the Rainmaker (1995) by John Grisham

Author:John Grisham [Grisham, John]
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2010-12-19T00:41:55.187000+00:00

POOD

inning is over, and I watch as he walks to the fence beside his dugout, and says something to his girl. Kelly smiles, I can see the dimples and teeth from here, and Cliff laughs. He pecks her quickly on the lips, and struts off to join his team as they prepare to hit.

They appear to be a couple of lovebirds. He loves her madly and likes for his guys to see him kiss her. They can't get enough of each other.

She leans on the fence, crutches beside her, a smaller walking cast on her foot. She's alone, away from the bleachers and the other fans. She can't see me up here on the other side of the field. I'm wearing a cap just in case.

I wonder what she'd do if she recognized me. Nothing, probably, except ignore me.

I should be glad that she appears to be happy and healthy and getting along with her husband. The beatings have apparently stopped, and I'm thankful for this. The image of him knocking her around with a bat makes me ill. It's ironic, though, that the only way I'll get Kelly is if the abuse continues.

I hate myself for this thought.

Cliffs at the plate. He crushes the third pitch, sends it well over the lights in left, completely out of sight. It is truly an amazing shot, and he swaggers around the bases, yells something to Kelly as he steps on third. He's a talented athlete, much better than anyone else on the field. I cannot imagine the horror of him swinging a bat at me.

Maybe he's stopped drinking, and maybe in a sobered state he'll stop the mistreatment. Maybe it's time for me to butt out.

After an hour, Donny Ray is ready for sleep. We drive and talk about his deposition. I filed a motion today asking the court to allow me to take his evidentiary deposition, one that can be used at trial, as soon as possible. My client will soon be too weak to endure a two-hour question-and-answer session with a bunch of lawyers, so we need to hurry.

"We'd better do it pretty soon," he says softly as we pull into his driveway.

Twenty-seven THE SETTING MIGHT BE COMICAL IF I wasn't so nervous. I'm sure the casual observer would see the humor, but no one in the courtroom is smiling. Especially me.

I'm alone at my counsel table, the piles of motions and briefs stacked neatly before me. My notes and quick references are on two legal pads, at my fingertips, strategically arranged. Deck is seated behind me, not at the table, where he might be of some benefit, but in a chair just inside the bar, at least three arm-lengths away, so it appears as if I'm alone.

I feel very isolated.

Across the narrow aisle, the table for the defense is rather heavily populated. Leo F. Drummond sits in the center, of course, facing the bench, associates surrounding him. Two on each side. Drummond is sixty years old, an alum of Yale Law, with thirty-six years of trial experience.

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