“Lissa, if you two don’t get on the road soon, it’s going to be too late to leave.”

My parents owned a beach house on South Padre Island, and I was taking a long weekend to decompress. I didn’t usually make the drive alone, but Matt had Drill, and I had to be back at school on Monday. I was exhausted—sleep deprived was a more accurate term—but everything pulled me in different directions, and I’d over-committed myself this semester. I wanted to make a good impression on the new Dean. I wasn’t a tenured Professor, and there were always teachers vying for coveted spots on the University’s payroll. I loved my job, not just the classes and the lectures, but the ensembles, the private lessons, and the rare gift of a brilliant musician. They were all good, but this year, I’d been impressed by two in particular, and they took up hours of my day. I allocated resources to them they couldn’t afford…my time. Both were here on full music scholarships, so they fell to my tutelage by default, but selfishly, working with them one-on-one honed my own skills. But I still had the responsibilities the University paid me for, along with those I offered.

Couple that with every faculty member knowing I was the go-to girl if anyone needed help, and the school sucked up every waking moment. With Matt being on active duty, a house that needed taking care of, and Joshua—I was spread too thin. I was feeling every minute of missed sleep, and this weekend was exactly what I needed to catch up and relax.

“The car’s packed. You just need to get in it.” Matt kissed my forehead while I threw some snacks and drinks into a cooler for the almost four-hundred-mile trip. If we only stopped once for gas, we’d get there just in time for dinner. He said goodbye to us both and ushered us out the door.

Once we were on the interstate, the traffic moved quickly and miles ticked away. I talked to Joshua to stay alert, but he wasn’t interested in hearing me drone on about the University’s orchestra or the plans for the end-of-the-year recital. He effectively ignored me and dozed in and out with the thud of the cement sections on the highway, and I struggled to keep my eyes from drifting closed. I turned the air conditioning on full blast and sang along with the radio, but when I drifted off to sleep, and the grooves on the side of the road jolted me awake, I had to pull over.

I searched for a rest area thinking it would be the best place to reset, it was almost three o’clock in the afternoon, and travelers would be crawling the parking lots to stretch their legs and grab snacks or use the restroom. It was far safer than a gas station in my opinion, and I could fill up down the road after I rested my eyes for a bit. With a quarter of a tank of gas, I could easily make it to the next service station after the rest stop. I glanced at Joshua who was fast asleep and knew now was as good a time as any. I’d be late getting to my parents’, but I could call them after a power nap to update them on our arrival time.

I pulled into a spot in front of the building, turned down the AC, and locked the doors. I watched for a few minutes to see how people reacted to someone sitting in their car, but no one even gave us a second glance. I closed my eyes knowing either Joshua would wake me or the alarm I set giving myself an hour would. Sleep took over almost faster than my lids met.

“What happened after that?” Thus far, I’d been allowed to speak freely. Neither attorney had interrupted me with questions or objections.

Jethro had spent hours preparing me to tell my story and even more preparing me to answer the prosecutor’s questions. His attempt to ready me for this had all been in vain. The moment I stepped up to the witness stand, everything he’d told me, all that we had rehearsed—flew out the window in the face of fear. The only thing that remained was allowing the jury to see my emotion. I didn’t think that part would be hard as I was already about to crack under the weight of stress. Within minutes, my attorney had me neck deep in my past.

“The next thing I remember was waking up in the hospital. It was dark, and I was alone.”

“Was that when you learned Joshua had passed away?”

“Yes.” It was one syllable, but probably the hardest I’d ever uttered.

“You have no memory whatsoever of anything else that took place at the rest area?”

“No.” I’d been instructed to answer yes or no questions with one word, nothing more, nothing less. I was doing my best to adhere to that, but the desire to further explain myself was tough to fight against.

“You don’t remember anyone yelling, sirens, glass breaking?” The District Attorney was doing his job, but it didn’t change my answer. Regardless of how he asked the questions, or how many times he asked them, my answer wouldn’t change.

“Your Honor, he’s badgering the witness. She’s said countless times in sworn testimony she recalls nothing beyond going to sleep in the parking lot.”

