Читать книгу The Wedding Party - Робин Карр, Robyn Carr, Robyn Carr - Страница 9

When Charlene entered her office, Pam London was taken aback. “Wow,” she said, her mouth dropping open in surprise. “Look at you.”

“What?” Charlene asked, but she smiled because she knew what Pam saw. She’d seen it herself in the mirror that very morning.

“You look ravishing. You haven’t looked this good since you got back from Mazatlan.”

“Ravishing?”

“My, my, yes.” Pam squinted a bit, studying Charlene’s face. “What is it? New makeup?”

“Not exactly. Come into my office, will you?” Pam followed, notepad in hand, and shut the door behind her. “Dennis and I have decided to get married,” Charlene said, skipping any preamble.

Pam didn’t make it very far into the spacious office before she sank into a deep and comfy leather chair. Speechless.

“This can’t possibly be a surprise,” Charlene said.

“Can’t it be…?”

Charlene, businesslike, began taking papers out of her briefcase and placing them in separate stacks on the desktop. “To the contrary. Some would even say this is way overdue, that we should have done it years ago. After five years, it seems almost like a mere formality.” Indeed, on the very night they had made the decision, nothing special set it apart from any other night they spent together. Except maybe the changing of a tire in the rain, which Dennis accomplished while Charlene held the flashlight.

“I guess I thought—” Pam didn’t finish.

“You thought we didn’t need marriage?”

“Well…that’s what you always said.”

“And it’s still true. We don’t need marriage, but wanting it is a different story. To make our commitment complete.”

“That’s lovely.”

“You are the absolute first to know. I haven’t even told Stephanie yet, or my mother. Lois thinks I’m completely hopeless, so she’s going to flip, and Stephanie…Well, I haven’t talked to her since yesterday.” And in thinking about that conversation some of the glow threatened to fade from Charlene’s features. She would have to call Stephanie and tell her about her grandmother; they were very close. But as for the marriage plans, she could wait. In fact, Charlene was still smarting a little from Stephanie’s words and didn’t look forward to calling her at all. “But I wanted to tell you immediately,” Charlene said to Pam. “Because I’d like you to stand up for me, if you will.”

“If? Of course I will! But what about Stephanie and Lois? Won’t they get their noses out of joint if I—”

“No, no, no,” Charlene insisted. “This is all going to work out fine. And I want you with me on this. Like you’ve been with me on everything. I couldn’t have built this practice without you, Pam.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Say you will.”

“Of course,” she said, flattered. “When is this going to happen?”

“I don’t know. In a few weeks. I have about four major crises to work out before I can think about the actual event, but once I get things under control, I’ll make some arrangements. Something very small, very quiet, very quick.”

Pam smiled lazily. “Quick? Are you pregnant?”

“Ha-ha.”

“And you are doing this quickly because…?”

Charlene stopped shuffling papers, put her briefcase under her desk and took a seat. “Now that we’ve decided, we’re anxious to have the formalities out of the way. But there is another matter that concerns me. My mother is experiencing some memory problems. Some confusion. I’d hate to call it dementia, but until she sees a doctor, I have no other terminology.”

“So the call from the grocer was the real McCoy,” Pam observed.

“I didn’t want to admit it. I was hoping he was just overreacting, but she was confused. It’s possible she really couldn’t find her way home from the store and had to be rescued by a bag boy. I have no better explanation because she can’t remember much about the incident.”

“My goodness, how scary,” Pam replied, as surprised now as Charlene had been yesterday.

She nodded. “I owe Mr. Fulbright an apology. And a debt of gratitude. I hope these aren’t the early symptoms of Alzheimer’s.”

“And that’s why you’re going to hurry and—”

“That’s a factor, not a reason. My mom has a problem, and I don’t know how serious it is, but before things get any worse, if they’re destined to get worse, and while everyone in my family and in Dennis’s family are all relatively healthy and alert, we’re going to have a small, pleasant ceremony.”

“Well, this must be the right decision, it sure has worked wonders on you. You look positively radiant. How do you feel?”

Charlene folded her hands together on top of her desk. “I can’t explain it, but if I’d known I was going to feel this great, I’d have accepted Dennis’s proposal years ago. I’ve never felt so comfortable…so serene. I have total peace of mind.”

Pam leaned back into the folds of the chair, stretched her long legs out in front of her and admired Charlene’s shimmer. “You’re glowing. It’s amazing.”

