Jude

by Kate Morgenroth

  6

  JUDE FOLLOWED ANNA down a deserted corridor and out an emergency exit that led into the parking lot.

  “Just over here,” she said, threading her way through the cars. They reached a silver BMW. “This is it,” she said, hitting the locking system on her key ring.

  He slid gingerly into the leather seat.

  “Nice car,” he said.

  “What?” She was already fitting her key into the ignition. “Sorry, but I want to get out of here before people see us.”

  Jude didn’t answer.

  “I mean so we get at least a little bit of time before the media hits,” she explained quickly.

  “Yeah,” he said.

  “I just didn’t want you to think …” She let the sentence drift off.

  Anna started the car and pulled out of the parking lot. She didn’t speak again until they were well away from the police station, and then her voice sounded different. She sounded almost hesitant. “Can I call you Michael now?”

  “My name is Jude,” he said.

  “But your real name—”

  “I’ve always been called Jude,” he repeated.

  “I know,” she said, and he noticed that her knuckles rose in craggy relief from their grip on the wheel. “By your father. I would rather call you anything else.”

  “I don’t see why. He had every right to name me. You’re the one who left us,” he pointed out. He was able to keep the anger out of his voice even though he could feel it rising in the back of his throat.

  She swerved to the side of the road and slammed on the brakes. It was so sudden Jude was thrown forward against his seat belt. The car behind them leaned on its horn as it cut around them, barely missing their bumper, and they could hear the man shouting as he drove by.

  Jude sat, still tensed from the sudden violent response, waiting for … he didn’t know what.

  “I didn’t leave you,” she said. “He took you.”

  Then Jude’s world sharpened—as if he were looking through a blurry telescope that was unexpectedly thrown into focus. In a way it was more shocking to him than the moment she’d told him who she was. In all his imaginings he had never thought to question what his father had told him. He had never envisioned his mother coming back and saying, “It was all a lie. I never really left you,” although if he had imagined it, she would have been crying and telling him how much she had missed him and how wonderful it was to have him back.

  Instead she said, “I forgot what a bastard he could be. He could at least have told you I was dead.”

  “He said that he wished you were,” Jude told her.

  “What a comfort.”

  Jude looked out the windshield as he asked, “What happened?”

  “He took you right from your crib when you were barely three weeks old, and that’s the last time I saw either of you. Your father used to be a cop, if you can believe it.” Her laugh was harsh. “So he knew how to avoid being found.”

  “So you tried?” Jude couldn’t help asking.

  She turned toward him, but instead of answering him, she just reached out. Ignoring the seatbelts and the steering wheel and the distance between them, she pulled him into her arms. And then Jude didn’t care what had happened before. His dream had come true.

  7

  JUDE COULDN’T BELIEVE the house when he saw it. It was modest by West Hartford standards, but it looked like a palace to him. Anna led the way inside. Then she called out, “Harry, you here?”

  There was a muffled response from deeper within the house.

  Jude stopped, and Anna, sensing his hesitation, stopped as well.

  “Oh,” she said. “I forgot to tell you about Harry. Harry is … he’s my very good friend,” she finished rather lamely.

  “You mean your boyfriend?” Jude clarified.

  She turned a little red but said, “Yes. I guess you could call him that.”

  They found Harry just inside the door of the kitchen on his way out to meet them.

  From the moment he set eyes on Harry, Jude automatically compared him with his father. Both Harry and his father must have shared the same build once. He knew his father had been tall and broad in the shoulders, but for the years that Jude had known him he had seemed to shrivel into an old man, his muscles slackening, his shoulders hunching as if he were drawing in on himself. Harry was also tall and broad, but while Jude’s father had wasted away, Harry had thrived. His shoulders were still wide and thrown back, and instead of losing bulk, he had added to it. He had taken on an extra layer, thickening his whole body without quite making it fat.

  In his neighborhood Jude had gotten good at identifying the men who held power and the ones who were just pretenders. All it took was one glance at Harry to see he was the real thing. His age was harder to determine. Jude could tell from his face that he certainly was not young. The skin was leathered and his nose had a crooked lean. There were deep lines running from nose to mouth, but he had the look of a man who could still go ten rounds.

  Harry smiled, and the lines around his mouth that had made him look so stern a moment ago now deepened into welcome. He extended his hand to Jude and looked so genuinely glad that Jude’s heart leaped a little in response.

  “I can’t tell you how great it is you’re here, Michael.” He squeezed Jude’s hand. “Your father was a good friend.”

  “You knew my father?” Jude asked.

  “Anna didn’t tell you? He was my partner on the force for years.”

  “Oh.” Jude didn’t know what to say, but they both were looking at him, so he said the first thing that came to mind. “Are you still a cop?”

  “Sort of. I moved up in the ranks a bit. I’m deputy commissioner now.”

  “Oh,” he said again. His father could have been deputy commissioner. His father could have been the one with Anna now, while Harry might be dead. Anything could have happened, he thought senselessly.

  “I’m really sorry about what happened to your father,” Harry said. “But don’t you worry, we’ll catch the bastards. Right, Anna?”