With nothing further to add, the prosecutor dismissed me in favor of his next witness. Jethro had informed me I wouldn’t get the chance to express my remorse during questioning. The judge might grant me a period at the end of the trial to address the courtroom and the jury, but it wasn’t promised nor guaranteed.

Each day, Jethro ushered me into the courthouse with his arm around my waist in an attempt to shield me from the reporters and camera crews. Someone in front of us kept a path cleared for us to proceed, but I didn’t know who it was. It hadn’t taken long for the events to swirl in front of me like a tornado. When the storm finally settled, we were back in the courtroom, and the District Attorney was calling the woman to the stand who’d called 9-1-1.

“Can you state your name for the court?” Each witness underwent the same formal introduction.

“Clara Bartell.”

I’d only half listened to the standard questions the opposing attorney asked. But when she began to recount the events, she had my full attention.

“My husband and I stopped a few minutes before four o’clock that afternoon at the rest stop to use the bathroom and walk our dog. He took the dog, and I went to use the facilities. When I came back out, there was a car parked directly in front of me. I had to walk by it to get to Max, my husband. I was going to take our dog to let her get a little more exercise before we got back in the car while he went in. But when I passed the car window, the woman inside was bright red. Her cheeks were angry looking, and the car was stopped.”

“The engine wasn’t running when you stepped up to the vehicle?” The attorney asked questions to keep the story relevant and the facts in front of the jury.

“No. And when I bent down to give her a closer look, I noticed there was someone else inside, but there was stuff in the seat behind her, and I couldn’t get a good look on the other side. I knocked on the window, but she didn’t respond.”

“What did you do then?”

“I pounded again, this time hard enough to make my hand hurt, but she didn’t budge. I tried the door handle, but it was locked. So I screamed for Max and kept hammering on the glass trying to get her to wake up. He didn’t know what all the fuss was about, so he went back to our car to put Ruby, our dog, inside before he came to see why I was yelling. I kept hollering his name. I knew that woman needed help, but I couldn’t get to her. When he saw her, he told me to try the other doors. He grabbed the one behind her while I ran around to the passenger side.” Her Southern accent became more pronounced the deeper she got into her recollection.

“Were you the only two people there?”

“No, but I don’t know how many people had gathered around by that point. I just remember thinking how hot it was, and if we didn’t wake her up or get her out of that car she was gonna die.”

She stopped talking, choked up with emotion. Tears ran down her face, and her shoulders shook as she tried to contain herself.

“Mrs. Bartell, can you tell the Court what happened when you went around to the other side of the car?”

I knew what was coming. I hadn’t heard her version, but I knew what she saw the moment she tried to open the back-passenger door.

“I screamed like I’d never screamed before.” Anguish, pity, sorrow. They all filled her eyes and crossed her face.

My heart crashed in my chest as though I was reliving the agony with her…as if I’d witnessed it first-hand.

“There, in the backseat, was a tiny, little boy, the color of a grape.” She paused to regain her composure. “I knew before we ever touched him, he was gone. But Max tried to get to him anyhow. He raced back to the car to get a tire iron to bust the window, and by that time, people were trying to break the glass with anything they could find.”

“Did Ms. Jackson ever move during the commotion?”

“No, Sir. She was in almost as bad a shape as the little boy.”

“Did you break the window?”

“No. Max did. But not the one next to the little boy. He broke the one in front of him to unlock the doors and not risk cutting him with broken glass. I called 9-1-1 as soon as Max took over.”

* * *

It was difficult to put the pieces in the order they’d happened, but the lineup of witnesses was called in the order they’d come to the scene, I assumed in an effort to keep the timeline concise for the jury.

“Can you state your name and position for the court?” Jethro had his attention first.

“Drew Sullivan. Andrew Sullivan, sir. I’m a Fire Engineer at Station Twelve on Engine Twelve.” He shifted uncomfortably in the hard, wooden chair next to the judge. Each time he spoke, he leaned into the microphone with hesitation, and his left hand automatically went to the back of his neck worrying the muscles I’m sure were tense.