“I can feel it.”

“You and Dennis must have had some romantic night last night—the sparkles are still floating all around your aura.” Pam’s eyes became moist. “I’m so happy for you, Char. No one deserves this more than you. I’d be honored to witness for you.”

Pam stood, dropped her notebook on the ottoman and moved toward Charlene. She opened her arms to embrace her, tears glittering in her eyes.

But Charlene didn’t cry. She was a little embarrassed by what Pam had said…and its contrast with the truth. There were no sparkles of romance glittering around her, but rather the warm glow of complete contentment. There had been no sex, no breathless passion in the wake of a profession of the truest love, but rather the intimate dialogue of close friends as they comforted each other after their terrible day.

But wasn’t that what true love really was? Friendship and trust? Knowing the person you counted on was there? And being there for him?

So, Charlene asked herself, what exactly was she glowing about? She frowned over Pam’s shoulder as she admitted to herself that it felt vaguely like relief.

Charlene patted Pam’s back and said, “There, there.” Then she handed Pam a tissue and said, “High on my list of priorities, after a nice little wedding, is a week off. Not a honeymoon, but rather a vacation. Sometime later this spring possibly, after we’ve tied the knot, had Peaches to the doctor, cleared some time from our schedules and have things under control. We’re talking about a cruise. Dennis and I have both been under so much pressure lately, I’m surprised we even have the energy to get married. To that end, I’d like to make a dent in the ‘pending’ list and clear some time.”

“When are you going to tell Stephanie and your mom?”

“Well…”

“That’s not much of an answer,” Pam said. “What’s going on?”

“To tell the truth, I’m a little miffed at them both. Peaches knows she has a problem that could be serious, and she told me to butt out. Said she was sorry to be losing it. Her exact words were, ‘I’m sorry that obviously I’m losing it.’ Jesus. As for Stephanie, she doesn’t stop talking about herself long enough to check and see if anyone else has a life. She’s so self-absorbed….”

“She’s twenty-five.”

“And spoiled and selfish. But I will have to speak to her about Peaches. You know how close those two are. And hopefully we will tell them both this weekend.”

“How do you suppose they’ll react?” Pam said, a devilish flicker sparkling her eyes.

“Hmm. Peaches will probably be astonished and Stephanie will…Stephanie will probably be relieved that I’m not going to die an old-maid divorce lawyer.” She shook her head while Pam laughed. “So,” she went on, “I have a full calendar today, culminating with a meeting this evening here with Bradley himself of Bradley & Howe regarding the Omagi custody. I doubt I’ll get home before ten. I’m due in court in an hour. Child Protective Services continue to harangue Leslie and Tom Batten, and I’ve filed an injunction to hold them off until we can have a hearing. Then I have a lunch and a meeting with Carl Dena regarding the transfer of one of his companies into his son’s name, since his son’s been managing it for about ten years anyway. Can you see to these items, please?” She passed a neatly printed list to Pam. “And will you please add one item?”

“Sure.”

“I ran into Jake last night. He wanted a favor, but we got sidetracked talking about Stephanie and he forgot to ask me. Will you give him a call? Ask him what he needs?”

“Sure.”

“And if it sounds like too much trouble, tell him you can’t fit it on my calendar. I’ve already done plenty for him and I don’t—”

“He probably just wants some simple legal thing for free, like a paper filed for a friend,” Pam said as she scribbled, not even looking up from her notebook. “If so, I can probably get it done without even bothering you.”

“Your discretion,” Charlene said dismissively. “I’ve got less than an hour to go over my notes for court, so let’s get to work.”

“Gotcha. Coffee?”

“Hey, that would be great. I forgot to grab some as I passed the pot.”

“You have a lot on your mind. By the way, will you be living in your house or Dennis’s?”

Charlene responded with a blank stare, her mouth slightly open. How could that have not even come up in the conversation that followed “Do you still want to get married?” “Um, my house, of course,” she said to Pam unconvincingly.

“You didn’t even talk about it, did you?”

“You know, we talked about so many things….”

“Oh brother,” Pam said, heading for the coffeepot.

One of the things Pam London appreciated about working for Charlene Dugan was the quality of the work environment and the high measure of independence and responsibility Pam was afforded. She was an experienced paralegal, an executive assistant, and passed off secretarial work to office clericals and legal research to law clerks. Pam had helped build Phelps, Dugan & Dodge; she’d been with Charlene for sixteen years, beginning in the early, lean years.

