The Castaway Hotel
Book 7

By: B W
(© 2012 by the author)

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

Chapter 17
Rocky Roads. 

In the interim, I took the family out to help the Beckers harvest some of their crops and do other chores around the farm.  The harvest would eventually take most of the month to complete, seeing we only worked on the weekends, but the boys were actually reveling in seeing some of the fruits of their labor (please excuse the pun).  In fact, many of the meals we ate at the farm during our time there consisted of items gathered from the Beckers’ garden.  The boys thought it was neat that they had actually helped to grow what was now helping to fill their bottomless pits.  Besides, it always seems more satisfying when the food you eat is the result of your own effort. 

We did a great deal of work while we were there and came home Sunday evening tired out from the effort.  We had put in a weekend’s worth of hard labor, which drained us, but it was a good type of exhaustion.  We all felt proud about what we were doing.  The fact that we were helping the Beckers cope with the situations they were currently dealing with made it even more rewarding.  It may not have eliminated the Beckers’ problems, but I did feel it would help to make it easier for them to get through the days, weeks and months ahead.

While we were at the farm, the boys also brought their books and homework with them.  They did their assignments after dark, when the work on the farm was done for the day, and were basically pretty good about keeping up with everything.  Even though they sometimes found it hard to concentrate that late at night, due to their physical exhaustion, they didn’t let it get them down.  I tried very hard to be understanding about it too, but there were a couple of times when I had to get after one or more of the boys and make him do what was expected.

A couple of days after we returned home from our weekend at the farm, Andrew and I got a call advising us we were to come to the doctor’s office the next afternoon.  The doctor wanted to discuss the results of Andrew’s tests with us at that time.  Andrew seemed more than a little nervous about what we might find out, but I also think he was hopeful that maybe something could be done to help him.  I tried not to let him get too optimistic, since I didn’t want him to sink into another depression if things weren’t as positive as he wished.  Therefore, it was with more than a little apprehension that I took him to see what the doctor had learned. 

Even though Andrew was now convinced the family didn’t consider him immature, he was still encountering the looks and teasing at school.  This seemed to have undone much of the progress we made at his birthday party, so I was hoping for some positive feedback from the doctor, for my son’s sake.  Shortly after our arrival, we were led back to an examination room, where we waited for the doctor.  He came in, greeted us and then looked at Andrew’s chart. 

“Well, there doesn’t appear to be anything physically wrong with you,” he began.  “All your tests came back normal, but it appears as if you will have to wait a little longer before you begin puberty.”

Andrew looked crushed by this pronouncement.  “Isn’t there something you can do to help me?” he pleaded.

“Not at this time,” the doctor responded, “but if you haven’t shown signs of beginning puberty by the time you are fifteen, then I might try giving you hormone shots to stimulate the process.”

“But that’s two years away!” Andrew whined, since he wanted more immediate relief.  “Why can’t you do that now?”

“It’s because I’d prefer your body start the process naturally,” he explained.  “My profession doesn’t normally consider a boy as having delayed puberty until he’s at least fifteen or older.  Besides, giving you hormones prematurely can contribute to other problems, which would be far worse than having to wait a year or two to catch up physically with your friends.”  Andrew looked crestfallen, since he’d hoped today he would receive the answer to his prayers. 

“What kinds of problems are we talking about doctor,” I asked, to clarify the situation for Andrew.

“Let’s just say that even though Andrew is now thirteen, his bones are much younger in development.  There is nothing wrong with that, but until his skeletal frame has reached the correct growth age for puberty to begin, we won’t artificially stimulate the process.”

I wasn’t sure if that answered my question, or Andrew’s, but I also didn’t know what else I could do.  “Isn’t there anything we can do to help him?” I asked, in desperation.

“There is,” the doctor replied.  “I think it might help for you to have him see a counselor, to discuss his reaction to the situation and talk about how he’s feeling.  I think his problems are more emotional and social concerning this issue, rather than physical.”

Even though we had tried to do some of that on our own, I considered what the doctor said and realized it might not be such a bad idea.  I would discuss this possibility with Andrew later, to get his take on it, and maybe we could set something up for him in the near future, if he agreed to it. 

