the doctors take extraordinary measures. I let him linger,” Esther said. “At the time, I told myself—Franklin was still alive, wasn’t he? His heart was still beating. He was still able to draw breath. Only God can take a life.”
Andrea saw the judge’s hands clench in her lap.
“In truth, I wanted him to suffer.” Esther paused, as if the admission had taken too much out of her. “I should have defended Emily when she was alive. From his anger. From his fists. At the time, I told myself that he wasn’t as bad with her. If I could stand it, so could she. Only when she was gone did I realize that I had failed her so profoundly. She was my daughter. I did nothing to protect her.”
Andrea thought about the first letter that had been mailed to the judge—
HOW WOULD YOU LIKE THE WORLD TO KNOW THAT YOUR HUSBAND PHYSICALLY ABUSED YOU AND YOUR DAUGHTER BUT YOU DID NOTHING TO PROTECT HER?
“I told myself that my career emasculated him,” Esther said. “What did a bruise matter? A slap? My ambition was an affront. Franklin was never successful in his own right. At home, he needed to assert himself. My pain was a small price to pay. I had no right to drag Emily into our devil’s bargain. Nor to use her tragedy as a cudgel against my detractors.”
Andrea heard echoes from the second letter—
YOU SACRIFICED YOUR CHILD FOR YOUR CAREER! YOU DESERVE YOUR CANCEROUS DEATH SENTENCE!
“I put my foot down with Judith. I told Franklin that I would leave if he ever harmed her. He acquiesced so easily.” Her forehead wrinkled, as if she still did not understand his capitulation. “Why couldn’t I do that for Emily? Why couldn’t I do that for myself?”