“Do you think they’d do that?” Brenda asked.
“If Champlain were my client, and I saw my name on those papers, I would call my bluff.” I wandered into the kitchen and slumped into a chair. “I would eat me alive.”
Nadia sat down beside me. “Why? What is wrong with your name?”
“It’s not worth much anymore.”
“Because you are drunk?” Nadia asked.
“Nope, that came later.”
Brenda went to the sink. “Anyone want tea? Coffee?”
“Car Bomb?” I suggested. She gave her head a disgusted shake. “Coffee’s fine, thanks.” I leaned back and closed my eyes. Why anyone thought sober was better was beyond me. I would have given anything to have a Car Bomb going off inside my head right now.
Nadia tapped me on the arm, waited until I opened one eye. “What did you do? Sleep with client? Rob bank? Kill someone? If you killed someone, we are finished for sure.”
“I didn’t kill anyone.” I grabbed the saltshaker. Slid it back and forth between my hands. “But I did ruin my sister’s life.”
Nadia smacked me on the head. “Stop playing with salt.” She grabbed the shaker and put it out of reach. “How did you ruin sister’s life? Maybe steal boyfriend? Marry lover?”
“Post ugly pictures on the Internet?” Brenda offered, still busy measuring and scooping—making fucking coffee instead of something a person could really use. Useless twit.
I pulled the sugar bowl toward me. Slid it from my right hand to my left. “Believe me, there are no ugly pictures of my sister. She’s the most beautiful woman you have ever seen. And I did not understand how much trouble that could be for her.”
Nadia nabbed the sugar bowl on its return trip to the right. “How can being beautiful be problem?”
“Because she’s slow,” Brenda said, setting out cups, going back for spoons.
“‘Mind of a ten year-old,’ my mother always said.” I put my elbows on the table and propped my head in my hands. “But I never believed her. I was convinced that all Grace needed was a chance to grow, to learn, to experience a few things, and she’d surprise us all by becoming an independent woman.”
“You were wrong?” Nadia asked.
“I was wrong,” I admitted. Then I told them about Bobby Daniels and William, and how much he’d looked like her, and what a great mother she’d been. And finally I told them something I hadn’t talked about in a long time. About the day I came back from lunch with a client and found a message waiting for me. A message that had already been there for two hours.
“‘Call Grace,’ it said.”
I sat back, hands clasped on the table in front of me so I wouldn’t be tempted to play with the cream or the cups, or the pepper shaker I’d just noticed. “Nothing else. Just ‘Call Grace.’ Being the rising star of the firm, of course, I had other calls to make first. Important calls to clients and other lawyers, one of them from the firm that now represents Champlain. Naturally, I made those calls first because the message only said, ‘Call Grace.’ When I finally did call her another two hours later, she said, ‘William’s dead.’ Not ‘William’s sick’ or ‘I’m worried,’ just ‘William’s dead.’”
Even now, years later, just thinking about that call made my skin grow cold.
“She must have been frantic, poor thing,” Brenda said, leaving the stupid coffee at last and sitting down on the other side of me.
I shook my head. “Not at all. She was quite calm, which the prosecution used to their advantage later. She just wanted me to come home, because she didn’t know what to do next.”
“Of course you blame self,” Nadia said. “For not making call earlier.”
“But you couldn’t have known,” Brenda said. “She should have said it was an emergency.” Echoing the very words my friends and colleagues had said over and over again. It’s not your fault, Liz. You couldn’t have known, Liz. But always, always, there was Ruby’s voice in the background whispering, You should have known, Liz. You should have known.
“How did baby die?” Nadia asked.
“Quietly, in his bed.”
“SIDS?” Brenda asked, whispering the word, not wanting to say it out loud, to give it weight, power.
I pushed myself back from the table, frustrated, restless, desperate for a drink or at least something to play with. I rose and picked up an orange from the basket on the counter. Tossed it back and forth between my hands. Back and forth, back and forth. This time Nadia didn’t try to stop me.
