Page 14 of Goodbye Days

“Have you spoken personally with the district attorney?” the reporter asks.

“No, ma’am, I have not. I do not believe that would be appropriate or transparent. I would not want to be seen as interfering with the district attorney’s prosecutorial discretion. I trust she will exercise that discretion appropriately to see that justice is done.”

I want, quite frankly, to crap in my pants. My mom covers her mouth with both hands. My dad’s expression is stony. He folds his arms and runs his hand over his face. Georgia stares at the screen as if she wishes she could shoot streams of sulfuric acid from her tear ducts into the TV and inundate Judge Edwards, turning him into smoking goo.

“If the district attorney declines to seek an indictment, or even if she does seek one, will you be pursuing civil action against the fourth juvenile involved in this incident?”

“We are not, uh, foreclosing anything; not taking anything off the table. Our primary concern is and will always be the safety and well-being of our youth.” He nods firmly. That’s all, folks. Nothing left to see here.

“Thank you, Judge Edwards. Phil, back to you.”

“Thanks, Alaina. A tragic accident and a grieving father…Davidson County Metro officials have decided not to approve…”

I tune out the anchor’s drone. I collapse onto the couch and hold my head in my hands. “Oh my God. Oh my God,” I murmur over and over. Everyone is mute. I can hear Georgia breathing through her nose. It’s not the sound you want to hear.

She stabs her finger at the TV, voice quavering with rage. “Okay, that? That is utter fucking horseshit.” Her voice rings off the walls in the still room.

“Georgia,” Mom says softly.

Georgia’s eyes blaze. A lioness in a tank top and yoga pants. “No. Don’t Georgia me. That is total and complete nonsense. Does he not get it? Does he not grasp that it was his dumbshit son who caused this? And he wants Carver to go to jail?! No. I’m sorry. No.” She shakes her head in a way that would put cartoon dollar signs into a chiropractor’s eyes.

We’re all still stunned. Unspeaking.

Georgia looks at each of us in turn, seeking our eyes. Looking for our spirits. Our fight. “Carver, give me your phone. I’m calling His Honor’s honorable ass right this second, and I’m telling him to go ride a bike with no seat.”

“Georgia,” my dad says.

She extends her hand to me with a snap. “Give it to me.” She sounds close to tears.

“I don’t have his number in my phone,” I say softly, dazed. “Only Mars’s cell phone.” And then I add in a whisper: “Obviously I have Mars’s cell phone.”

“Georgia, calm down,” my dad says. “He is a judge. You call him and curse him out, you’ll go to jail.”

“Then what?” she says. “What are we going to do?”

Dad takes a deep breath and rubs his eyes. His hand trembles. “I don’t know. I—I don’t know.” He looks at my mom. “Lila, call your brother and see if he can recommend a good criminal lawyer in town.”

The words “good criminal lawyer” are three knees to the ballsack in quick succession.

Mom returns to their bedroom for her phone, but not before I see tears welling from her eyes and tracing down her cheeks in shining trails.

“I start school in three days,” I murmur. I’m as paralyzed as when I heard about the Accident. It’s like I’ve left my body and I’m watching myself receive the news. I try to take a deep breath. Please don’t have another panic attack. Not here. Not now. I hear my mom from her bedroom, talking to her brother Vance, a business lawyer in Memphis. She’s trying to sound casual and failing spectacularly.

Georgia sits beside me. I can tell she’s consciously trying to be calm and soothing. She rubs my back. “Carver. Just—don’t worry. We’re here for you.”

My dad embraces me. He smells of dryer sheets and black pepper. “Listen, pal. We’re—you’re going to be okay, all right? We’ll hire the best lawyer in Tennessee if we have to.”

“I’ll drop out of college and work full-time to pay him,” Georgia says, her jaw set.

“No, I will,” I murmur.

“Nobody’s dropping out. We’ll handle this,” Dad says.

“I’m telling y’all right now, straight up? If this remotely turns into a thing, I’m packing Carver’s ass in my trunk and driving him to Mexico. I do not give a shit.” Georgia becomes very country when she’s angry. Which is funny, because she’s a big-city girl, born and raised in Nashville.

Mom returns. She’s struggling for composure. Her eyes are red and weepy. She sighs and speaks quietly to my dad. “Callum, I talked to Vance. He said he’d ask around to see who some of the best criminal lawyers in Nashville are. He said all we can do is wait.”

“Wait. Oh, that’s nice. That’s going to be fun for Carver, his senior year of high school, while he’s applying to colleges and doing without his three best friends. Waiting for the ax to fall,” Georgia says. “This is such massive bullshit.”