An Imperfect Process

by Mary Jo Putney

  "I'm hungry." Lyssie scrambled to her feet. Though her nose and eyes were red, the tears had dried.

  "Me, too." Val rose rather less lithely than her little sister. "Then we'll go down into the village. There are lots of neat little shops where we can get something for your grandmother, and the National Park Service has a terrific bookstore with practically all history books."

  "Can we start there?"

  Val laughed. "Start and end there, if you like." She linked her arm through Lyssie's, and they turned to the hotel.

  "I'm glad I told you what happened," Lyssie said softly. "I can't talk to Gramma because she gets so upset."

  "You can tell me anything, Lyssie. I know that when I'm upset, it always helps to talk to a friend."

  "Helps, maybe." Lyssie smiled wistfully. "But it's never really going to go away, is it?"

  "No, honey. We can get through the bad stuff, but we never really get over it. In the meantime, though"—Val smiled—"there's ice cream."

  * * *

  The next day Sha'wan and a couple of kids from the Fresh Air center would help Rob move, but this evening he was getting a head start by taking some of the more fragile items to the guest house. Not that he had a lot of breakables, but he suspected his work crew would have more energy and enthusiasm than finesse.

  It hadn't taken long to pack. Though traveling lightly through life was supposed to be good, he was tired of it. He looked forward to accumulating more possessions. A new sound system, for example. He missed listening to music. Maybe a bed for Malcolm? No, the dog preferred Rob's bed. Maybe he'd like a giant leather chew bone.

  Rob carried the box holding his garish ceramic canisters down the outside steps, a wary eye on Val's office. Her car was in the lot, but she was working so late these nights that he didn't expect her to leave while he was shifting his stuff.

  He was heading to the steps for another load when Val came out the back door. It was the first time they had seen each other since she had bolted from his proposal.

  They both stopped dead. There was complete silence, except for the whoosh of traffic on nearby Harford Road and a distant barking dog. Val was only a dozen feet away, and in the dim light of the parking lot she looked like a really exhausted Orphan Annie. Even her curls drooped tiredly. He wanted to put his arms around her and tell her everything would be all right. He wanted to take her to bed and give her a massage....

  She broke the silence before he made himself crazy. "Moving out so soon?"

  "Yes. Remember that house I mentioned on Springlake Way? I decided to take a look, and I really liked it. I have it under contract now. Since the owners have moved out, they gave me permission to live in the guest house until settlement." He was babbling, trying to extend the conversation.

  "You move fast. It looks like a really nice place." She checked that the door had locked behind her, then came down the steps to ground level. "If you need help with the decorating, I can probably give you some useful names. A good designer can winnow the choices down to manageable size and pull everything together."

  "Thanks, I'll keep that in mind, but I'll need to do some remodeling first. The kitchen and baths are very Fifties. Too old to be acceptable, not old enough to be interesting."

  "My place was like that when I bought it. I spent a fortune on remodeling." She shifted her briefcase from one hand to the other. "Any luck with the investigating? I assume you would have called if you found something dramatic."

  "No smoking guns or deathbed confessions." He grimaced. "I've been wasting time talking to reporters. Being who I am raises the news value, but I would have been happy to let the dead past bury the dead."

  "I'm so sorry." She took an involuntary step forward as if she was going to touch him with the spontaneous warmth he loved. Halting, she added, "This will pass soon, if not as soon as you'd like."

  "I'm getting encouragement to become an anti-death penalty activist. Go around making speeches, waving protest signs. Whatever." He ran a hand through his hair restlessly. "Do you think I could do any good?"

  "I know you could do good. Capital punishment is still very popular in this country, and it's going to take a lot of serious thought and talking to shift the balance." She frowned. "The question isn't whether you can do good, but whether you can bear doing that kind of work."

  "What do you think would be the worst part of it?" He was surprised how much he wanted her opinion.

  "Every time you speak, you're putting your personal history out there for people to throw tomatoes at. Some will respect what you did and call you a hero, which you are. Others will say that Jeffrey deserved to die and good riddance to bad rubbish. And some will despise you for betraying your brother. Not a lot of fun."

