“We can try,” he said. “It’s pretty expensive to pursue a libel action.”
“So what are we going to do? Nobody’s going to come if they think the whole thing is a fraud.” A moment later I realized what I’d just said.
“Wouldn’t that be better?” Simon looked at me. “Not to have to worry about it…Just like Father Peter was saying the other day?”
“No,” I said. “No. It might be easier, but if Sherry can help people, then it’s not better. I want the people to come.”
I waited for an argument, but he just nodded.
“That’s good,” he said. “Because there were four people waiting on the front step when I went out to get the paper.”
“Had they seen it?” I couldn’t keep track of all the things that I was feeling.
“One of them mentioned it to me,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief.
“There were already people waiting?”
“As of seven o’clock.”
“Sheila, it’s Simon.”
“Simon, I was just…Is everything all right?”
“It’s been a strange couple of days. That’s why I’m calling. I think I need to take a few personal days to try to get through the worst of this. Can you please…”
“Simon, I was about to call you.”
“Why? What is it?”
“The senior partners want to meet with you at 9:30.”
“Did they say—”
“In Mr. Fitzgerald’s office.”
“Oh. Well. Let them know I’ll be there.”
MARY
I was sitting on the leather couch in Simon’s office, pretending to make notes on a yellow pad, when he opened the door. I stood up slowly, my heart rushing in my chest.
“Good morning,” he said, closing the door.
“Hello,” I said. “I saw the paper.”
He set his briefcase on the floor. “Yeah.”
I had no idea what I wanted to say. The silence stretched for almost a minute, before I asked, “So what are you going to do?”
“About what?”
“About the newspaper?”
He shrugged. He seemed distracted, not really there. “There’s not a whole lot we can do. If we threaten to sue, they’ll just print a correction on page H17 where no one will ever see it. And I’m not about to go suing the Catholic Church over whether or not my daughter’s a saint, let alone that poor kid’s mother.” As he was speaking his eyes were darting around the office.
Leaning over his desk, he glanced through the pink message slips. “I tried calling you this weekend,” he said, without looking up. “After you left.”
“I went home. Back to my apartment. I got together with some friends Friday night.”
“Why?”
The question caught me off guard. “What do you mean why? You were at home with your wife and daughter. I didn’t think there was a whole lot of room for me in that picture.”
“I needed you.”
“You don’t know what you need.”
“What?”
“Simon, I love you,” I started, as coolly as I could. “But you—you just don’t know. You don’t know where you’re going, you don’t know what you want. Who you want to be with.” He started to protest, but I held up my hand. “No. Don’t. I don’t want to be the girl who broke up your marriage. And I don’t want to be some bit on the side. Not anymore. That’s why I left. If there’s any chance that you’re going to go back to Karen, I don’t want to stand in the way, but I sure don’t want to participate in it.”
He stared at me, speechless.
“You didn’t come,” I said.
“What?”
“To the apartment. Home. This weekend, after I left. You called. You left messages on the machine, but you didn’t come.”
“I didn’t know if I should,” he said. “I didn’t know if you wanted me there.”
“Of course I wanted you there. I just wanted you there for the right reasons. I wanted you there for me, and for you, and for us, not just as a reaction to your wife.”
He looked as if he wanted to argue, but he didn’t. “You’re right,” he said, looking away.
“You have to decide, Simon,” I said. “It’s got nothing to do with me now.” The truth of what I was saying startled me.
“I know.”
“I’ve got your stuff in the car. I’ll—”
“I’m not sleeping with her,” he blurted.
He seemed almost like a little boy, so quick and earnest with the denial. It almost made me smile.
“Maybe you should,” I said. “Maybe that’s what you need. Maybe that’s what you both need.”
He glanced at his watch and I looked automatically to the clock on the wall. 9:25.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I have to go.”
I looked at him as he straightened his tie and smoothed imaginary wrinkles from the sleeves of his jacket. “Go where?”
His face was pale. “The senior partners have requested my presence in Garrett’s office.”
“Mr. Fitzgerald?” I’d only met the firm’s founder once, but I had heard the stories.
He nodded and faked a smile. “It’ll be fine,” he lied.
RUTH
There was already a crowd in front of the Barretts’ house when I arrived at 8:30. Both sides of the street were lined with cars and TV vans. I was forced to park several houses down and walk.
Rather than clustering on the front lawn again, the pilgrims had formed a loose line from the foot of the front steps and along the walk. I counted three wheelchairs and two rosaries held in shaking hands. No one said anything as I walked up to the front door, though several people smiled at me.
“Are there many out there?” Karen asked as I shut the door. I was surprised to see how well she looked. I had been expecting her to be more frantic.
“A dozen or so,” I answered as I hung up my coat. “But there are more people coming. Looking for places to park.”
