Free Trouble by Gary D. Schmidt Page A

Quincy. "Calls for legal opinion."
    "I'll restate. In general, is it the case that a person charged with fleeing the scene of an accident is trying to avoid complicity in that accident?"
    "Yes, in general."
    "Were the actions of Mr. Chouan on that night consistent with the actions of someone trying to avoid complicity in an accident?"
    "Not to my mind, no."
    "You testified that Chay Chouan was arrested after he admitted that he had struck the victim. Let us be clear on this point: Did that admission come before or after you had read him his Miranda rights?"
    "He blurted it out when he first came up."
    "So the answer to my question is,
Before
you read him his Miranda rights."
    "Objection," said Mr. Quincy. "The witness is capable of answering the questions without Mr. Gianconda's helpful editing."
    "I'll repeat the question without editing.
Before
or
after
?"
    "Before."
    "Thank you." Mr. Gianconda sat down.
    The prosecutor called Dr. Giles next, but Henry could tell by looking at the judge that things had already been decided. All he needed was enough to go to trial, and the policeman had already given enough. But it seemed as if the court wanted to "ferther in this tale pace."
    Dr. Giles spoke about the amputation of the mangled left arm below the shoulder, the damage to the rib cage, the collapse of one lung, and the trauma to Franklin Smith's brain, its indeterminate activity. When Mr. Quincy asked if the brain had been permanently impaired, the doctor said that it was his medical opinion that it might be irreversibly impaired, but he reminded the court that, as yet, the scans were still indeterminate. When the prosecutor asked if Franklin Smith's life was in danger, the doctor nodded.
    "Can you give the court a percentage, Doctor, on his chances for a full recovery?"
    Henry felt the Grieving Mother pilgrim stiffen beside him.
    "Typically, patients who have experienced the kind of trauma that Franklin Smith has experienced do not survive twenty-four hours. That already makes this case remarkable. And I understand that Mr. Smith was an exceptional athlete. That, too, works in his favor. I would say that the chances for a full recovery are very guarded."
    "Thank you," said the prosecutor.
    "Are there any questions for the defense?" asked the judge.
    Mr. Giaconda rose again.
    "Doctor, you said that the chances for a full recovery are very guarded. What does 'very guarded' mean?"
    "It means that we cannot be sure that a full recovery is likely."
    "Is 'possible' a word you could use?"
    Dr. Giles considered this. "Under certain circumstances, it might be a word I could use. I have seen the unlikely happen."
    "Thank you, Doctor," said Mr. Giaconda.
    Dr. Giles walked back to his seat.
    Unlikely, thought Henry. Seen the unlikely happen. He doesn't think that Franklin is going to make it. He thinks Franklin is going to die but he doesn't want to say so.
    And for the first time—for the first time
really
—Henry wondered if it might be so.

    It was as sweet as he had imagined. Just riding together. Just talking. Laughing, even. It was so easy, with the sky dark. No moon. No stars. Just talking.
    He had never believed this would happen. She was from Blythbury. It couldn't happen.
    But it had. And he was telling her things about himself he had
never told anyone. That he loved Keats. That he wrote poetry himself. He told her that he wrote poetry.
    And when he had told her, she touched his arm, and he knew that she was smiling.
    Maybe this is what she had hoped for, too. Hope rose in him like a singing, fluting bird.
    And then, the runner on the side of the road. Eyes locking and eyes turning and eyes coming back again. Hard.
    A scream, another, and blood. How could there be so much blood? And the arm! Where had it gone? The arm!
    Go home! Go home now! Go! Now!
    Don't see this.
    And then, alone, the smell of the blood.
    The smell brought it all back. How had he forgotten that smell? How it rose up to him from the sunlit fields—from