The Journal
1970
W
hen Kya was led into the courtroom the next day, she glanced toward Tate, Jumpin’, and Mabel and held her breath at seeing a full uniform, a slight smile across a scarred face. Jodie. She nodded slightly, wondering how he’d learned of her trial. Probably the Atlanta paper. She tucked her head in shame.
Eric stood. “Your Honor, if it please the court, the People call Mrs. Sam Andrews.” The room breathed out as Patti Love, the grieving mother, made her way to the witness stand. Watching the woman she’d once hoped would be her mother-in-law, Kya now realized the absurdity of that notion. Even in this sullen setting, Patti Love, dressed in the finest black silks, seemed preoccupied with her own appearance and importance. She sat straight with her glossy purse perched on