The ride home was long and quiet.  No matter how agonizing this journey was, it wasn’t as bad as the situation would get before Andrew began to show signs of physical maturity.  I guess I never really considered how badly a late bloomer could be scarred, both emotionally and psychologically, by developing slower than his peers, but now I was seeing those effects.  I concluded something would need to be done to make others aware of this problem, so no one else would have to endure the pain that Andrew was feeling now, but hadn’t yet determined how to proceed.

As the days slipped by, we continued to help the Beckers with the harvest and to prepare for the winter ahead, but things weren’t going as well as we hoped for them.  Mrs. Becker was slipping further inside herself, as the Alzheimer’s progressed, and it was getting to the point where she hardly ever recognized us any more.  Painfully, that even included her husband and son at times too. 

It was very hard on both of them when she asked who they were and what they were doing there, especially for Richard, since he was now forced to cope with losing another parent.  I felt bad for him, but I also felt sorry for Mr. Becker, who was not only losing his wife, but was also having to deal with all of the extra work which was now thrust upon him.  Keeping an eye on her was becoming more and more difficult with each passing day, and that, combined with doing her share of the chores, was taxing his physical endurance. 

In addition to these increasing problems, he also feared for his wife’s safety.  She would do things that were extremely dangerous, so he now began to consider putting her in a nursing home, where she would get 24-hour care and supervision.  He knew it was impossible for him to watch her every second of the day and feared she’d do something that would not only harm herself, but Richard and him as well.  Although he realized he needed to do something about this situation, it wasn’t an easy choice.  He knew if he went this route, he would also be acknowledging his wife would never get any better and that would be a bitter pill for him to swallow. 

I think some of the determining factors were recent ‘events’ in the kitchen – one where she turned the propane on for the stove, but forgot to light it at the time, and another where she started dinner and then forgot and went to bed.  Everything burned and nearly set the house on fire.  It was now to the point where Mr. Becker would have to choose the lesser of two evils – either keeping her home and risking a major accident or facing the fact that his wife was no longer there and commit her to long-term care.  I didn’t envy him that decision.

Besides helping the Beckers, I also had a more pressing issue to deal with.  The four boys accused of assault would be going to trial soon and I had been working closely with our attorney, helping prepare the boys’ defense.  I had been phoning those boys regularly, to keep them informed and get needed information.  The last time I called was to let them know either Jake or I would pick them up the following weekend, because jury selection was scheduled to begin next Monday. 

I also called Brandon’s parents and gave them that information too.  They said they’d schedule a flight to get here on the weekend and reserve a room for the week.  I told them not to worry about the room, because the Spences had already told me they could stay with them while they were here.  The O’Haras thanked me and told me to thank the Spences for them too, even though they’d see us all soon.  Now, I just had to call the Spences and inform them when the O’Hara’s would be arriving. 

We were all nervous about the trial starting, but we were also hopeful it would mean we would soon be able to put this behind us and things could go back to normal.  The boys were concerned about some information our lawyer had shared with us, that if convicted, they would be facing several years in prison for the assault.  Up until then they had thought four years of college was a long time, but that would be nothing, compared to spending years locked up in a cell with some of the most violent elements of society. 

This was not something they wanted to consider.  Unfortunately, they had to admit it was a possibility they might be forced to deal with later.  Even with my reassurances that we’d do everything in our power to prevent it from happening, they still weren’t convinced they could trust the system would work.  We knew this same system had failed them when they were indicted and it had also failed others in the past.  However, no matter how flawed the system seemed, we had no other option.

The entire household was totally consumed by the upcoming trial and those who weren’t directly involved were trying to do whatever they could to help their brothers out.  They were also trying to convince me to let them attend the entire trial and not merely just show up on selected days.  I was standing firm on this issue, since I was afraid the trial would go on for a long time and cause them to miss weeks of school.  I felt one or two days a week would be sufficient time for them to be there and show their support, and I’d even made a schedule to rotate which of them would go. 

The boys were nearly as adamant about being there the entire time and pleaded with me to give in.  They also promised they’d keep up with their school work and make up anything they missed during that time, so I told them I’d keep that in mind and think about it some more. 