  But Anna didn’t answer right away, and when she spoke, she didn’t answer the question. Instead she said, “I’m just glad they found Jude.”

  Jude looked up sharply and found her smiling at him.

  “I don’t care about the rest,” she said.

  Harry looked back and forth between them. “Found Jude?” he said. “Who’s Jude?”

  They both looked at Harry, then back at each other, and burst out laughing.

  8

  ANNA GAVE JUDE a tour of the house—now his new home. It looked like something from a magazine or a movie set—because those were the only places he had ever seen houses this perfect. On the first floor there was a dining room, a family room, a sitting room, and a study. The diningroom table was a rich, gleaming mahogany, and the matching sideboard bore up under the weight of an enormous silver tea set. In the sitting room the love seat and chairs were a stiff, snowy white. The family room had a leather couch and chairs arranged comfortably around a low pine coffee table, and the television was tucked discretely in a cabinet in the corner. Only the study showed any signs of habitation. In there papers were stacked on the big wooden desk, and books had been pulled off the shelves and heaped in piles on chairs.

  “Sometimes I bring things home from the office and work here,” Anna said, apologizing for the mess.

  “Sometimes?” Harry snorted.

  They climbed the stairs to the second floor. There were four bedrooms. Anna had the big one at the front of the house, but she told Jude he could choose from the other three. Jude picked the room that had a fireplace. It hadn’t been used in years, but Anna promised they’d get it working—and they’d buy all new furniture. Whatever he wanted.

  And that’s what his new life was like. He could have whatever he wanted. They bought new furniture for his room. And basketball posters—framed this time. And a stereo, along with a couple dozen CDs. And enough new clothes to fill the new
dresser.

  It was literally a dream come true. All of a sudden he had the mother he’d always missed and all the things he’d ever wanted. He didn’t have a father, but he had Harry, and Harry was almost better than a father—he was a friend.

  The only shadow on his happiness was the memory of the night his father died. The investigation, Jude knew, was sure to come around to him again. As if by mutual consent, for the first few days no one even mentioned that night, his father, the investigation, or anything to do with the future. But they couldn’t ignore it forever, and Harry was the one who finally brought it up, in a roundabout way.

  It was the evening of the third day. Anna said she had to stop by her office, but she promised to pick up dinner. Jude spent the time upstairs in his room listening to his new CDs, but he kept an eye on the window, and he saw her pull into the driveway. When he got to the kitchen, he found Anna and Harry unpacking cartons of Chinese food, and Jude immediately sensed a certain tension in the room. After years of monitoring his father’s moods he was sensitive to that kind of thing. But when he entered the room, Anna looked up and smiled at him.

  “I hope you like Chinese,” she said. “I forgot to ask you what you wanted to eat tonight.”

  “Chinese is my favorite,” he replied. Mexican was really his favorite, but he figured this kind of lie was okay.

  “Well, come in and get some,” Harry said. “If you don’t hurry, you might be out of luck because I swear I could eat it all myself.”

  Jude crossed to the counter and picked up a plate. There were a few moments of heavy silence, then Harry returned to the conversation they’d obviously been having before Jude entered.

  “You’re going to have to face it, Anna. Sooner or later the press is going to get wind of this. You need to take the initiative and control the situation, and that means going public.”

  “Oh God.” She let the serving spoon clatter onto the counter. “I thought we might be able to put it off just a little longer.”

  “You know better than that. In fact, this is what you’re best at. You manage the press all the time in your job.”

  “It’s different when it’s my personal life. I still remember how bad it was last time. Don’t you?”

  “That was a long time ago,” Harry said.

  “But it lasted almost an entire year. There was barely a week that went by when I didn’t have some reporter calling. I don’t know if I can go through that again.”

  “You won’t have to. That was all tragedy and drama. This is the happy ending. They’ll cover it in a week—two at most. Then they’ll move on to the next disaster story.”

  “They’re vultures,” Anna said.

  “They’re just doing their job,” Harry corrected her. “Just like you and me. If you’re smart, you can use them at the same time they’re using you.”

  “Like before,” she said.

  “Just like before,” Harry agreed.

  They both looked at Jude, who pretended to be absorbed with picking out the pieces of beef from the container of beef with broccoli. He wanted them to keep talking so that maybe he could pick up more of what had happened last time.

  “Just get it over with and break the story tomorrow,” Harry said.

  She said nothing.

  “Food’s getting cold,” he added after a moment.

  “Well, eat it, then,” Anna retorted.

  But Harry didn’t move. “It’s your call, Anna. I’m just telling you what you already know.”

  She relented. “I know, Harry. You’re right. I’m just not looking forward to going through this whole media circus again.”

  “It’ll be fine. Listen, we’ll give an exclusive to the Courant, and you should call Alan Goldstein in to write the story. Then you can explain the situation, and the two of you can work out together how to present it, and that will set the tone for the rest of the coverage. We’ll just say no TV interviews together—to protect Jude, what with all he’s been through. So, what do you think?”

  “We’ll do it tomorrow,” she capitulated. “If that’s all right with Jude.”

  They both looked at him. “Is that all right with you, Jude?” Harry asked.