“The original medical reports listed the cause as uncertain,” I said, “which ultimately led to the broad catch-all of sudden infant death syndrome. But I can tell you with certainty that he was not outwardly sick, he did not fall, and he certainly was not shaken, despite their initial attempts to prove otherwise.”
“He just died?” Brenda asked.
“He just died.”
She shook her head. “How could that happen?”
“Sometimes there is no definitive reason.” I tossed the orange, caught it. Tossed it again. Caught it. “Grace and I learned that little truth the hard way, but the problem is that the public can’t accept it. They need someone to blame, something to point to. Something definitive like vaccinations, mattress bugs, infections, even the time of year will do, because it lets them believe in a root cause, a concrete reason for the death. A root cause that could have been avoided by a discerning parent.
“And every time, every single time this happens, there are those who believe the mother is the root cause. She must have done something. Was he in her bed? She must have smothered him. Was he crying a lot? She must have shaken him. She must be guilty because babies don’t just die. But the thing is, sometimes they do.”
I smacked the orange down. “My sister did not kill her son. Her only crime was in not calling 911. In knowing he was dead, not by measuring brain waves or lines on an EKG, but by being his mother. By touching his skin, feeling for a heartbeat, listening for a breath, anything that would have given her a sign that he could be saved. But she saw none of that. She only saw her baby, her son, lying in his bed, lifeless, cold, dead. She knew from experience what would happen if she called 911. And all she wanted was to hold him a while longer, without medical staff and social workers and all the other things that would have kicked in if she had made that call. So she called me instead. Then she wrapped her baby in a blanket and she rocked him, she sang to him, and she waited for me to call.”
“And that was start of problem,” Nadia said.
I leaned back against the counter. “They charged her with criminal negligence causing death. I acted as her lawyer.”
“This was not best decision.”
“I know that now,” I said, keeping my eyes on the floor. “But at the time, no one could talk me out of it. I was convinced a jury would see that my sister was innocent and she would be acquitted. And for the first time in her illustrious career, the shining star lost a case.”
“How could that happen?” Brenda asked. “Your sister was obviously traumatized, even if she didn’t show it. Her reaction was completely understandable. How could the jury have convicted her of anything?”
I smiled at her indignant tone, her unqualified support. Even if she didn’t have a clue what she was talking about, it was nice to have Brenda on my side. “The trial was a difficult one with expert testimony on both sides, conflicting autopsies, and psychological evaluations that didn’t always put Grace in a good light. It was hard enough for the legal teams to wade through everything, harder still to gauge which way the jury was leaning. My sister was facing at least ten years in prison if I lost. So my mother went behind my back and convinced her to take a plea. To admit to the lesser charge of failing to provide the necessities of life, leading to death. Grace went home with a security bracelet around her ankle and I went to my favorite bar to start working on her appeal.”
I left the kitchen. Walked back to my room. I didn’t expect them to follow. Didn’t want them to
follow. All I wanted right now was to get dressed up and go out. Find someplace that was loud and fun. A place with music and dancing, where they didn’t water the vodka and limitless joy was an all-you-can-drink happy hour.
I opened my closet and hauled out fresh jeans and a sparkly tank top—jade green, my best color—and threw them on the bed. Was rooting through the underwear on my desk when the two of them came to my door. Brenda crossing her arms and planting her feet, Nadia scowling and tossing jelly beans into her mouth—Sideshow Legal at your service.
“I do not see how this affects your name,” Nadia said. “Everyone loses cases. Is nature of business.”
“True,” I said, tugging a jade green thong out of the tangle of bras, panties, and still more thongs. “And everyone has to learn to put those losses aside and move on. But I couldn’t do that. All I could think about was the appeal. Grace hadn’t even agreed to one, but I was already on the job. Couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t think about anything but getting her acquitted.”
“This was when you started to drink,” she said. Not a question, just the truth.
“Only one before going to bed. To get some sleep, smooth things out a little.”
“But one became two,” Nadia said softly.
I gave her a tight smile. “And two became three, and three become four and so on and so on, and still I never slept past three A.M.”