Pam remembered with nostalgic fondness the old brick walk-up they started in, when they both were young and energetic, when Stephanie was just a bitty little thing with freckles. They couldn’t afford a secretary so Lois, who was about to retire, helped out with typing and filing in the evenings and on the weekends.

They’d been through a lot since then, both professionally and personally. Pam had lost her mother to cancer and eventually moved back in with her father. She told herself she did it for him, but it was as much for herself. Meanwhile, Charlene finally moved out of her mother’s house. Together they built a strong reputation in the legal community. The work was challenging, the pay excellent, the people were of the highest caliber and her days flew by.

Pam and Charlene were too busy to worry that they didn’t have dates. And now, against all odds, Charlene was actually getting married.

It was 7:00 p.m. when the door to Charlene’s office opened and she came marching out, briefcase in one hand, sheaf of papers to drop on Pam’s desk in the other, coat over her shoulders. And a scowl on her face. “Last-minute change of venue,” she said. “I’m going to Bradley & Howe.”

“When did this happen?” Pam asked.

“About ten minutes ago, when I called to confirm our meeting here. It’s a sleazy trick. This guy is creating diversions, pretending the meeting was always scheduled for his office. What bullshit. I left a message for Sherry Omagi on her voice mail, but if she shows up here, tell her she can drive over to Bradley & Howe if she wants to, but it doesn’t matter. I’ll meet with the attorney whether she’s there or not, and I’m not backing down.”

“Go get ’em, tiger.”

“You ever get through to Jake?”

“Oh, yeah. There’s some woman he met…I think he said he met her in a bar…?”

“No,” Charlene said facetiously. “Jake? In a bar?”

“She’s divorced, has a couple of kids by two exes, neither of whom share custody or pay child support. Now ex number one wants custody of child number one. And of course she’s broke.”

“Does the ex have money?”

“Don’t know that yet.”

“Well, I can’t see a judge handing over a child with a lot of back support owed. Abuse?”

Pam shrugged. She didn’t know the answer to that either. “He abandoned them…as did ex number two. I put her on your calendar for next week.”

“Why’d you do that?” Charlene asked.

“Because you just can’t say no to Jake,” Pam returned, smiling gently.

“That’s what you’re for! You can!”

“Char, it’s easier this way. Believe me. It’ll take hours of pestering off the clock.” She glanced down at the papers Charlene had given her. “Where are you with CPS versus Batten?”

“We’ll revisit this issue in one month with a hearing in family court. We’ve got a TRO. The CPS has been temporarily restrained. They’ve been told to leave the Battens alone unless they have a police matter to investigate.”

“In the hot file it goes. You’d better hurry.”

“Don’t work too late,” Charlene said.

“Since there’s no meeting here, I’ll close up in ten minutes.”

“Have a nice evening,” Charlene said, pulling the door closed.

“You bet,” Pam said to the closing door. “You bet,” she said more quietly to the empty room.

She cleaned off her desk at a leisurely pace, giving that last client who might show up at the wrong place for the right meeting a few more minutes to appear. She cleared her computer screen, locked her desk drawer and placed her calendar open on top of her desk, scanning tomorrow’s schedule. Yes, yes, I love working here, she said to herself. I’d be lost without this place.

Lost.

Pam pulled her gym bag from the cupboard behind her desk and went into Charlene’s executive bathroom; she only used this private facility when Charlene was out of the office. There she affected a transformation—from sophisticated career woman in light wool suit, silk blouse and pumps, to weight trainer in spandex, sports bra and cross-trainers.

She pulled her shoulder-length auburn hair into a clip and couldn’t resist the urge to preen a little in front of Charlene’s mirror. She was cut; nicely muscled, her percentage of body fat low. Looking fine. Weight lifting was more than just a hobby, more than a means of staying in shape. It was something she did to keep her spirits from sinking.

It wasn’t as though she had a bad life. In fact, by almost anyone’s standards she had a great life. She loved her job, was in outstanding health and had a terrific home life with her Great Dane, Beau, and an elderly but extremely fit father who traveled quite a bit, leaving her to enjoy the luxury of free rent in three thousand square feet with hot tub. And she had friends, from work, from the neighborhood and from the club where she exercised.

But there was no man in her life and there hadn’t been in years. Years! And she was no longer too busy to notice.