That weekend Jake and I went to transport the boys home, with each of us picking up two of the accused.  We collected whatever belongings they thought they would need for an extended stay, seeing the lawyer suggested the trial could last two or three weeks.  They had to plan ahead and bring everything they would need now, since I didn’t want to be wasting time making additional trips back and forth. 

I also arranged for them to be able to pick up and submit their class assignments online, as I felt this might help to distract them from dwelling on the worse case scenario.   If I made them do their class work, it would indicate I was convinced they’d be vindicated and return to college after the trial.   Maybe, if they believed that, then they’d begin to believe the rest of it too and not fret over the possibility of incarceration. 

The O’Hara’s dropped by Saturday evening, after driving in from the airport.  They spent some time alone with Brandon and I made sure everyone else stayed away, even Danny.  He was upset about having to do that, but I told him they needed some time alone, like he sometimes did with Brandon, and this made him see things differently.  I told him they’d ask him to join them when they were ready, but he’d have to wait patiently until then.  It was an hour or so later when Brandon finally came out to get him and I could see the relief on his face when the two of them went in to join Brandon’s parents.  The O’Hara’s must have handled things appropriately, because Danny was back to normal after that, and this allowed me to turn my attention to what lay ahead.

Monday morning we showed up at court a half hour before we needed to and spent some of that time talking to our lawyer.  We introduced him to the O’Haras, and then he advised us about what we should expect during the selection process.  Once we understood, Mr. Gouldin went in to prepare, and we waited to be called in.

I had agreed to allow all the boys to attend today, because I wanted to show total family unity during our initial appearance.  I had talked with their teachers first, to let them know what was going on and to get the boys’ assignments.  Over time, they eventually persuaded me to allow the boys to be there every day.  The various faculty members promised to make sure each boy kept up with his assignments and agreed to notify me immediately if any of them fell behind.  Having these reassurances, I finally gave in.

The boys were thrilled I had changed my mind and agreed to the stipulation they keep up with their schoolwork.  They thanked their teachers too, for helping to convince me.  They were all very antsy and nervous about what might happen, but fully committed to stand behind our falsely accused kin. 

When the time came, the accused and our lawyer took their seats at the defense table and the rest of us piled into the seats behind them.  We waited patiently for the judge to enter, and when he did, we were all asked to rise.  When we were once again seated, the prosecutor announced his first surprise. 

“Your honor, I move for a change of venue.  I feel Mr. Currie and his family are too well known and have too much influence in this community for this case to be judged solely upon its merits.”

I did not recognize this prosecutor.  I’d been told all the lawyers in the local D.A.’s office had recused themselves due to prior involvement with either my family or Judge Shay.  Steve was not only my best friend, but he was also godfather to some of the boys and Vinnie’s adoptive father.  Although Vinnie wasn’t accused, he was part of our family and the connection was obvious.  Therefore, this prosecutor had been brought in from a nearby community to try this case. 

I had heard beforehand that he had been assigned, but I’d never met him.  I also heard he was very ambitious, very aggressive and would miss no opportunity to make a name for himself or keep his conviction rate in tact.  While I had been contemplating this, the judge had been staring at the acting D.A. and sizing him up, before he responded. 

“So you think Mr. Currie and his sons have some power to sway the jury pool?” he inquired.  “Or do you believe he has other means of influencing their decision?” 

“Your honor, I believe his position as Superintendent of Schools will intimidate jurors who have children in his charge,” he suggested. 

“So you believe Mr. Currie will seek retribution, if the case goes against his sons?” the judge countered.

“It’s possible, your honor,” he conceded.  He looked smug, but seemed to be trying to keep from grinning or appearing too cocky just yet.

“Well, I don’t agree with your analysis of the situation,” the judge announced.  “Besides, Mr. Currie is not on trial, his sons are.  I am also confident there will be enough potential jurors who either do not have children attending school at present or those who will be able to overcome such concerns and render a fair and impartial verdict.  Motion denied.”  The D.A. went to object to the ruling, but the judge silenced him before he could.  “Let’s move on, shall we?” he announced.

Crestfallen, the lawyer tried to pull his next rabbit out of his hat.  “In that case, your Honor, I move that you recuse yourself from this case.”

“On what grounds?” the judge asked, somewhat perturbed.

“Based on your previous association with Mr. Currie, your honor,” the prosecutor announced, more timidly this time.

