The Furthest City Light Read Online Free PDF

anything bad about him, especially about his temper or his drinking.”
    Donald downed the last of his three Cokes. “Did they find any alcohol in the vic’s body?”
    “Some,” I said. “Over a point one. Legally drunk but just barely.”
    Donald looked pensive. “It’s too bad she didn’t wait until he’d hit her at least once.”
    “I know.” I stood up and grabbed the check off the table. “It’s on me, Donald. We’re never coming here again.”
    On the way out, I reminded him that we still had Emily as our star witness, and that she was smart, likeable, and attractive, someone the jury would be inclined to acquit if they had any reasonable doubt.
    He shook his head. “Yeah, but there’s something about her. I don’t know what it is. I don’t mean she’s loony, but she ain’t all there.”
    As we walked to my car, I said, “That’s what happens when you’re a battered woman. A part of you checks out. It’s a survival mechanism.”
    He shrugged. “Well, you’re gonna have to hang on to the rest of her. I once had this helium balloon when I was a kid, but I got distracted. I think some guys were chasing me with switchblades. Anyway, I let go of it for just a second and it was gone.”
    For a moment, I was dumbstruck. Donald as a little kid? No, I simply couldn’t imagine it—nor did I want to—but his analogy was apt and I wondered, not for the first time, whether I’d underestimated him. “Don’t worry,” I finally said, rummaging through my briefcase for my keys. “No matter how bad it gets, I won’t let go.”
    ***
     
    Although I promised Emily I’d see her soon, I had to spend the rest of the week dealing with a rape case where the victim kept waffling about whether she’d originally agreed to have sex with my client and then changed her mind, or been forced from the very beginning. I hated those kinds of cases, but of course I did them.
    On Sunday, I drove to the jail and spent the afternoon and evening visiting all the new clients I’d picked up the week before. Finally, at around quarter to nine, I asked to be escorted to the women’s module. When I arrived, I looked through the glass and saw Emily seated in the day room addressing a group of women, all of them younger than her. Two were obviously pregnant. Like most inmates, they were hungry for a break in their routine. Any kind of break.
    “What’s she doing?” I asked the guard.
    “Emily? She wants to start a book reading group. This is their first meeting. I’m surprised how many of the inmates were interested.”
    A book reading group? My stomach lurched again. “Look, tell her I’m here but I’m too tired to wait. Tell her I’ve only got about twenty lucid minutes left.” The guard unlocked the steel door, slid it open, and went inside. A few minutes later, Emily hurried out to meet me.
    “I’m sorry,” she said, as we sat down in the interview room. “I had no idea you’d come so late. I know your time is extremely valuable.”
    “A book group?” I said.
    Her face lit up. “Why not? Most criminals can read. I used to lead a group at the library. The surroundings here are seedier, but the discussions might turn out to be quite interesting.”
    I stared at her. “You’re scaring me, Emily.”
    “What? How? Tell me and I’ll stop it.”
    Behind her, I could see various AA slogans taped to the wall: Easy Does It. One Day At A Time. Fine, if you were an alcoholic.
    “Look, this might sound funny,” I said, “but you’re adjusting too well to the environment. Either that, or you’ve convinced yourself that you’re here as a social worker, not as an inmate.”
    Emily understood immediately. “I see. You’re worried that if I get too comfortable, too institutionalized, I might not fight as hard to get out.”
    “Exactly. And you’re too smart to spend the rest of your life in prison. It would be a terrible waste.”
    She shook her head in wonder. “You genuinely care what happens to me, don’t