Page 76 of Theo of Golden

“And the lawyer told him, ‘You know that’s against the law, don’t you?’ And the little man told him, ‘Yes, sir,’ but he said he had to come back. And the lawyer said, ‘Why did you have to come back?’, kind of with an attitude, like, ‘Naw, you didn’t have to come back. You could’ve stayed where you belonged.’ And the little man said, ‘Because of my little girl.’

“Mr. Theo, he’s got a little girl, eight years old, just like Lamisha, and she lives in Fincher County. She was born there, and she’s been stayin’ there with her mama till her daddy could get back.

“Mr. Theo, sumpin’s wrong with his little girl — she’s real sick — and he said he had to come back, so he could work and help take care of her. He said they’s no good cancer doctors in Guatemala. Then he said this, Mr. Theo; he said, ‘I love my little girl, and I had to come back’…

“It took him three months, and when he crossed over in Texas, he borrowed a car from somebody, so he could drive home to his family. He drove at night, so he wouldn’t get caught again. And he came through Houston and New Orleans and Mobile and Montgomery, and he was coming through Golden, almost back to Fincher County, and he was tired, and he fell asleep or got drowsy or something. And that’s when he hit Lamisha.

“They had to take him to the hospital, but soon as he got well, they took him to jail. And he’s been there ever since, just a couple miles from here. Mr. Theo, he still hasn’t seen his little girl. Over a year, and still hasn’t seen her yet.”

Theo and Kendrick sat silently as the words sank in.

“So the judge and the DA gotta figure out what to do with him. And they asked me what did I think. Man, that ain’t my job! But they’re talking about locking him up for a felony, for ten years or something ‘cause Lamisha’s mama died in the crash. He didn’t have no license, no insurance, and no legal papers. So, they trying to figure out what to do with him.

“Anyway, I’m supposed to go talk with the DA tomorrow, Mr. Derrick, and tell him what I think. He seems like an OK guy, and he’s real sorry for what happened to Lamisha. I know the little man wasn’t supposed to be here in Georgia and all that, but I swear, when I was sittin’ there lookin’ at him, and when he prayed his hands together and said somethin’ to us, all I could see was one little man who loves his baby girl lookin’ at another little man who loves his baby girl.

“I know the judge and the DA gon’ do what they gon’ to do, but I just want to say the right thing tomorrow, so that’s what I was sittin’ here thinkin’ about when you walked up. So, maybe the Lord put you here to help me figure this out, Mr. Theo. What you think I should tell ‘em?”

Theo pondered before answering.

“Just tell him what you think is right, Kendrick. Be as kind as you can.

Do that.”

Kendrick looked at his hands, clasped between his knees, and shook his head. “Mm, mm, mm. And Lamisha is worried sick about that little man too. And his little girl.” He exhaled a long sigh. “Come on, Mr. Theo, I gotta get back to work. Let me walk you back up. I know this is a nice quiet place to think and stuff, but you don’t need to be here by yourself again.”

CHAPTER 42

The following morning when he left work, Kendrick walked to the district attorney’s office two blocks away and waited for Derrick Prentiss, state’s counsel, to arrive.

Throughout the night, Kendrick had thought about what he might say when the two of them finally met.

Two faces kept coming to his mind: one, the suffering young face of his daughter in the first weeks after the crash; and the other, the weary and frightened face of Mr. Mateo Mendez, the little man.

The decision as to what sentence might be imposed was not Kendrick’s to make. As a victim, he could merely express an opinion and describe the impact of the crime on his life. The State of Georgia was the aggrieved party.

Grandmother Whitaker, who knew quite a lot about aggrievement, had been very succinct when he asked her what he should do.

“Baby, they’s justice and they’s mercy. If you not sure what to do and you gotta choose one or the other, I say always go the mercy way. If you make a mistake, make it for mercy. Bad mercy don’t hurt nearly like bad justice, and always remember, the eye of God can see.”

By the time Derrick arrived at his office, Kendrick had fallen asleep, sitting upright in the reception area.

“You’re here mighty early, Mr. Whitaker. Can I get you a cup of coffee?” Kendrick was being covered up with “misters” these days.

“No, sir. I just got off work. I do night shift at the school. I’m on my way home.”

“Well, don’t let me keep you then.”

They stepped down a hallway into the lawyer’s office.

“Mr. Whitaker, I’m really sorry you’re having to go through all this. I know it’s been a tough year for you. Your daughter seems like a special little girl. I hate that she got hurt so badly. And, of course, it’s tragic about her mother.”

“I think Lamisha’s doin’ alright. She’s a fighter, and we got a good doctor.”

Derrick reached for a legal pad and a file folder. “Mr. Whitaker, we are looking at several options for sentencing Mr. Mendez. There are some state laws involved and some federal laws, too, since he’s illegal. We don’t really have any control over the federal part. But we’re very interested in what you have to say about the car wreck. Vehicular homicide is a state offense. It’s a serious charge.”

Kendrick listened carefully as Derrick explained the sentencing possibilities for the defendant. When it was his turn, he spoke in a calm, confident tone. He had already rehearsed this speech — several times in fact — while he had vacuumed floors during his work shift.

“Mr. Derrick, I been thinking a lot, a whole lot, about it. Really, since the day it happened, I been thinkin’. At first, I thought I wanted y’all to punish him really hard for what he did. I even felt that way yesterday morning till I finally saw him in court. Mr. Derrick, I don’t think that little man meant any harm. It was just a terrible, awful accident, and he’s already paid a high price, don’t you think? Even Scooby — that’s what I call my little girl — she’s all upset that Mr. Mendez can’t see his daughter.