“How long have you been with the station?” Each attorney either wanted to establish the credibility of the person on the stand or discredit it. These people were fortunate, though; no one was trying to tear apart their words. Jethro wanted to appeal to the depravity of the situation they’d faced that day. He played on their heart in hopes of weakening the jury.

I wasn’t interested in Drew’s tenure as a fireman and tuned out his words to study him instead. There wasn’t a wedding band present on the hand continually massaging his neck. The soft gray eyes followed my attorney as he moved. He hadn’t even begun to tell the court what he’d seen that day, but I was struck by the profound effect this seemed to have on him.

“I was the first one out of the truck. We didn’t have a lot of details on the call, but I knew there was an infant in bad shape.” He hesitated. This was going to be tough. “Those are the worst calls to get.”

This was more than a job to this man. In the few words he’d spoken, I could already discern, this was his life’s calling.

“The car doors were open on both sides of the vehicle, but I went to the back seat where the crowd was heaviest. EMS was only a minute or two behind us, but for a baby that was life or death.” He chewed on his lip, his eyes closed, and his brow furrowed as he recalled that day in the Texas sun. “I’m not good with those belts used to hold babies in car seats, so I didn’t try to get him out. I unbuckled the belt holding the seat in the car and ran back to the truck with the baby still in the car seat. I didn’t know if he had a chance, but if I didn’t get his body temperature down, there would be no saving him. In hindsight, the truck probably wasn’t the best place to go. CPR would have been difficult in the confined space, but the AC was already on, and it had to have been thirty degrees cooler in there than outside.”

“What did the other men on your team do when you rushed to the truck?”

“Began to secure the scene, sir. I assume they got people away from the vehicle and blocked it off. Helped Ms. Jackson. I don’t know, to be honest. My focus was the little boy in my arms.”

“Can you tell the court what Joshua looked like when you reached him?” My attorney used his name repeatedly to make him real to the jury. The prosecutor referred to him as the deceased or victim to detach them from the reality that this was a child. Make it less personal.

Drew sucked his lips between his teeth and chewed on the bottom one before he raised his gaze back to Jethro.

“He was the deepest shade of red—like he’d been badly sunburned. His whole body was wet when I finally got him out of the seat in the truck, even his hair. What little he had was matted to his tiny head. His eyes were closed, but it was clear he had cried. His cheeks were streaked with dried tears.”

The fireman stopped speaking, choked up on the words he’d just uttered. Unable to maintain his composure, he shed tears for the life lost that day. He cleared his throat, but it didn’t stop the emotion pouring from his eyes.

“I’m sorry.” His stare met my weary eyes, and my own tears leaked from the corners of my eyes. I didn’t try to wipe them away. I accepted what he was offering me. “We were too late. I held him close to the air vents, but I didn’t have him out of the seat more than a few seconds before EMS took over. I’m so very sorry, Ms. Jackson.”

He was the first person to offer me any condolences. The first to express I had lost something precious that day. The first to acknowledge my pain. And the only one who ever would.

When he was finally dismissed, his face was puffy from crying, his eyes rimmed red. I watched him cross the courtroom, his back straight, his shoulders stiff. His Class A was firmly pressed, and his commendations proudly displayed on his left breast. With his hat tucked under his arm, he came to my side. He squatted beside me, put his hand on my forearm and uttered the only sentiments he could offer so low no one else could hear.

“Worst day of my life, ma’am. My deepest condolences.” He stood before anyone had time to object, and in the regimented manner he’d arrived, he left.

A paramedic came next. Each witness struggled to keep the emotion from their version of the events that day, especially the EMTs and the state troopers. I wanted to believe they knew it was an accident, but in the end, the only opinions that would matter were the jurors’, who were not making eye contact with me. All but one kept their focus trained on the front of the courtroom. An older man, with hair that had long lost its color, and warm, brown eyes, met my gaze and tilted his head just slightly in my direction. He connected with me, in just a glance. There were no words or gestures other than that, but I had one juror on my side.

I only needed one.

“Elizabeth Simmons. NREMT paramedic.” Her voice was gentle, and I hoped she was a mother. My attorney had deposed all of the witnesses, but I didn’t know much about them personally.