She also remembered the ones that hadn’t worked out, the ones who did come around but were completely wrong for her and the ones who caught her eye and already had the stamp of another woman on them. She was luckless in this department. What was worse, she had absolutely no idea why. If her father asked her one more time, “Any new prospects, honey?” she might strangle him. As objectively as she could judge, she thought herself to be of at least average attractiveness. Oh hell, above average! She was intelligent, industrious and clean. She had a sense of humor, she read good books and, unless she was missing some vital signal, she was actually popular. She got along with everyone, on both personal and professional levels. In fact, she was one of those women who, after writing of her dilemma to Ann Landers, was likely to get the response, “If what you say about yourself is true, you’d have been snapped up years ago. There must be some little thing you’re overlooking.”

It wasn’t like Pam to sulk. In fact, it was rare for her to give in to this sense of disappointment, this feeling that she had somehow failed. She’d stopped trying to figure out what terrible flaw she had long ago. Was this because Charlene was getting married? But that was silly. Charlene and Dennis had been together for years and, as she’d said, this was really only a formality.

Pam had accepted that not everyone gets a partner and she knew a lot of single people who were not looking, were not trying to find a mate. She was thirty-nine and had stopped allowing herself to be set up at about thirty-five. She wasn’t interested in making man-hunting a life’s work.

The paperwork she would take home was already packed into her briefcase. As she pulled her raincoat out of the closet, there were two short taps at the outer office door before it swung open. “Locking up, Ms. London?” Ray Vogel asked her.

“As we speak,” she said, taking her coat off its hanger.

“Whoa, Ms. London,” he said, grinning. “Look at you! I always figured you for a gym rat.”

“A what?” she said, laughing in spite of herself.

“Wow, look at that six-pack,” he said, referring to her muscled abs. “Where do you work out?”

“Just a neighborhood tennis and fitness club.”

“You compete?” he asked.

“Me? Get serious!” But she had an unmistakable urge to flex.

She slipped into her coat, pulled the strap of her tote over one shoulder, gym bag over the other, followed that with her handbag strap, then grabbed up her briefcase and suit-on-a-hanger. Keys in hand, she joined him at the office door. He took the keys from her hand, eased her out the door, flicked off the lights and locked up for her. “You could compete,” he said, handing her back the keys. Then he took some of her burdens. “Come on, I’ll make sure you get to your car.”

“You don’t have to do that, Ray. I get myself there every night.”

“Tonight’s my treat,” he said. “You know, I could tell. That you work out. I thought about just asking, but I didn’t want to, you know, be…um…” He was clearly searching for a word.

“Nosy?” she supplied, humor in her voice.

“That’s not what I mean. I was working on a way to ask you if you were, you know, married. Or involved.”

She almost dropped her suit. She stopped walking and turned toward him with a look that verged on alarm. “What?”

He shrugged. “Married? Involved?”

“Why?” she said, confused—and very shocked.

“I thought we could grab a drink some night. Maybe something to eat.” He took her elbow in hand and led her the rest of the way to the elevator. He pressed the down button. “You know, a date.”

It was almost scary, the way he proposed this only minutes after she’d been flexing her thirty-nine-year-old muscles in front of the bathroom mirror, bemoaning her absolutely solitary life. She was going to be a long time in recovering from the sheer blow. “Are you serious? You have a thing for older women?”

“Why wouldn’t I be serious? How much older can you be?” he countered.

The elevator arrived and they stepped inside.

“I could be a lot older, Ray. I could be your mother!”

“Come on,” he said, brushing her off.

“How old are you?” she demanded, feeling a blush rise up her neck.

“Now, if I’d asked you that question, I bet you’d get all piss—All bent out of shape,” he said, correcting himself. “I’m almost twenty-eight.”

“I could be your much older sister,” she said. “I’m almost forty.”

“Oh yeah?” he said, looking pleased with himself. “How almost?”

“Thirty-nine and three quarters.”

“No shit. I mean, no kidding!”

“How ‘almost twenty-eight’ are you?”

“Twenty-five,” he said. He grinned devilishly. Handsomely. “I took you for about thirty.”

“Ray.” She laughed at him. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“Okay, thirty-one. No more than thirty-three, tops. So, about that drink—”

The elevator deposited them on the main floor and they stepped out onto the marble floor of the foyer. “You really have made my day,” she said with laughter in her voice. She couldn’t wait for her father to next ask about prospects. “But I’m afraid I couldn’t possibly have a drink with you.”

