Sycamore Row - John Grisham

“I just got home and you’re ready for me to leave.”
“I didn’t mean it that way, Simeon. Just curious, that’s all.”
He wasn’t about to answer the question so he took another sip. They were rarely
alone together, and when they were they couldn’t remember how to talk. A car passed
slowly on the county road and they watched it as though fascinated. Finally, she said,
“I’m probably gonna lose my job tomorrow. I told you Mr. Hubbard killed himself, and
his family don’t want me around past tomorrow.”
Simeon had mixed feelings about this. It made him feel superior because once again
he would be the principal breadwinner, the head of the house. He despised the way
Lettie took on airs when she was earning more than he was. He resented her bitching
and chirping when he was out of work. Even though she was only a housekeeper, she
could get arrogant when acting like a white man trusted her so thoroughly. But, the
family needed the money, and losing her wages would inevitably lead to trouble.
He struggled to say “I’m sorry.”
There was another long, silent gap. They could hear voices and noise from inside the
house. “Any word from Marvis?” he asked.
She dropped her head and said, “No, it’s been two weeks and no letter.”
“Did you write him?”
“I write him every week, Simeon, you know that. When’s the last time you wrote
him?”
Simeon seethed but held his fire. He was proud of himself for coming home sober, and
he wouldn’t ruin it with a fight. Marvis Lang, age twenty-eight, two years in the pen
with at least ten to go. Drug trafficking, assault with a deadly weapon.
A car approached and slowed, then slowed some more as if the driver wasn’t sure. It
moved a few feet, then turned in to their driveway. There was enough sunlight left to
reveal it to be an odd make, definitely foreign, and red in color. The engine was turned
off and a young white man got out, alone. He was wearing a white shirt with a loosened
tie. He carried nothing, and after walking a few feet seemed uncertain of where he was.
“Over here,” Simeon called out, and the young man stiffened as if scared. He had not
seen them under the tree. He proceeded cautiously across the small front yard. “Looking
for Ms. Lettie Lang,” he said loud enough for them to hear.
“I’m over here,” she said as he came into view. He walked to within ten feet and said,
“Hello, my name is Jake Brigance. I’m a lawyer in Clanton and I need to speak to Lettie
Lang.”
“You were at the funeral today,” she said.
“I was, yes.”
Simeon reluctantly climbed to his feet and the three exchanged awkward handshakes.
Simeon offered him a beer, then returned to his seat. Jake declined the beer, though he
would have enjoyed one. He was, after all, there on business.
Lettie said, without being edgy, “I’m sure you’re not just passin’ through our little
corner of the world.”
“No, no I’m not.”
“Brigance,” Simeon said, sipping. “Didn’t you represent Carl Lee Hailey?”