In another life, this was a woman I would have wanted to befriend. She had come dressed professionally, her uniform clearly identifying who she was. Her auburn hair was tied neatly behind her head revealing the kindest brown eyes. She offered me a gentle smile, and it was one I knew would be infectious in the throes of laughter.

“Did you try to revive the baby when you got to the scene?” The prosecutor continued in front of me.

She was poised and confident sitting in front of the court. Unlike her predecessor, she didn’t fidget and held her composure.

“No, sir. When I retrieved the baby from Mr. Sullivan, the child was clearly gone and had been. I checked the ABC upon arrival—”

“Can you tell the court what ABC refers to?”

“Airway, breathing, and circulation. There was no breathing and no pulse. I put the baby on a monitor to confirm asystole.” She then took a deep breath. Her shoulders rose, and her face fell when she exhaled. “I pronounced the child DOA, sorry, dead on arrival. The time of death was 4:03.” A moment in time that had left a mark on her life. “My partner contacted central to reach the coroner.”

She looked me straight in the eyes, the honey color of hers deepening as I watched them brim with unshed tears. What she said next was for me, not the court. “I held him to my chest and rocked him until the coroner arrived.”

The state trooper didn’t add much to the other accounts, but he did present what they believed were the timeline of events based on my statements and those who were there.

“Ms. Jackson said she pulled over around three that afternoon with about a quarter of a tank of gas. We have to assume it was less than that because by the time Mrs. Bartell and her husband found her and the baby, it wasn’t quite four. The call came in to 9-1-1 at 3:58 pm. The car was out of gas, and it was one hundred and three degrees that afternoon. We can only speculate as to the exact temperature of the inside of the vehicle because the windows had already been broken by the time we arrived, and no one knows how long the car was off before witnesses found the victims.”

“What do you estimate the internal temperature might have been?” This question had already been answered, but I guess the more people who testified, the more weight it would carry with a jury.

“Objection, the witness would be speculating.” Jethro didn’t even bother to rise as he called out to the judge.

“Counselor, his job is to piece together the scene.” She was right, and Jethro knew it, but his job was to make sure the jury knew there were no true witnesses with a first-hand account.

“The internal temperature could have been anywhere from one hundred thirty degrees Fahrenheit to upwards of one seventy-five, depending on how long the car had been off.”

This wasn’t pleasant for anyone involved, but I’d been lucky. Even with the sneers I’d received before the trial and the forced isolation, negative media attention, and even my own family ostracizing me—everyone who’d taken that stand after me had been kind even if it had only been because their testimony was clinical. No one had taken any cheap shots. I hadn’t received any threatening stares. I’d been met with pity when anyone dared point their words in my direction from the stand.

“At those temperatures, an adult only has minutes. Within ten, Ms. Jackson was inside a deathtrap. The baby had even less time.”

Matt’s testimony had been the most damning. His tape had been played for the court since he was deployed, and his words haunted me. He was angry, and it came through in every word he recorded. Blame lay at my feet. I had known his would be bad but hoped it hadn’t held as much weight since he wasn’t here to deliver it himself. Seeing his face, witnessing his devastation, every member of the jury would have identified with his anger and likely marinated in it. But his hadn’t been the testimony I’d hated hearing. I dreaded the details I knew were going to come from the prosecutor’s expert medical witness. He wasn’t here to talk about mine or Joshua’s specific case—he came to educate the courtroom on the process of the human body, adult and child, failing due to heatstroke. I’d spent far too much time researching this over the last few months, and it was gory.

“Heatstroke causes the body to shut down. It’s a multi-system organ failure where respiratory, cardiovascular, and nervous systems quit functioning. Most adults have experienced heat exhaustion of some form during their lifetime. The complexion flushes red from dilated blood vessels near the surface of the skin as the body tries to shed heat. The body is designed to sweat to regulate the internal temperature. With smaller skin surfaces, children and babies have a more difficult time. Sweating doesn’t cool a child’s body the way it does an adult’s. Humidity exacerbates the problems. Essentially, the body cooks itself from the inside.”