  "It's getting a little easier with practice." When he had first told his story to Val, it had been almost impossible to speak. Now he was able to speak of his brother calmly, though that didn't mean the pain wasn't still there. "In the interviews I push the angle of wrongful conviction and the risk of executing the innocent. If Boeing had the same failure rate as the justice system, no one would ever set foot on an airplane."

  "Hard to argue with that. New cases of wrongful conviction turn up all the time." Her expression became thoughtful. "It would be interesting to do a study on the subject. Maybe I can get some law students to do the research. Since the story broke in the Sun, I've had a dozen calls from lawyers and students who would like to do some pro bono work with me. Daniel's case has really touched some chords."

  If nothing else, maybe these volunteers would save a future Daniel. Mind made up, he said, "Tomorrow I'll call Julia Hamilton, the judge's wife. She asked if I'd speak to a group of prisoners' families. The idea spooked me when she first called, but I guess I'm ready now. If that goes well, we'll see."

  "By the time you give that talk, maybe you'll have some good news to include."

  Sensitive to the nuances of her voice, he said, "You don't sound very optimistic."

  She sighed. "The Court of Appeals has promised a ruling for September eighth, the day before the execution is scheduled. It doesn't give us much time if they refuse to grant a stay, and the chances of them granting the petition are not great. Cal Murphy figures our odds of success are less than fifty-fifty."

  He swore. "How can they overlook the evidence? Where is the justice?"

  "They're liable to think this case was decided long since, and we're just playing games to delay the inevitable." Her voice broke and she covered her eyes with one hand. "I don't know how I'll be able to face Jason and Kendra if we fail. To do a countdown on a man's life... it's obscene."

  "Val..." Aching, he stepped forward and suddenly they were in each other's arms, united in grief. Deep down, he had a powerful belief that if he failed Daniel, he would be forever damned. If he couldn't save an innocent man, why was he even bothering to breathe? What had he ever done that was worthwhile?

  Val's face turned up, a pale oval in the dim light. He kissed her with a blind, clawing need for oblivion. She responded in kind, her nails digging into his back. He was tempted to pull her down in the grass, but he managed to say, "Let's go upstairs."

  She came wordlessly as they climbed the stairs, arms around each other's waists. Inside the apartment, he turned on the light in the small foyer so they wouldn't stumble over packed boxes on their way to the bedroom. Malcolm thumped his tail in greeting, but wisely kept out of their way.

  Their separation had raised passion to unbearable levels, and when they reached the bed, they fell on each other like tigers, as if they were the ones on the verge of execution. For a few moments, at least, he found the exalted oblivion he sought in her familiar, beloved body.

  All too soon they returned to earth, panting in each other's arms. When he could breathe again, he stroked the curls back from her damp forehead. "I'm sorry. I didn't intend for this to happen."

  "I'm not sorry." Her lips curved wistfully. "But nothing has changed, has it?"

  "Not really, except that I'm re
minded how addictive you are." He cupped her lovely full breast, delighting in the intimacy of the moment. "Every time I'm with you, it gets harder to imagine life without you."

  She placed his hand on her heart so he could feel its pounding under his palm. "You're still determined on marriage or nothing?"

  He hesitated, knowing that all he had to do was say the word, and they would be together again. God, to be able to make love with her, talk with her, bounce ideas off her....The temptation was almost overpowering.

  Almost. "I'm afraid so. I need to build something lasting, Valentine. I built a business once and discovered that wasn't enough. Like they say, no one ever wished on his deathbed that he'd spent more time at the office. I want to love and be loved, if that's possible. Have a normal, healthy family that isn't made up of alcoholics, abusers, and sociopaths. Have kids that I can raise better than I was raised."

  Tenderly he kissed the taut flesh over her beating heart. "If I stay with you, I'll end up forgoing the dream for a reality that will be wonderful, but... not enough. And because it's not enough, someday it would end and then I'd have nothing. I've had way too much nothing in my life."