“You’re involved,” he said. It was not a question, and it reeked of disappointment.

“Ray, I’m pretty sure we wouldn’t be right for each other.” She stopped at the glass revolving door.

“I’m mature for my age.”

“Me too,” she said.

“I get done here at about ten. You should be finished working out by then.”

“Good night, Ray,” she said. She took her bag and briefcase from him and went through the revolving doors.

He followed her. “I’m going to change clothes, drive over to the Plum Tree—they have good Chinese and a nice, quiet little bar. Very cozy neighborhood place. Not too loud.”

“I’m going to work out, then I’m going home,” she said, heading for the parking lot. “To tuck in my dog and walk my father.”

“Oh man, you’re making it very tough, Ms. London,” he said from the glass doors. “I don’t know how to compete with a dog and a father. Play fair.”

She threw her head back and laughed again. “You are very flattering. Have a nice evening.”

“You’re breaking my heart!”

She shook her head. Nice joke, she thought. The kid doesn’t know from broken hearts. She unlocked her car, threw all her stuff in ahead of her and got in. She turned on the engine and the lights, then looked one more time toward the office building. He stood there, watching her go. Tall, handsome, young. Young. As she pulled out of the lot, the face in the rearview mirror grinned stupidly back at her. “Oh, for God’s sake!” she snapped at herself. “Don’t even think about it!”

Dennis could hear the commotion of happy family life as he stood at the front door of his sister Gwen’s house. He didn’t hurry to ring the bell, just listened for a moment. Gwen was forty now and had had her children in her thirties—Richie, when she was thirty-one and Jessica, when she was thirty-three. They were at a great age right now—lots of fun and not much work. They didn’t have to be bathed anymore, and they were too young to drive. But this was not a quiet or calm age. He could hear the choppy piano practice in which Jessica was engaged and a steady thumping coming from somewhere inside the house.

“Richie! That basketball is for outside!”

The steady thumping would be his nephew, bouncing the ball against a wall.

“I’m keeping time for Jessica,” he yelled.

A living-room wall.

He rang the bell. The door was opened by the kids, who immediately shrieked in happy surprise and threw themselves on him. He lifted them both, looping an arm around each skinny waist and balancing their wiry bodies against his hips, then carried them through the foyer, past the living room, to find his sister in the kitchen.

“Well, look at this. Your uncle Dennis is psychic. He knew I needed a break from you ungrateful monsters.”

“I eat monstrous children for breakfast,” he said in his growling voice and gave them a powerful shake that sent their limbs flailing.

“Take them away for a while and I’ll make it worth your efforts,” she said.

He growled again and carried them upstairs, knowing he wouldn’t get a single peaceful word of conversation with Gwen until he’d given them some quality time. An hour later, the kids clean and tucked in their beds, Dennis migrated back to Gwen’s kitchen, lured by the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. She brushed a strand of hair out of her tired eyes and slapped a box of Girl Scout cookies onto the kitchen table between two cups.

“Where’s Dick?” Dennis asked.

“In New York, on business,” she said. “The dick,” she whispered, making her brother laugh.

“Had enough mommying for one day?” he asked, sitting down behind one of the cups while she poured.

“You’re the guardian for those two, right? Because I might not live to see the end of this job. God, they should bottle that energy.” She filled the second cup. “Charlene working?”

He sipped. “Mmm, good. Yeah, she has a meeting.” Gwen yawned. “Am I keeping you up?” he asked.

“God, I’m sorry, Denny. I had to work at the school today, plus I took Dick’s turn at Jessica’s soccer practice, and then there was this Brownie meeting about the cookies. You know, THE cookies,” she said, smacking the box till it fell over. “The effing cookies,” she added, again whispering.

“Won’t you be glad when they get a little older and you can swear again?”

“Jesus, you don’t know the half. How’s your life?”

“I’m getting married.”

Her mouth fell open and she was momentarily speechless. “You’re getting what?” she asked when she recovered from the shock.

“Married,” he said again.

He sipped again from his cup while she studied his passive face.

She had wondered if this day would ever come again for her brother. She didn’t want him to be alone. Even though he had her, Dick and the kids, it was not the same as a spouse, a partner. When he’d started dating Charlene, she’d grown excited. Hopeful. But five years had passed in relative sameness, and while they were obviously very close, nothing like marriage—or even living together—ever materialized.