I tossed the rest of my clothes onto the bed and went to the window, looked out at the street. Aware of a woman walking a dog, and little kids running, but seeing only Grace leaving the courthouse. The police escort. The throng of brash and pushy reporters. And Ruby screaming at me to leave my sister alone, just leave her alone.
“But I kept working on that appeal,” I told them. “And I started hanging around the Island more too. Blowing off appointments and hopping on the ferry. Hoping for a glimpse of Grace, a moment when I could get her alone, make her understand how important it was that we strike back hard and fast. Ruby wouldn’t let her speak to me, of course, and the local police escorted me onto the ferry, three, four, times a week.” I stepped back from the window, looked over at them. “It’s no wonder my mother took out a restraining order.”
Neither one had moved from the door, and neither one said a word. Then again, what was there to say? I was setting out the evidence clearly and concisely, making my case step by step. When I finished, they could only come to one conclusion, the right conclusion—Liz Donaldson was not the one they wanted.
“Slowly but surely, my name became a joke. Clients refused to have me on their team, other associates refused to work with me. It got so bad that Mark told me to take a leave of absence. ‘Go have some fun,’ he said. ‘Think about something else,’ he said. So I took the leave, found a lot of fun at the Duck, and never went back.”
I picked up my clothes, grabbed a towel from the floor. I needed a shower. The time had come to close. “So Brenda, that is why I cannot help you. That is why you need a lawyer whose name will be respected. A name that is anything but mine.”
Again, they didn’t move, didn’t speak, for another full second. Then it was as though someone had fired a gun and they were off.
“That’s nonsense,” Brenda said, “This is the perfect opportunity to win their respect. Come back with a bang. Show them you’re still a shining star.”
“She is right,” Nadia said, popping the last of her jelly beans into her mouth. “Problem with sister’s case was that jury never decided. No one knows if you would have won or lost.” She dusted her hands and walked toward me. “This time you will find out. This time you will see if you win or you lose.”
I dropped the clothes on the bed, sat down beside them. “But there’s so much at stake.”
“Which is why I’m betting on you,” Brenda said. “I’m betting I’ll have a check in my hands three days after you walk out of Vandergroot’s office.” She thrust out a hand. “What do you say? Three days, twenty bucks.”
“I am thinking four,” Nadia said and held out a hand to her. “Four days, twenty bucks.”
“You’re on.” Brenda pumped her hand and grinned at me. “Come on, Donaldson. What do you bet? Three days? Four?”
In my head, I could see her with pom-poms and a little short skirt. Gimme an L. Gimme an I. The self-appointed captain of the Liz Donaldson cheerleading squad, laying a lot more than twenty bucks on the line. Willing to risk it all on me in spite of the mountain of evidence laid out before her.
I rose, humbled, terrified. Resigned. “I’m betting two,” I said softly.
“Two days!” she shouted, and high-fived with Nadia. “I am going to win me forty bucks.” She looked me up and down. “You do have something other than jeans?”
“In the closet,” I said. “Far right.”
We shook on the bet and Nadia went back to her room for a pen and paper to duly record the details of our bet while Brenda opened my closet door. Pushed everything to the left, revealing what was on the right. Hanger after hanger of crisp white shirts, cashmere sweaters, silk dresses, none of which had seen daylight in more than two years.
She stood on a chair to go through each item one by one. “Holy crap. You’ve got designer suits in here. Real leather jackets, suede skirts.” She glanced back at me. “You must have looked amazing in a courtroom.”
“I did.” I wandered over. Pulled out my favorite black suit. Short jacket, fitted skirt. Crumpled and a few years out of style but exquisitely tailored, superbly finished—the signature look of a star attorney.
“Put it on,” Brenda said. “Let me see how a brilliant lawyer dresses.”
I shook my head, handed her the hanger. “Probably doesn’t fit anymore.”
“Just try it on,” she insisted. “That way we’ll know if we need to go to the dry cleaners or if we need to go suit shopping.”
“I love suit shopping,” Nadia said. “But if jacket fits …” She slid the jacket off the hanger and held it up, waiting for me to slide my arms into the sleeves. “What is worst that can happen? You find out you are too skinny and suit needs altering.”
