John Grisham - Chamber

His hands were shaking. His breathing was labored. Adam searched his brilliant blue eyes, surrounded with layers of dark wrinkles, and saw a stray tear ease out of one corner and fall slowly down his cheek until it vanished in the gray beard.

For the first time, Adam could smell his grandfather. The strong nicotine aroma mixed with an odor of dried perspiration to form a scent that was not pleasant. It was not repulsive, though, the way it would have been if radiated by a person with access to plenty of soap and hot water, air conditioning, and deodorant. After the second breath, it didn't bother Adam at all.

"I don't want you to die, Sam."

Sam squeezed his shoulders harder. "Why not?" he demanded.

"Because I've just found you. You're my grandfather."

Sam stared for a second longer, then relaxed. He released Adam and took a step backward. "I'm sorry you found me like this," he said, wiping his eyes.

"Don't apologize."

"But I have to. I'm sorry I'm not a better grandfather. Look at me," he said, glancing down at his legs. "A wretched old man in a red monkey suit. A convicted murderer about to be gassed like an animal. And look at you. A fine young man with a beautiful education and a bright future. Where in the world did I go wrong? What happened to me? I've spent my life hating people, and look what I have to show for it. You, you don't hate anybody. And look where you're headed. We have the same blood. Why am I here?"

Sam slowly sat in a chair, put his elbows on his knees, and covered his eyes. Neither moved or spoke for a long time. The occasional voice of a guard could be heard in the hall, but the room was quiet.

"You know, Adam, I'd rather not die in such an awful way," Sam said hoarsely with his fists resting on his temples, still looking blankly at the floor. "But death itself doesn't worry me now. I've known for a long time that I would die here, and my biggest fear was dying without knowing anyone would care. That's an awful thought, you know. Dying and nobody cares. There's nobody to cry and grieve, to mourn properly at the funeral and burial. I've had dreams where I saw my body in a cheap wooden casket lying in the funeral home in Clanton, and not a soul was in the room with me. Not even Donnie. In the same dream, the preacher chuckled through the funeral service because it was just the two of us, all alone in the chapel, rows and rows of empty pews. But that's different now. I know somebody cares about me. I know you'll be sad when I die because you care, and I know you'll be there when I'm buried to make sure it's done properly. I'm really ready to go now, Adam. I'm ready."

"Fine, Sam, I respect that. And I promise I'll be here to the bitter end, and I'll grieve and mourn, and after it's over I'll make sure you're buried properly. No one's gonna screw around with you, Sam, as long as I'm here. But, please, look at it through my eyes. I have to give it my best shot, because I'm young and I have the rest of my life. Don't make me leave here knowing I could've done more. It's not fair to me."

Sam folded his arms across his chest and looked at Adam. His pale face was calm, his eyes still wet. "Let's do it this way," he said, his voice still low and pained. "I'm ready to go. I'll spend tomorrow and Tuesday making final preparations. I'll assume it's gonna happen at midnight Tuesday, and I'll be ready for it. You, on the other hand, play it like a game. If you can win it, good for you. If you lose it, I'll be ready to face the music."

"So you'll cooperate?"

"No. No clemency hearing. No more petitions or appeals. You have enough junk floating around out there to keep you busy. Two issues are still alive. I'm not signing any more petitions."

Sam stood, his decrepit knees popping and wobbling. He walked to the door and leaned on it. "What about Lee?" he asked softly, reaching for his cigarettes.

"She's still in rehab," Adam lied. He was tempted to blurt out the truth. It seemed childish to be lying to Sam in these declining hours of his life, but Adam still held a strong hope that she would be found before Tuesday. "Do you want to see her?"

"I think so. Can she get out?"

"It may be difficult, but I'll try. She's sicker than I first thought."

"She's an alcoholic?"

"Yes."

"Is that all? No drugs?"

"Just alcohol. She told me she's had a problem for many years. Rehab is nothing new."

"Bless her heart. My children didn't have a chance."

"She's a fine person. She's had a rough time with her marriage. Her son left home at an early age and never returned."

"Walt, right?"

"Right," Adam answered. What a heartbroken bunch of people. Sam was not even certain of the name of his grandson.

"How old is he?"

"I'm not sure. Probably close to my age."

"Does he even know about me?"

"I don't know. He's been gone for many years. Lives in Amsterdam."

Sam picked up a cup from the desk and took a drink of cold coffee. "What about Carmen?" he asked.

Adam instinctively glanced at his watch. "I pick her up at the Memphis airport in three hours. She'll be here in the morning."

"That just scares the hell outta me."

"Relax, Sam. She's a great person. She's smart, ambitious, pretty, and I've told her all about you."

"Why'd you do that?"

"Because she wants to know."

"Poor child. Did you tell her what I look like?"

"Don't worry about it, Sam. She doesn't care what you look like."

"Did you tell her I'm not some savage monster?"

"I told her you were a sweetheart, a real dear, sort of a delicate little fella with an earring, ponytail, limp wrist, and these cute little rubber shower shoes that you sort of glide in."

"You kiss my ass!"

"And that you seemed to be a real favorite of the boys here in prison."

"You're lying! You didn't tell her all that!" Sam was grinning, but half serious, and his concern was amusing. Adam laughed, a bit too long and a bit too loud, but the humor was welcome. They both chuckled and tried their best to seem thoroughly amused by their own wit. They tried to stretch it out, but soon the levity passed and gravity sank in. Soon they were sitting on the edge of the desk, side by side, feet on separate chairs, staring at the floor while heavy clouds of tobacco smoke boiled above them in the motionless air.

There was so much to talk about, yet there was little to say. The legal theories and maneuverings had been beaten to death. Family was a subject they'd covered as much as they'd dared. The weather was good for no more than five minutes of conjecture. And both men knew they would spend much of the next two and a half days together. Serious matters could wait. Unpleasant subjects could be shoved back just a bit longer.

Twice Adam glanced at his watch and said he'd best be going, and both times Sam insisted he stay. Because when Adam left, they would come for him and take him back to his cell, his little cage where the temperature was over a hundred. Please stay, he begged.

Late that night, well after midnight, long after Adam had told Carmen about Lee and her problems, and about Phelps and Walt, about McAllister and Wyn Lettner, and the theory of the accomplice, hours after they'd finished a pizza and discussed their mother and father and grandfather and the whole pathetic bunch, Adam said the one moment he'd never forget was the two of them sitting there on the desk, passing time in silence as an invisible clock ticked away, with Sam patting him on the knee. It was like he had to touch me in some affectionate way, he explained to her, like a good grandfather would touch a small loved one.

Carmen had heard enough for one night. She'd been on the patio for four hours, suffering through the humidity and absorbing the desolate oral history of her father's family.

But Adam had been very careful. He'd hit the peaks and skipped the woeful valleys - no mention of Joe Lincoln or lynchings or sketchy hints of other crimes. He portrayed Sam as a violent man who made terrible mistakes and was now burdened with remorse. He had toyed with the idea of showing her his video of Sam's trials, but decided against it. He would do it later. She could handle only so much in one night. At times, he couldn't believe the things he'd heard in the past four weeks. It would be cruel to hit her with all of it in one sitting. He loved his sister dearly. They had years to discuss the rest of the story.