“How long could an adult survive in the conditions Ms. Jackson’s vehicle was in that day?”

“Ten to fifteen minutes before permanent damage occurred, maybe twenty minutes before death. But since there had been air-conditioning on in the car, it might have taken a few more minutes for the internal temperature to reach devastating levels.”

“What about an infant?”

I wanted to tune out the doctor and the prosecutor going back and forth, but it was Joshua’s final moments. As much as I didn’t want to hear about them, I needed too. I needed to suffer the constant reminder of what I’d done. Every time I got hot, every time I felt sweat run down my back…I deserved to be reminded of how my carelessness had affected someone I loved.

The doctor glanced in my direction before honing his attention back to the man who’d asked the question. “Maybe ten minutes.”

“Why didn’t Ms. Jackson wake up?”

“Extreme fatigue and sleep deprivation cause the body to react in different ways than a healthy adult would. But by design, when internal temperatures begin to rise to dangerous levels the heart rate rises, blood flow slows, and the body begins to feed water to critical organs—kidneys, the liver. The brain suffers from the lack of oxygen and blood. Had Ms. Jackson been well rested, the baby crying should have woken her. A few more minutes in that car, and we wouldn’t be here now.”

Minutes. My life had been defined in increments of sixty seconds. Likely not more than fifteen to twenty of them.

“Ms. Jackson was lucky not to have met the same fate as her son.”

My son.

My precious baby boy.

I’d killed him.

His final moments, he’d been awake. He’d cried, likely squalled. And as his mother, I’d offered him no comfort.

My son had died scared and alone.

* * *

The jury deliberated for three days. My attorney tried to assure me the longer they stayed behind closed doors, the better it was for me that a juror was holding out. I had a clean record, I was a contributing member of society, and my colleagues had spoken highly of me when they’d been called as character witnesses even if they had affirmed I’d taken on too much as a new mother. Jethro was convinced a jury wouldn’t send someone my age with my history to jail. But I wondered if I deserved that kind of grace. I didn’t want to spend my days behind bars, but I wouldn’t blame them had they deemed it a necessary punishment.

We waited to be called back to the courthouse, and each day that passed was harder than the previous. While Jethro was hoping for a hung jury, I knew I couldn’t endure another trial. I wouldn’t appeal whatever decision they made. I would accept the consequences and hope at some point I would be able to climb out of the manic state I’d found myself in.

The call came at the end of day three, late in the afternoon. I’d given up hope for the day and resigned myself to another sleepless night with an unknown fate. I’d been fortunate I hadn’t been forced into police custody for the duration of this process, but I needed it to end.

Entering the court house was like carrying my cross to the crucifixion, only regardless of the outcome, my suffering wouldn’t end here. Either way, I would have to live with this for the rest of my life. Every time I closed my eyes, I’d see Joshua’s precious little face, his bright blue irises, the way he grinned when I cooed at him. I’d never hear him say his first words or see him take his first steps. I wouldn’t watch him graduate from high school or walk down the aisle. I’d stolen all of those things from myself, but more importantly from him and those who loved him.

We stood as the jury entered the room, and I wrung my hands in front of me. My palms were sweaty, and my blouse clung to my skin. Jethro still hoped for the best, but I just prayed for an end.

Everyone took their seats, and my knee thrashed nervously beneath the table. Jethro’s hand landed firmly on my thigh near my knee with a squeeze. He held it there until the bouncing ceased, and I could control my body.

“Has the jury reached a decision?” The judge seemed as anxious for this to be over as I was.

When the foreman for the jury stood, the world around me went quiet. Everyone waited with their breath held, and their eyes trained on the man about to speak. “We have, your Honor. We find the defendant not guilty on the count of manslaughter. We find the defendant guilty on the count of second-degree child endangerment.”

Nothing else mattered. The legalities of the proceeding continued, but I’d heard all I needed. I had put my child in danger, and it had resulted in his death…even if it was involuntary. The murmurs around the courtroom brought me back to the present. Court had been dismissed, and the attorneys were speaking amongst themselves. I knew Jethro would be pleased with the outcome. He’d never expected an acquittal. Not in the state of Texas. But he’d been hopeful I wouldn’t serve any jail time. A manslaughter conviction came with a minimum of two years and hefty fines. Child endangerment was likely parole and a lot of money, but no incarceration.