  She sighed. "You think marriage is a guarantee that anything will last? No one is that naive."

  "Of course there are no guarantees." He paused as he tried to define why he felt this so strongly. "But surely if two people are willing to make a commitment to stay together till death does them part, it's a big step in the right direction. Maybe exchanging vows gives more reason to work through the hard times." He smiled wryly. "I'm probably kidding myself, but it's not as if I have a lot of positive personal experience to draw on. I figure taking a traditionalist approach gives better odds than most."

  "You may be right. I take commitments as seriously as you do, which is why the thought of marriage makes me skittish as a three-month-old kitten." She covered his hand with hers. "Don't rush out and fall in love with someone else, Rob. I'm working on my hang-ups."

  "Since I've never fallen in love with anyone else, it's not likely to happen again anytime soon." Maybe never. It was impossible to imagine another woman who would suit his body and soul as well as Val did. "Does this mean you might change your mind?"

  "It's too soon to know if I can give you what you want and deserve." She hesitated. "I need to figure out why the thought of marriage sends me straight up the wall. If there was any logic here, as soon as you proposed I should have shrieked 'Yes!' and grabbed you before you could get away."

  "Love and marriage don't always have a lot to do with logic."

  "Don't I know it!" She stretched, the faint light from the foyer silvering her lush curves. "I've spent half my life developing a keen, logical, legal mind. I need to chuck that and get back to primal emotion. There's bound to be some in here somewhere."

  "The fact that you're looking at your reactions to marriage is the best news I've heard in a long, long time." He kissed her again, opening his mouth over hers as he slid his hand between her thighs. "Stay the night."

  Mistake. She ended the kiss and swung her legs over the side of the bed. "I'd better not. I need to work on primal emotion, not primal lust, which is awesome but damned distracting."

  He skimmed his hand down the silky skin of her bare back, feeling the delicate strength of her spine under his palm. "You're right, unfortunately."

  "It's one of my most irritating qualities." She turned on the bedside light and began collecting her scattered garments. He started to get up, but she said, "Stay where you are. I can get out to my car safely without your escort. In the unlikely event anything happens, my car key includes a panic button just in case."

  He was tired enough to let himself be persuaded. She finished dressing and kissed him goodnight, then turned to leave. In the door, she turned back to look at him. "Rob..."

  "Yes?" He rolled to his side so he could admire her figure silhouetted against the light. It was women like her who made curves popular.

  Malcolm waddled into the doorway and nuzzled her calf. She bent to scratch his neck. "Never mind. Sleep well."

  Then she was gone. He wondered what she had been on the verge of saying, then smiled a little. As a lawyer, she had probably just wanted to get the last word.

  Consigning the boxes in his pickup to the tender mercies of the night, he rolled over and buried his face in the pillow that still bore traces of Val's scent.

  The bed shook as Malcolm leaped onto it—short legs but a lot of mass—so he draped his arm over the dog's barrel torso. Tonight he would sleep well.

  Chapter 29

  Standing on a desk beside Callie's covered wall hanging, Val raised her hand and called for attention. Litigators developed powerful voices. "Good evening! Thanks to all of you for coming to help inaugurate my new offices. Enjoy the crab balls and smoked salmon, serene in the knowledge that they're all deductible."

  As people laughed, she surveyed the crowd in the former church sanctuary. Though events had made her wish she had scheduled the open house for later in the year, now that the party had started she was having a fine time.

  She had picked a Friday afternoon from 5 till 8 p.m. to catch the TGIF crowd. The turnout was impressive, aided by the publicity about Daniel's case. In the interests of safe driving, she wasn't serving anything stronger than wine and beer, but the munchies were first class. She tried not to think of how much this was all costing her.

  After a few more comments, including thanks to her former colleagues at Crouse, Resnick, she said, "Now it's time for the grand unveiling. Behind this curtain is a really splendid artwork created by my mother, Callie Covington, one of the finest fabric artists in America. Callie, where are you?"