Gwen put her elbow on the table and held up her head with her hand, staring at him while he sipped his coffee. Is this what happened when you were almost fifty and getting married? Matter-of-fact? Is it just another chore? Like deciding to update the will or go see the tax attorney?

She lifted one skeptical eyebrow. “You look ecstatic,” she said doubtfully.

“It seems like the thing to do, don’t you think?” he asked.

“It’s not a colonoscopy, Denny. You’re getting married!”

“I really am happy about it. It’s just that…there’s something I hadn’t accounted for.”

“Lay it on me,” she said, slowly testing her own cup of hot coffee.

“I was completely unprepared for how this would bring back memories of Sarah.” Gwen stopped sipping and gave Dennis her full and, for once, unsarcastic attention. She slowly lowered her cup to the saucer. “Even though I asked Charlene if she wanted to get married two, probably three years ago, it never occurred to me that in saying yes she would unleash so many memories for me.”

“Good ones?” Gwen asked. “Bad ones?”

“All of them, from the time I met Sarah and first held her close, to the time three years later that I held her cancer-ravaged body as we said goodbye.”

“Oh, Denny…”

“I have no idea why this is happening now. Really.”

“Maybe it’s the idea of remarrying,” she offered.

“Sarah died eighteen years ago. And we were only together for three years. It doesn’t feel like remarrying. It feels like that was another life.”

“Well, then, what could it be? Are we close to any anniversaries? Of your engagement to Sarah? Your wedding, her illness, her death?”

“No, thank God.”

She reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “Maybe it’s just time for you to revisit this thing. You know, like post-traumatic stress. Maybe this is how you complete the cycle, bring closure. I mean, is it even possible to marry Charlene without your last marriage crossing your mind?”

“I never thought I’d love like that again,” he said, looking anywhere but at his sister.

A moment of silence passed between them…and stretched out. In a way, Denny and Charlene had been acting like an old married couple since the week they met, but was that a good thing? “And have you?” she asked very quietly, drawing his eyes back to her face.

“Of course!” he insisted. “My God, Charlene is extraordinary. I know you agree.”

“I do,” she said. In truth, Gwen was one of Charlene’s biggest fans, but that wasn’t really the issue here. The issue was her brother, who was morose on the day he announced his formal engagement. Despite his insistence to the contrary, the bold and passionate way he had loved when he loved Sarah had been buried with her. While Gwen was mostly concerned with her brother right now, it did cross her mind that Charlene might be getting shortchanged.

Gwen had been eighteen when her twenty-eight-year-old brother met and fell helplessly in love with Sarah Brown, a slender beauty with dark hair and vivid eyes. Dennis had described his first true love to his sister as kind, patient, good-natured and possessing a dry humor.

They met while Dennis was teaching high-school chemistry. Sarah was the photography and audiovisual teacher at the school and there was such chemistry between them—an intended pun they overused—that the principal asked them to stop looking at each other during school hours. They got married the second school was out—a sweet little ceremony in the park—and spent the summer in Europe.

What they had together was so obvious, so intense, so devoted and delicious, it became the benchmark for what Gwen wanted for herself. Perfect love.

And then Sarah died, a slow and miserable death from ovarian cancer.

“I don’t know if I ever told you this, Denny, but one of the things that I have always most admired about you was…is…your ability to take the pain and disappointment in life and turn it into something positive and beautiful. Like letting the experience of Sarah’s illness and death turn the chemistry teacher into a physician’s assistant who can help people daily. I love that about you.”

He looked wistful, his eyes cloudy. “She was so amazing,” he said.

“Dennis, look at me,” she said.

He obliged. “You’ve told me that a number of times, Gwen. I appreciate it.”

“Denny, is this some kind of red flag? Maybe you and Charlene shouldn’t be getting married….”

“I was so lonely by the time I met Charlene,” he said. “Dating never did do it for me, you know? I was so grateful to finally find someone who liked the same things. Someone I could talk to. I suggested we get married or at least move in together six months after we met.”

“I didn’t know that,” she said.

“She told me she’d never been happier, more in tune with a person…and she didn’t want to screw it up by changing everything so soon after we’d fallen into such a lovely little routine.”

Routine, Gwen thought. Yes, that would describe it.

