Sycamore Row - John Grisham

Jake welcomed her into his office. He offered coffee but she declined. They sat in a
corner, Jake in an ancient leather chair and Portia on the sofa, as if she were there for
therapy. She could not help but gaze around the big room and admire its handsome
furnishings and organized clutter. She admitted that it was her first visit to a lawyer’s
office. “If you’re lucky it’ll be your last,” he said and got a laugh. She was nervous and
at first reluctant to say much. Her presence could be crucial, and Jake worked to make
her feel welcome.
“Tell me about yourself,” he said.
“I know you’re busy.”
“I have plenty of time, and your mother’s case is the most important one in this
office.”
She smiled, a nervous grin. She sat on her hands, the yellow running shoes twitching.
Slowly, she began to talk. She was twenty-four, the oldest daughter, and had just left the
Army after six years. She had been in Germany when she got the news that her mother
had been mentioned in Mr. Hubbard’s will, though that had nothing to do with her
discharge. Six years was enough. She was tired of the military and ready for civilian life.
She had been a good student at Clanton High, but with her father’s sketchy work history
there was no money for college. (She frowned when she talked about Simeon.) Eager to
leave home, and Ford County, she joined the Army and traveled the world. She had been
back now for almost a week, though she had no plans to stay in the area. She had
enough credits for three years of college, wanted to finish, and she was dreaming of law
school. In Germany, she had worked in the JAG Corps as a clerk and watched courtmartial
proceedings.
She was staying with her parents and family, who, by the way, had moved to town.
They were renting the old Sappington place, she said with a trace of pride. “I know,”
Jake said. “It’s a small town. Word travels fast.” Anyway, she doubted she would stay
there much longer because the house, though much larger, was a circus with relatives
coming and going and people sleeping everywhere.
Jake listened intently, waiting on an opening, certain it would come. Occasionally, he
asked a question about her life, but she needed little prompting. She was warming up
nicely and chattering away. Six years in the military had erased the drawl and twang
and sloppy grammatical habits. Her diction was perfect, and not just by accident. She’d
learned German and French in Europe and worked as a translator. Now she was
studying Spanish.
Out of habit, he wanted to take notes, but that seemed rude.
She had gone to Parchman last weekend, to see Marvis, and he had told her about
Jake’s visit. She talked about him for a long time and occasionally wiped a tear. He was
her big brother, had always been her hero, and it was such a waste. If Simeon had been
a better father, Marvis would not have gone bad. Yes, he told Portia to tell their momma
to stick with Jake, said he’d talked to his lawyer, Nick Norton, who said those Memphis
lawyers would screw it all up.
“Why were you in court this morning?” Jake asked.
“I was in court yesterday, Mr. Brigance.”