  She spotted her mother with Loren, both of them positioned within easy reach of the smoked salmon and miniature spanakopita. Raising her glass of chardonnay, she continued, "I'd like to make a toast to my mother, who not only gave me artwork and red hair, but the rabble-rouser streak that I hope to indulge in my new firm. Thanks for everything, Callie." She was pleased to see her mother actually blush.

  As others raised their glasses, Val pulled the cord that released the covering on the wall hanging. There were gasps as people saw the dramatic colors and images Callie had used in her visual meditation on the law. If she didn't get more work out of this, Val would eat the hanging herself, sans ketchup.

  She had intended a thank you toast to her father as well, but he wasn't here yet, so she finished with, "Here's to justice and plenty of billable hours!"

  Amidst more laughter, she descended from the desk with the helping hand of Donald Crouse. "Quite a party, Val," he said warmly. "You're off to a grand start. Taking on this death penalty case has also given you plenty of good publicity."

  "That's not why I'm doing it."

  "I know, but that doesn't mean it won't help your new practice." Seeing a friend across the room he moved on, giving Val a chance to catch her breath. Playing hostess was hard work.

  The guest list included many former colleagues and people she had worked with, as well as a good dash of personal friends. Kate Corsi, who had sent her to Rob, was here with her husband and admiring the church restoration, while their mutual friend Laurel had come down from New York and was now taking pictures of the party.

  The nuts and bolts of the open house were being handled by Kendra, who had chosen the caterers and menu and was now quietly directing events. She was spectacular in a fuchsia suit that made her look like the star of a television lawyer show. Even the beads braided into her hair harmonized with the suit. Val made a mental note to ask Laurel to e-mail the best pictures of Kendra so Daniel could see them.

  Only four more days till the execution date.

  Kendra appeared at her side. "I just got a phone call from your father. He sent his apologies. Something came up, and he can't make it down this evening."

  "Why am I not surprised?" Val managed a brittle laugh. "Thanks, Kendra."

  As she moved away, she told herself it was ridiculous to feel s
uch disappointment when she had known all along this might happen. Sure, Brad was a busy man, but most of the people in this room were equally busy. Laurel had traveled down from New York even though she was a busy art director in the middle of a major advertising campaign.

  The plain truth was that an illegitimate daughter simply wasn't that high on Brad Westerfield's priority list. If she needed a bone marrow transplant and her father could provide a match, she didn't doubt that he would find the time to donate the marrow, but launching a new business wasn't as important, even if Val was his only lawyer daughter.

  Though it was a good party, she found herself most aware of the people who were missing. Her father. Bill Costain. Rob. He had been invited, but declined on the grounds that it would be stressful for both of them. Plus, she suspected, he really didn't want to be in a crowd of lawyers who knew who Robert Smith Gabriel was. He was right not to come, but she would have given all the crab balls and salmon to see him here. Their unplanned tryst the night before had only made her want him more. With an internal sigh, she returned to hostessing.

  Rachel arrived as the party started to wind down. "Sorry I'm late, Val. A minor crisis just before I was ready to leave the hospital."

  "Not a problem. Stick around after everyone else leaves, and we can plan Kate's shower over the leftovers." Val waved Rachel over to Kate Corsi and her husband Donovan, who were chatting with Laurel. The only member of the Circle of Friends missing was Rainey, and she would have flown in from New Mexico if she and her husband weren't acting in a play in Santa Fe this weekend. Whereas Val's own father...

  Val mentally slapped herself. Callie had always been firm that self-pity was one of the ugliest of emotions. Brad might not be the most devoted of fathers, but he had kept in touch with her and paid child support regularly, which is more than many men would have done. And, thank God, he hadn't orphaned her with a crazed murder-suicide.

  The thought put matters into perspective. Val moved to the door so she could say good-bye to people as they left. Laurel approached and gave her a hug. "Thanks for inviting me, Val. I like being able to envision your office when we chat." She cast her artist's eye around the church. "This is a great place. Callie's hanging is amazing."