The prosecutor asked me to describe my memories of the fire.
I told the truth.
“I remember smoke. I remember heat. I remember thinking my face was melting. Then I remember a boy telling me not to die.”
Richard Turner watched me without expression.
The prosecutor played the 911 tape.
The courtroom listened to Caleb’s child voice sobbing through smoke.
When the part came where he whispered, “When we’re big, I’ll ask you to dance,” someone in the jury box cried.
I did not.
I stared at Richard Turner.
I wanted him to see what he had failed to destroy.
When Caleb testified, his voice shook only once.
The defense attorney asked, “Isn’t it true you hated your father?”
Caleb looked at Richard.
Then at his scarred palms.
“No,” he said. “That would have been easier.”
The jury convicted Richard on all major counts.
People clapped outside the courthouse.
