Saving Noah

by Lucinda Berry

He was like curling up on the couch with a blanket and stepping into my favorite book.

“Noah has made a great client. You know that. We talk about it all the time, but there haven’t been any battles. None. It’s almost been too easy. I’m wondering if we missed something.”

Time had dragged. Nobody told me time slowed down with tragedy and how each minute became excruciating when it was painful to merely exist. Just when I was gaining my footing, something would remind me of it and send me into an emotional tailspin. Most of the time it was the little things, like a college admission packet in the mail, an email about ordering hot lunches for the next month, or lyrics to a song he liked. The grief would pummel me, and I had no choice except to succumb to it until it passed.

“He hurt those little girls. He touched them on their private parts. I don’t care if he touches me on my private parts.”

WTF? I don't care if he touches me. Please don't tell me he does. Or did.

Was he talking about killing himself or hurting kids? Did it matter?

“You’re right. I’ve got something worse. At least when you have cancer people still love you.”

It was at that moment that I decided I would.