The Color of Law_ A Novel - Mark Gimenez [120]
Scott felt the blood rush southward. He began signing the closing papers as fast as his hand could scribble his signature: the closing statement, lien affidavits, nonresident alien certification, tax proration agreement, and the deed conveying his dream house to Jeffrey Birnbaum et ux Penny Birnbaum. Scott’s hand trembled when he signed A. Scott Fenney. He pushed the deed across the table to Jeffrey. And with that, his dream home was gone. He felt as if he had handed over his manhood.
But he knew he hadn’t because Penny had a firm hold on his manhood below the table. Scott’s face felt hot, whether from the emotion of signing away his home or the movement of Penny’s hand, he couldn’t say. All he knew was that he had to get out of this closing fast, so he scratched his name on the final document, the temporary lease by which he would lease the home back from the Birnbaums for ten days, enough time to vacate the premises. He pushed the paper across the table to Jeffrey, who glanced up from his stack of documents and at the lease, then at Scott and Penny and back to Scott, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.
“What the hell’s going on?” he said.
Scott froze, as did Penny’s hand.
“Uh, what do you mean, Jeffrey?”
Jeffrey picked up the lease. “Ten days? It was supposed to be seven.”
Scott exhaled with relief; Penny’s hand went back to work.
“Jeffrey, you moved up closing to today.”
“Well, can’t you get out sooner? We’re ready to move in.”
“No, Jeffrey, I can’t. I’ve got a murder trial starting Monday—you might’ve read about it. That’s a little more important than you getting into my house a few days earlier.”
“It’s not your house anymore, Scott.”
Jeffrey said it with the arrogance of a man completely unaware that at that very moment his wife was massaging another man’s penis.
That night, after prayers, Pajamae asked Scott, “So those twelve people are going to decide what happens to Mama?”
“Yes, baby, they are.”
“Do you trust them, Mr. Fenney?”
“Well…I don’t know them well enough to know whether I trust them or not. I hope they can find a way to be fair.”
Pajamae said, “I’m going to pray for them.”
“The jurors?”
She nodded. “Mama always says to pray for other people, so they do the right thing. Like she said I should pray for you.”
TWENTY-FIVE
WHEN SCOTT WOKE UP on Sunday morning, his mind instantly filled with fear. The trial would begin in twenty-four hours: Was he a good enough lawyer to save Shawanda? For the last eleven years, when he needed help, Scott had always gone to Dan Ford. Now he needed help and his thoughts went to Butch Fenney: Son, when you need help, hit your knees.
Scott rolled out of bed, put on his shorts, and hurried down the hall and up the stairs to the third floor. He found the girls on the bed. Pajamae was fixing Boo’s cornrows.
“Get your clothes on, girls, we’re going to church.”
Boo’s mouth fell open.
Louis led the way up the sidewalk to the front entrance of the small church in East Dallas and Pajamae said, “I wondered why y’all never went to church. Mama and me, we go every Sunday. I figured maybe white people just didn’t go to church.”
“Why didn’t you say you wanted to go?” Scott asked.
“Wouldn’t have been polite, Mr. Fenney.”
Scott Fenney had attended church regularly with his parents, but after Butch died, he’d lost any enthusiasm he had for religion. Why would God take a good man like Butch Fenney? But he still attended church with his mother until she died. The last time he had entered this church was for his mother’s funeral.
The preacher had nothing on Big Charlie.
Before they had parted back at the stadium that day two weeks ago, Big Charlie had said, “When God gives you a gift, it doesn’t mean you’re special. It means you’re blessed.”
Scott finally understood what his mother had meant when she had said he had a gift and she