“I’m not too skinny.” I shoved my arms into the sleeves, feeling the cool glide of the lining against my skin. The nip at the waist as I did up the buttons one by one. Nadia was right. I was too skinny now. I started to take it off.
“Wait,” Brenda said. “It needs shoes.” She got down on her knees and reached into my closet, under my suits. Came out with an electric-blue shoe box. Gave it a shake. “What’s in here?”
“Not shoes,” I said, taking the box from her. Pushing it up on the shelf above the clothes, out of her reach. “Shoes are to the left.”
Nadia glanced up at the box then turned to me. “Is vodka?”
“I don’t hide my vodka. Although maybe I should so no one will put water in it.”
She shrugged. “Okay. Not vodka.” She jerked her chin at Brenda. “Find shoes.”
Brenda shifted to the left, reached in, and came back with a pair of black heels that had once made a judge forget to breathe while I was walking into his chambers. She set them on the floor in front of me. I slid my feet into them one by one, not certain if I’d be Cinderella or one of the stepsisters after two years in running shoes and flip-flops. The fit was still remarkably good—I guess feet don’t lose weight—but it was going to take me a while to remember how to walk.
“One more thing,” Brenda said, dragging the chair around behind me. She climbed up again, gathered my hair into a ponytail and piled it up on top of my head.
“Now look in mirror.” Nadia pushed back my closet door, revealing the full-length mirror on the other side. “What do you see?”
I saw a woman in a crumpled black jacket, fabulous high heels, and blue jeans, with a midget in bicycle shorts holding her hair up.
“I tell you what I see.” Nadia stood beside me. In my heels I was almost as tall, but not quite. “I see brilliant lawyer back on track again.”
“I see my brilliant lawyer bac
k on track again,” Brenda said.
“Now look again.” Nadia raised my chin. “What do you see?”
I looked again. Saw the crumpled jacket, the jeans, the fabulous shoes, and the beaming faces of my friends. Two odd women who saw more in me than I had in a very long time. Who believed in me more than I deserved.
I heard the wagon coming around the corner. Heard the driver tell the horse to slow up, to wait.
“Well?” Brenda said. “What do you see?”
“I see a lawyer who is going to be forty dollars richer two days after that petition is delivered.”
Brenda whooped and let my hair fall down around my face. Nadia grinned and clapped me on the back. “Is good decision. Good decision.”
“I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Brenda said, taking the skirt from the hanger and looping it over her arm. “Who sent you the gorgeous flowers?”
I slipped off the jacket, looked over at the happy faces of the Gerbera daisies. “Just a man I met.”
Brenda smiled. “Is he cute?”
“Very. Just not my type.”
“Too bad.” She took the jacket and headed for the door. “We should get these to the cleaners. I’ll grab my purse.”
“Get mine too,” Nadia said, and then leaned close, whispering, “And just for today …”
“I don’t drink,” I told her. “Tomorrow maybe. But not today.”
I kicked off the heels and climbed up into the wagon. Nodded to the driver and took my place in the back, knowing I’d have to earn a seat in the front this time.
GRACE
Jocelyn and I were sitting in her kitchen on Algonquin, ready to go to the nude beach for the usual Thursday picnic—and to look for the cuckoo along the way—but waiting to hear from Liz first.
It was already ten and I’d started sending RU coming? text messages at eight, but she still hadn’t answered back. I finally called her phone and left the same message three times. But when it got to be ten thirty and she still hadn’t called, I said to Jocelyn, “Maybe we should pack a lunch, just in case.”
Jocelyn shrugged and said, “Whatever,” and we went back to my house. Her phone started going off the second we were through the gate, and she sat outside tapping keys while I went inside and took a look through the fridge, making note of what we had and what kind of sandwiches I could make, just in case. All the while knowing Liz wasn’t coming, but not saying it out loud. Just waiting and checking the clock and sending the same text message over and over again Whr RU? Whr RU? Until it got to be eleven thirty and I finally went outside with two boxes of cookies and said to Jocelyn, “Do you want chocolate chip or vanilla cream with your lunch?”
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