“The day I met Charlene was one of the best days of my life. The past five years have been some of my most contented.”

Gwen couldn’t bear the flat expression on his face, the murky look in his eyes. Sarah’s death had been a painful loss for Gwen, too, and for everyone even remotely related to them. They had been a beautiful, joyful young couple, without so much as an argument between them, and were now scarred by the utter tragedy of a life cut short. And almost overnight Dennis became a young widower locked in a powerful grief that lasted years. It was almost too much to bear remembering. She was afraid she might cry just thinking about it.

Now he was getting married…. and he sounded perfectly miserable.

In utter frustration she tore open the box of cookies and stuffed one into her mouth. She went for a second, then a third, chewing slowly and with much difficulty. Her cheeks puffed out and her teeth were smeared with chocolate. It took a long time to make room for two more, which she had to break into chunks to push into her mouth. Dennis watched this display in frowning confusion, but she didn’t see him. She had closed her eyes as she struggled with the clump of chocolate. When she was finally done, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, looked at her brother and said, “Just don’t bubble over with happiness, okay?”

“That was disgusting,” he observed.

“Thank you.”

When Charlene arrived at the law offices of Bradley & Howe, Sherry Omagi was waiting in the foyer, looking as nervous as a cat. Charlene pasted that smile of confidence on her face. She hadn’t spent as much time as she should have preparing for tonight, for she’d had only one meeting with Sherry, but it should be cutand-dried. Sherry was willing to discuss visitation, as long as she maintained custody, and would not ask for support payments. She was a self-supporting accountant who worked mostly at home and the child was young, circumstances that all heavily favored the mother.

“He’s already here,” Sherry said, wringing her hands. “I saw him go in.”

“Sherry, I want you to calm down and let me do the talking.”

“I’m so afraid,” she said. “Frankie means everything to me.”

Charlene pulled her client along with her to the elevators. She pushed the button for the third floor. “Now, we’ve talked about this, Sherry. Your ex-husband is entitled to some quality time with Frankie, and the same is good for Frankie, but that’s no reason you can’t retain primary custodial care. You should rethink the issue of compensatory support as well.”

“I don’t need support,” she said. “Kim isn’t as attached to Frankie as I am. He only wants him because I want him. He’s even said that having him is stupid.”

“People say things in the heat of the moment.”

“He said he’s sick of Frankie shitting all over the place. Really, Charlene, I worry about Frankie in Kim’s care. I don’t know that he’d be…safe.”

“Well, there are definite messes involved when you have little ones running around. This is the first time you’ve indicated Kim could be abusive. Are you serious about this?”

“I just don’t know. I suppose that’s just my temper talking, but still. Charlene, I just want custody. That’s all.”

“Compromise will get you a lot further, Sherry. Especially since it’s the best thing for the entire family.”

“But it hardly costs anything to keep Frankie. Really.”

“But it will, believe me. Wait till he wants to drive. Wait till college. We have to settle these things now, make it part of the divorce settlement.”

The elevator arrived on the third floor and Charlene got off. When she realized that Sherry wasn’t beside her, she turned around. Her client stood in the elevator, paralyzed. “You’re kidding, right?” Sherry asked.

“About what?”

“About driving. About college.”

Charlene laughed. “I have a twenty-five-year-old daughter—it’s nothing to kid about.”

“Charlene, Frankie is a goose.”

Charlene’s expression was frozen, her mouth hanging open slightly. She did a memory check of all the times Sherry had said things like, “Frankie is such a precious goose,” and “I don’t know what I’d do without my little goose.” She couldn’t remember one time she’d actually been informed that this was not a minor child.

“A goose…with tail feathers?”

“Beautiful tail feathers.”

“The kind of animal down comforters are made of?”

Sherry gasped. “God forbid!”

“Oh my Lord,” Charlene prayed.

That night Jake entered Coppers. The bar, once named Toppers, had been rechristened when the owner realized a large percentage of the clientele was from the police department. Jake stopped first at the bar, procured a beer, said hello to a couple of guys he knew, and finally migrated to a booth near the back. A woman waited there, nursing a cola.

“Hiya, Merrie, honey.” He slid in across from her. “You’re all set. You have an appointment with Charlene next Tuesday—10:00 a.m. Can you do that?”

“I reckon so…. But does she know I ain’t got nomoney?”

“She understands about that. Charlene is good, Merrie. You’re going to need someone good to get ahead of this guy.”

