Sycamore Row - John Grisham

Some things are better left unsaid. No one would ever know. Seth was dead and Lettie
wasn’t talking.
“Did he ever discuss his illness and the fact that he was dying?” Jake asked.
She took a deep breath and pondered the question. “Sure. There were times when he
was in so much pain he said he wanted to die. I suppose that’s natural. In his last days,
Mr. Hubbard knew the end was near. He asked me to pray with him.”
“You prayed with him?”
“I did. Mr. Hubbard had a deep faith in God. He wanted to make things right before
he died.”
Jake paused for a little drama so the jurors could fully absorb the visual of Lettie and
her boss praying, instead of doing what most folks thought they had been doing. Then
he moved on to the morning of October 1 of last year, and Lettie told her story. They
left his house around 9:00, with Lettie behind the wheel of his late-model Cadillac. She
had never driven him before; he had never asked her to. It was the first and only time
the two had been together in an automobile. When they were leaving the house, she had
made some silly comment about never having driven a Cadillac, so he insisted. She was
nervous and drove slowly. He sipped on coffee from a paper cup. He seemed to be
relaxed and pain-free, and he seemed to enjoy the fact that Lettie was so uptight driving
down a highway with virtually no other traffic.
Jake asked her what they talked about during the ten-minute drive. She thought for a
moment, glanced at the jurors, who still had not missed a word, and said, “We talked
about cars. He said a lot of white people don’t like Cadillacs anymore because nowadays
so many black people drive them. He asked me why a Cadillac was so important to a
black person, and I said don’t ask me. I never wanted one. I’ll never have one. My
Pontiac’s twelve years old. But then I said it’s because it’s the nicest car and it’s a way of
showin’ other folk that you’ve made it. You got a job, got a little money in your pocket,
got some success in life. Something’s workin’ okay. That’s all. He said he’s always liked
a Cadillac too, said he lost his first one in his first divorce, lost his second one in his
second divorce, but since he gave up on marriage nobody’s bothered him or his
Cadillacs. He was kinda funny about it.”
“So he was in a good mood, sort of joking?” Jake asked.
“A very good mood that mornin’, yes sir. He even laughed at me and my drivin’.”
“And his mind was clear?”
“Clear as a bell. He said I was drivin’ his seventh Cadillac and he remembered all of
them. Said he trades every other year.”
“Do you know if he was taking medication for pain that morning?”
“No sir, I don’t know. He was funny about his pills. He didn’t like to take them and he
kept them in his briefcase, away from me. The only time I saw them was when he was
flat on his back, deathly sick, and he asked me to get them. But no, he didn’t appear to
be on any pain medication that mornin’.”
Under Jake’s guidance, she continued her narrative. They arrived at Berring Lumber
Company, the first and only time she’d ever been there, and while he spent the time in
his office with the door locked, she cleaned. She vacuumed, dusted, scrubbed most of the