“First of all, I have no association with Mr. Currie, other than knowing who he is and having spoken to him when my children attended the middle school.  At the time, he was the principal there.  However, that was many years ago, and although I respect him professionally, I would only consider him an acquaintance, not a friend.  I have also not worked with him in any professional capacity nor represented him in any way.  Once again, I must reiterate he is not the one on trial, his sons are.  Therefore, motion denied.”

“I want my objection to both issues noted for the record,” the D.A. protested.  It began to appear as if he was trying to establish grounds for an appeal, should he lose. 

“Granted,” the judge replied, “but unless you have anything new to address this court with, let’s get on with the jury selection and voir dire.” 

The D.A. said nothing more, so the clerk called out the numbers of six prospective jurors and they were brought into the courtroom, placed in to the jury box and took seats.  Nervously, they waited to be questioned, to see if the attorneys thought they were acceptable. 

The judge looked at the jury candidates and began to address them.  “The process we are going to go through now is called voir dire, which is an Anglo-French term meaning ‘to speak the truth.’  First, I will ask you some general questions, to determine your general acceptability as potential jurors, and then each attorney may or may not ask you more specific questions, to see if they wish to challenge your placement on the jury.  Do any of you have questions before we begin?”  There were none, so the judge continued. 

“I will ask my questions aloud, but if you wish to answer in private, just raise your hand.  I will then call you forward, so you may tell me in a way the others won’t hear your response.  To begin with, have any of you been convicted of a crime before?”  No one responded, so he continued.

The judge followed up with other questions, such as: “Are any of you under indictment for a crime at present?  Is anyone in your immediate family under indictment or been convicted of a crime within the past ten years?  Have you, or anyone close to you, been the victim of stalking or an assault?  Do any of you have any physical dysfunction or disease that you think would prevent you from serving on a jury?  I will read over a list of individuals and organizations that will be connected with this case, and if you have any ties with those individuals or organizations, please raise your hand and I shall question you further about your association.” 

After those questions had been gone over, the judge excused potential jurors two and five, and then the prosecutor got to question those remaining. 

“Juror number one, do you think you would be able to decide this case by the letter of the law and not be swayed by personal feelings about any of the persons involved in this case?”

“I do,” she responded, and then the same question was asked of jurors, three, four and six. 

“Juror number four, do you have any personal biases in support of homosexuals, which might prevent you from rendering a decision based on the law?” 

This question shocked us, but gave an indication that things were going to get nasty and the boys’ sexual orientation would become an issue in this case.  I think the O’Haras reacted more than the rest of us, but they were cool about it, once they’d had a chance to consider it was going to come out eventually.

Juror number four responded he did not have any such biases and merely felt everyone should be treated fairly.  The prosecutor moved on and repeated the question to the other candidates.

Once they answered, the D.A. posed such other questions as: “Do you think professionals or their families are above committing violent crimes?  Just because a person or his family is not as respected as another, do you think it immediately means they are lying or not being totally honest?  Do you think there is any justification for beating a person until he is permanently disabled?” 

Once the D.A.’s questioning was complete, he challenged potential juror number four ‘for cause,’ and that person was dismissed.

Now, our attorney stepped forward.  I had seen him hastily adding a few additional questions to his list, due to the prosecutor’s obvious focus, but now he was ready to begin.   

“Juror number six, do you have any prejudices against gays that would prevent you from finding them innocent of a crime?”  The woman answered no, so our lawyer moved on to ask the remaining candidates. 

“Juror number three, do you believe that just because a person is accused and arrested for a crime it means he is guilty?”  That person also responded in the negative, so our attorney moved on to the others.

He followed up by asking: “Do you think policemen, police departments and those in the legal system are infallible or above making mistakes?  Do you believe that just because a victim or a witness can place a defendant near the scene of a crime, that person is automatically involved in the crime?  Are you capable of listening to contradicting accounts of the same events, weigh the reliability and accuracy of those accounts and then reach a conclusion based upon the law, as it pertains to the case?” 

When he had finished his portion of the voir dire, Mr. Gouldin dismissed juror number six with a peremptory challenge, so only two of the first six jurors made it through the round.