I shouldn’t have been surprised my parents showed up for the sentencing when they hadn’t attended the trial, but I was. I don’t know if they were there to see that they got justice for my son, or if they hoped for leniency. They didn’t speak to me and sat on the plaintiff’s side of the courtroom, so I had to assume it was the former.

I had been granted the chance to speak to the courtroom before my sentence was handed down. The thought crossed my mind to let it go, but in the end, I needed to address them for Joshua. The world had to know I loved my son. Jethro had not told me my parents had been given that same opportunity, or that they would get to go first.

My father stood before the court, as though his words were directed solely at me, and no one else was here to witness them. “It’s hard to imagine the devastation a parent feels when their child does something as careless as ours has. The scrutiny we’ve faced in the community pales in comparison to the devastation we live with daily. Our daughter took the life of our only grandchild. The grandson we adored. Because of our daughter’s negligence, we will never see the man Joshua might have become. We won’t have him for holidays, or birthdays. He’ll never use the room in our house that’s there just for him. Our lives are irrevocably changed because of a poor decision.

“When my wife and I decided to come today, we determined it had to be for Joshua. Someone had to speak on his behalf, so his life was not lost in vain.”

His suit was stuffy, and he came across as pretentious, at least to me…I had no idea what anyone else in the room thought. The truth was, it didn’t matter. The judge would make the final decision, but their words and mine would be recorded, recited in the media, and witnessed over and over again. And they’d chosen to come in support of my son, even when that meant they’d come against me. It stung, but I understood their position. And I was honored they loved my son enough to take it.

His eyes bored holes in me while he delivered his request to the court. I knew my father, and he was making a statement to me. This was our end, but he respected me enough to hold my stare while he made it.

“We ask that the court punish Melissa to the fullest extent of the law in hopes that this will be a reminder to parents everywhere of just how precious a child’s life is…and how one careless decision, or a multitude of them, can end in demise.”

I didn’t cry. I swallowed back the lump in my throat and straightened my spine before I took the floor.

My voice was meek when I began to speak, and Jethro motioned he couldn’t hear me. I cleared my throat and stood taller. “I had planned to write my address to the court and then read it but decided it would be better to speak from my heart.

“I’m not going to stand here and hand out excuses. I’m not going to offer a laundry list of reasons this happened. I accept that I made poor choices that day and in the weeks leading up to it. But those choices were made in love. Love for my students, love for music, love for my fiancé, and most importantly, love for my son. That love, for each of those things, had me pushing physical limits I never should have embarked on, and because of that, the world will never know Joshua Matthew Nelson. I stole that from the universe and those who cherished him. If I could go back, I’d do so many things differently, but I can’t. I will live knowing I robbed people I loved of something they can never get back. My heart aches to know my son was in pain when he left the world. It shreds me to think he was frightened—that he’d screamed. It ruins me to believe I could have done something differently—because I could have. My son’s death was an accident, one I’ll pay for dearly until I take my last breath.” The tears stained my cheeks, but I didn’t wipe them away. I resumed my spot next to Jethro and waited with my eyes cast downward.

When the judge finally spoke, her voice boomed through the small courtroom, and each word hit me like a bat. “Situations like these are never easy for anyone. There are no winners here regardless of the sentence I hand down. While I do believe you made mistakes, Ms. Jackson, I do not believe I need to further destroy another life. The struggles you will face as this follows you around will far outweigh my punishment.” She took a deep breath and let out a heavy sigh that was magnified by the microphone in front of her. “I hereby sentence you to three years of probation and ten thousand dollars.”

She continued to speak, but I had checked out. I wasn’t sure if I should be elated I wasn’t leaving here in handcuffs, or feel guilty for worrying about how I would pay ten thousand dollars in fines when I was sure to be unemployed as a convicted felon. Neither were things I had to face at the moment. Right now, I just needed to escape the disappointment of the people around me who’d expected me to go to prison.