“Jake, I just don’t get it,” she said, shaking her head. “He didn’t want nothing to do with us. Only saw Josie one time, that’s all. Never gave me any money, let the apartment lease run out with me sitting there with no place to go. And now? He wants his daughter so she can have a good life? What does he think she’s been having the last eleven years up till now?”

Meredith was a thin, washed-out blonde, all of twenty-seven years old. She was just a little bitty thing, about five foot two, a hundred and ten pounds maybe, soaking wet. If it hadn’t been for her little tiny breasts, she’d look like a kid. A tired and worn-out kid. She had hardly any fat on her, and her eyes were big and blue and innocent…but she was not. She’d had a hard life. Even before this. She’d been only fifteen when she’d gotten pregnant with the child in the custody dispute. Her ex, Rick, had been thirty, and quite possibly agreed to marriage as a means of escaping any charge of statutory rape.

Meredith was broke, not terribly bright and didn’t live the most wholesome of lifestyles. She also had a daughter at home, aged eight, fathered by another man who was not her husband. Rick, on the other hand, was forty-one, stable and married with a second child. He made a good living, lived in a decent house and went to church on Sunday.

Jake saw a dark shadow on her cheek. “Merrie?” he asked, leaning across the booth and squinting. “Merrie, you got a bruise?”

Self-conscious, she touched the exact place. Then she reached into her purse to retrieve her compact and studied her reflection. She powdered the spot. “It ain’t no big deal. Not really.”

Jake took a long pull at his beer, pursed his lips and looked away, trying to mentally gather restraint. “He’s really starting to piss me off, Merrie.”

“You?” She laughed.

“When did this happen?”

“He came over this morning when I was getting ready for work. He found out where’d I moved to and that you were helping me out, helping me get a better job. He wanted to talk to Josie and I wouldn’t let him past the door. He found out about the whatchamacallit…order of protection.” She laughed hollowly. “It made him mad.”

“Jesus Christ. You call the police?”

She looked into her cola, defeated. “I just took the kids over to the neighbor’s, told her to be sure he didn’t bother them and then came on t’work.” She looked up. “I know I should’ve called the police like you said, but I’m just so tired of him. Of everything. And I didn’t want to be late for work again.”

“You gotta do this by the book, Merrie. Follow through. Or you’re gonna be real late for work, you know what I mean?”

“Oh, I don’t think he’d actually kill me,” she said quietly. “So, how’d you talk your ex-wife into helping me out? You don’t have to pay her for this, do you?”

“No, nothing like that. She likes having me owe her. It makes her feel powerful.” He grinned.

“You must have a pretty good relationship with her, even after the divorce.”

“We were married one twenty-sixth of the total time we’ve known each other, and we’ve gotten along better in the last twenty-five years than we got along in that one. Most of the time I irritate the shit outta her.” He grinned, as if it was an achievement. “But, like I said, she relishes opportunities to remind me that I am a lowly cop and she is a big fucking attorney.” Merrie lit a cigarette. “Hey, I thought you quit.”

She exhaled away from him, trying to spare him the secondhand smoke. She touched her purplish cheekbone. “I’m under a lot of stress.”

“Soon as this is over, you gotta try to quit again. That stuff isn’t good for the kids. Y’know?”

She shook her head. “How’d you end up single? Good-looking guy like you, with such a big heart? Seems like some woman’d have you locked up tight.”

“They do that regular, Merrie, honey. Regular.”

“Well, listen, I gotta git,” she said, stubbing out the barely smoked cigarette. “Get the kids home and in their own beds before my neighbor has a fit. Jake, I don’t know what I’d do if you weren’t such a good guy.”

“Hey, no problem. C’mon, let’s go.”

“You think I’m going to get through this, keep my Josie?”

“I’m telling you, Charlene is the absolute best lawyer in family law in this city. Judges pick her to arbitrate all the time. She’s so good she even took a case to the Supreme Court. And she’s a nice person. You’ll like her. She’s got a lot of…What’s the word I’m looking for? She’s got a lot of spunk, that’s for sure, but that’s not it. She’s got class, but that’s not it either…. Dignity. She’s got dignity. You spend a little time with her, you feel all cleaned up.”

They exited the bar and stood outside in the wet, early-spring night. “You never should’ a divorced her,” Merrie said.

“Ha. That was not one of my options.”