The process was repeated with another six potential jurors and this time only one of them made it through to the end.  After that, the process started over again, with another six candidates.  It took the rest of the day before the jury was totally seated, and the judge even allowed the court to run late, so the process could be completed before we adjourned for the day.  It became obvious the judge wanted to start the trial the following day and didn’t wish to start the voir dire process over again in the morning. 

Once the court session ended for the day, the lawyers went back to their offices to prepare their opening remarks.  The boys, Jake and I went home, but once we got there, the proverbial shit hit the fan.

“They’re going to turn this into the gay and bi boys against the straight boys, aren’t they?” Danny screamed, almost as soon as we were inside.

“Yes, it appears to be at least part of the strategy the D.A. has in mind,” I advised him.  I didn’t want to alarm them, but didn’t know how else to answer him.  I certainly couldn’t reassure him this wasn’t going to happen.

“So, the prosecutor is going to try to use the jury’s homophobic paranoia to convict us?” Pat asked.  “Isn’t that discriminatory or illegal in some way?”

“I’m afraid not,” I replied, “but I think Mr. Gouldin has done his best to make certain those types of people were not chosen to sit in judgment of you.  However, it appears the D.A. has learned about the previous altercation with David Hubbard and is planning to use it to establish motive.  I’m positive you all remember that incident occurred because of your sexual orientation.”

“Just my sexual orientation,” Shannon protested, “but that was a long time ago!”

“I know, but we did go out of our way to make sure he and his friends were suspended,” I mentioned.  “Then, we set our sites on the Boy Scouts and got some of their funding cut off, based on their discriminatory practices against gays.  I’m afraid that stance will help establish the underlying issue was sexual orientation and will weigh heavily in favor of allowing such questions to be brought up.”

“Damn,” Brandon began, “isn’t there something we can do to prove that Hubbard started it and it’s his prejudice and intolerance that created the problem in the first place?”

“I’m convinced Mr. Gouldin will do that,” I advised them, “so that might go against them.  I also noticed he wasn’t in the courtroom today and understand the assault damaged the vertebrae in his back, leaving him a paraplegic.  If that is true, I’m sure he’ll also appear to be a sympathetic victim when this all comes out.” 

I could see the disappointment and outrage the boys were trying to contain now, but I felt I must give them an honest evaluation of what they were up against.

“Pop,” Shannon pleaded, “what are we going to do to keep them from making us look like a bunch of fags who jumped a poor, innocent straight guy?” 

His expression told me he was very upset about what was to come; to the point where I was almost afraid he was going to break down and cry or tear the house apart in frustration.  Brandon’s parents winced when he said this, but didn’t say anything. However, they did go over to comfort their son.

At that moment, Jake wrapped his arms around his son too and tried to comfort him through physical contact.  However, I surmised Shannon was going to need wisdom and logic to allay his concerns, more than a reassuring touch.  With that in mind, I searched my memory to see if I could come up with any tidbit of information that might assuage his fears, but I kept coming up empty.  Since I wished to do something to lessen their worries, I offered an alternative.

“Why don’t we all think about this and even sleep on it tonight,” I suggested.  “Maybe we’ll think of something we can discuss with Mr. Gouldin in the morning, to keep this from happening/” 

No one seemed satisfied with my suggestion, but they agreed to put their energy into trying to find a way to counter the argument.  It was either that or let their anxiety and depression consume them completely, over what we all knew was to come.

Dinner was very quiet.  No one was very talkative, and believe it or not, they weren’t hungry either.  There was food left over at the end of the meal and this was something that seldom, if ever, happened in our home.  After dinner the boys all disappeared to their rooms, even the ones who weren’t involved in the case directly.  None of them was in the mood for idle chatter and decided to avoid other forms of entertainment as well.  Even the O’Haras had been overtly silent and I’m sure it was because none of us knew what we could say or do to make things better.

After Brandon’s parents left to go back to the Spences, Jake and I went to bed, deeply concerned about the boys’ mental well-being.  We spent many hours discussing matters and trying to think of anything that might tip the scales of justice back in our favor, but without success.  We were up until the wee hours of the morning doing this, so we got very little sleep.  I was still awake when the alarm went off, since I was still thinking about what the new day might bring.

To be continued...

Posted: 11/30/12