Jeremiah Healy - Blunt Darts

"The judge persecuted Stephen because he was afraid of him. My grandson will never go to trial." She was yelling now.

"Mrs. Kinnington," I said softly, "your grandson will go to trial, unless the DA's psychiatric experts testify that he is unable to stand trial by reason of insanity."

Somebody started tugging down on my eyelids.

Mrs. Kinnington glared back at me but with tears in her eyes. She was trying to stand up.

"I think I know what's best for my grandson."

"So did the judge," I mumbled, at which point I sensed the polar bears come bustling back into the room.

– ¦ The summer rain in Boston is somehow dry. It's made of water and falls from the sky in the usual way, but it never soaks you through. It's more like a refreshing breeze that clears the mugginess from the air.

"Funny, they take the carnations but leave the roses." I lifted the withered, crackly flowers and replaced them with fresh roses, yellow this time. I had to work with only one hand and slowly; my left arm was still in a tight sling, and the rib wouldn't hear of quick movements. I'd dragged a light folding beach chair down the path with me. I set it up with the help of my right foot. I eased into it, the light rain blowing on my face.

"Yep," I said, imitating an old man's voice. "Sure is good to rest the weary bones." Off to the left I noticed the elderly man again. He still wore the old gray suit, no raincoat, and held the Homburg. He was straightening back up with difficulty after laying some flowers near his headstone. I dropped the imitation from my voice.

"Suicide, Beth," I said, a little thickly. "Remember how we would talk around it, the last few weeks? When I wouldn't leave you alone. Well, they left him alone. Two days after Brower's-he's the DA-two days after his third psychiatrist agreed that Stephen couldn't stand trial, the kid tore open a pillow and shoved the stuffing down his throat. Kept shoving it till he choked. Mrs. Kinnington had just arrived at the hospital to visit him, special arrangements and all despite his, ah, status. The DA told me she saw him being rushed to a resuscitator. She had another stroke. The DA said he doubts she'll last the week."

The tissue paper around the roses was beginning to flatten here and bulge there from the rain. We watched the power launches and a few maverick sailboats slap against the light storm chop in the harbor below. And we talked. It was my first day back in quite a while, so we had a lot to catch up on.

After a time, I found myself watching the elderly man. He was still standing over his place, the Homburg clenched in his hands and his head bowed. His shoulders were shaking now, though, and every once in a while his torso would heave up, and he'd rock forward a little.

I decided it was time to go, before the weather started getting to me, too.