  “Sure. Okay by me.”

  “He doesn’t have any idea of what’s going to happen,” Anna said. “How can you know unless you’ve been through it?” She paused. “And he’s going to need to know the whole … story.” She was obviously uncomfortable even referring to it.

  “We could give him the clippings,” Harry suggested. “Then he’d be prepared—and they’d give him a better picture of what happened back then and what might be coming up.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” Anna said. “But let’s leave it until after dinner.”

  “After dinner it is,” Harry agreed.

  They brought their plates over to the table. Then Harry got forks while Anna put out the napkins and Jude got the glasses. Dinners before this had been lively; they’d talked mostly about silly things, but they’d laughed a lot. Now it was as if a spell had been broken, and dinner was subdued. They were all preoccupied with their own thoughts. Jude couldn’t help dwelling on the fact that in just a little while he would know exactly what happened between his parents.

  After dinner Anna sighed and said, “I guess I should get the clippings for Jude.”

  “I’ll get them,” Harry volunteered. “They’re in the attic, right?”

  “I think you’re the one who stored them,” Anna said.

  “I think you’re right. Be back in just a sec.”

  When he left, there was an awkward pause. Jude wondered if she was thinking about what was in the articles. Would she want to tell him anything before he read them?

  But when she spoke, she didn’t say anything about his father. “The next few days are going to be pretty rough,” she told him.

  “I can handle it,” he said, trying to reassure her. “I’ve probably been through worse.”

  She looked away. “I’m sorry.”

  “What for?”

  “For lots of things,” she said. She hesitated but was about to continue when Harry announced from the doorway, “I found them. I put them all in a box, and it was right where I left it.” Harry blew dust off the top and slid it across the table to Jude. “This should help explain some things. I don’t know if either of us could give you an objective version, so maybe this is the best way for you to hear the story.”

  A minute later Jude was climbing the staircase with the box tucked under one arm and his heart beating fast. When he got to his room, he set the box down and switched the desk light on. The pool of light was bright on the desk, but the corners of the room remained gloomy. Jude sat in the chair, removed the lid, and lifted out the small, ragged stack of clippings. Then he picked up the first article and read.

  * * *

  City Prosecutor Files Abuse Charges in Her Own Office CITY HALL—In a stunning development yesterday Anna Grady, the city’s lead prosecutor in the newly formed Domestic Violence Prosecution Unit, herself filed papers against her husband of one year, city police officer Anthony Arvelo, alleging that Arvelo had physically abused her over a six-month period. The police commissioner’s office said yesterday that Arvelo, 29, would be placed on paid leave pending the outcome of the investigation.

  Grady, who kept her own name after marriage, filed charges alleging that Arvelo repeatedly abused her. Officers at the 17th Precinct, where Arvelo works, said they were shocked to hear of the charges. “Anthony’s a regular guy and a great cop,” said one officer, who requested anonymity. Phone calls to Arvelo’s desk at the precinct were returned by the Police Benevolent Association’s lawyer, Paul Cottingham, who declined comment until he could review the charges. City officials confirmed that Arvelo, a ten-year veteran of the force, had a clean record.

  Coworkers in the Domestic Violence Prosecution Unit, formed as an arm of the district attorney’s office two years ago, were similarly surprised by the charges but acknowledged that Grady di
d appear to have recently been injured. Kenia Martin, a coworker of Grady’s, confirmed that Grady had shown up at work with bruises, which she said Grady claimed were due to a soccer game. Other members of the prosecutor’s office, who requested anonymity, said that Arvelo and Grady met while the two were working on a domestic violence case more than a year ago.

  When asked about the irony of Grady’s filing charges in her own office, Martin said, “Well, it does seem amazing. I know Anthony, and he doesn’t look like an abuser, but we find all kinds of people hit their wives, and that’s what this office is here for.” Martin cited the reluctance of many victims of domestic abuse to file charges against their husbands or fathers and said that Grady’s filing charges might encourage other women to come forward.

  Anna Grady joined the DA’s office four years ago, after graduating summa cum laude from Cahill Law School. When the city formed the Domestic Violence Prosecution Unit two years ago, Grady was chosen as one of the prosecutors, and after a year was promoted to head the team. Martin said that Grady had a reputation for long hours and fierce dedication to her work. Martin also cited Grady’s care for her clients and her competitiveness. Grady was unavailable for comment, and phone calls to the Arvelo-Grady residence were not answered late yesterday.

  * * *

  Jude laid the article gently, facedown, to one side. The clippings were in chronological order, so that as he went through them he got the story as it had been covered by the press. First there were two other articles, much the same as the first, but which had run in different papers. Then there was a whole bunch of editorial pieces and letters from readers in response to the story. Jude ended up only glancing at these; he couldn’t figure out why everyone seemed to think it was such a big deal.

  When he got to the accounts of the trial, he read more closely, though it wasn’t so much for the outcome (guilty) as it was for some description of his father and mother together. There was nothing. The articles described his father as impassive and his mother as poised. He wished he had a dictionary, but even when he was able to look up the words, it still didn’t tell him anything.