“I thought maybe there wouldn’t be that many.”
“Because of the newspaper article this morning?”
She nodded, starting toward the kitchen. “Did they talk to you? The New Sentinel?”
I shook my head. “No. And no matter what they said in that article, no one called here yesterday afternoon from the paper.”
“I didn’t think they had. But I’m surprised to see so many people here, considering,” she said.
“I think that most people, if they’re going to try something like this, they’ve got enough faith—”
“Or desperation—”
“Or desperation. They won’t be swayed by anything they read in the paper. Did Simon see it?”
“Yes, he saw the paper.” I explained. “He stayed the night again but he had to go in to the office.”
“I wasn’t prying.”
“I know. I told him yesterday that I didn’t know if I could handle having him in the house,” Karen said. “I mean, I like it that he’s here. It’s comfortable. It’s safe. It feels right.”
“Well, it is right. He’s your husband.”
She shook her head. “No, no, it’s not. Like this morning. He had to go in to the office, and all I can do is worry about him seeing Mary, talking to her. I mean, I know he’s in love with her, but having him here feels so natural, like maybe we can just go back to the way we were before, but we can’t. We can’t go back to that.”
“Why not?”
She sighed and stood up, leaning on the counter with her back to me. “Because I don’t want to go back. Because what we had wasn’t good, and it wasn’t until he left that I realized that.” When she turned to face me, I was surprised to see that she wasn’t even close to tears. “And now it’s all about him. All about his feelings, his problems. I’m stifling him. I’m not letting him explore himself. Be himself. What about me? Aren’t I allowed to have feelings?”
“Of course you are.”
“Then why won’t anyone listen to them?
” It was just a question; there was no self-pity in her voice.
“I’m listening.”
She smiled ruefully. “I don’t think you’re the person I need to be telling all this to.” She sat back down across from me.
“It’s a start.”
For a moment, her gaze drifted away. “I liked being at home with Sherry. I liked watching her grow. Watching her change. But I didn’t have a choice. That’s it, right there. I never got to choose. I wouldn’t have gone back to work at the paper, but I never got to choose. It was always just assumed that I would stay home.” She drained her cup, then set it gently on the table in front of her. “This is stupid. I’m being selfish.”
I deliberately didn’t say anything.
She understood. “I’m sorry. I was fishing…”
“As you said, I’m not the one that you need to be having this conversation with.”
We were interrupted by a knock at the front door.
“It’s probably just Jamie.”
“You’re right. You’re right. What time is it?” Glancing at her watch, Karen rose to her feet. “Damn it,” she muttered. “How are we—”
I stood up. “Let me get it.”
KAREN
Dr. McKinley was leaning over Sherry, his back to the door, as I came into the living room.
“How is she?” I asked.
Stephen didn’t turn to face me. “The same,” he answered, closing the file.
“I wasn’t expecting to see you this morning.” I approached Sherry’s bed and he shifted away, toward the couch.
“I thought I’d check in.” His voice was cool. “I wasn’t doing anything else.”
“You’re off at the hospital?”
“Indefinitely,” he said, turning to face me. His face was ashen and tight, his eyes ringed with circles.
“What?”
“The hospital has suspended my privileges, ‘pending a hearing,’” he explained.
“Because of the article in the paper this morning?”
He started to shake his head, then stopped. “Probably. I got called in yesterday afternoon, but it was about the same stuff as the article. The board had a few questions about my conduct ‘regarding the Barrett matter.’” He grinned bitterly. “They told me that they ‘knew what was going on,’ but that they were willing to give me the benefit of the doubt and schedule a hearing.” He shook his head slowly. “I had no idea what they were talking about. It was sort of like a Kafka story. And then I saw the paper this morning.”
“Oh God, Stephen, I’m so sorry.”
“So, would you mind telling me what the hell is going on around here?” he said.
I led him toward the kitchen and we sat down at the table where Ruth had refilled the teapot. I recounted the events of the weekend: the visit from Father Peter, the decision to bring Jeffrey Kelly in to see Sherry and then to open up the house.
“Has a doctor looked at this Jeffrey Kelly since?”
“I wouldn’t think so. His doctor is in Seattle, and it only happened Friday afternoon, late…”
“Then how can they claim this is a fraud? I mean, if they haven’t run any tests on him, how do they know he hasn’t gone into remission?”
“Maybe they had someone check him.”
“No. No, I don’t think so. If there had been any tests, they would have mentioned them in the newspaper article.” Another thought occurred to him. “Do you have any way of contacting Donna Kelly?”
“She gave me her number in Seattle.” I was already in motion, going to a small basket on the counter. “We tried calling her yesterday, but there was no answer.”
“Let’s try again.”
My hands shook as I punched in her telephone number. Stephen’s face was still curiously blank.
The line rang once, then switched over with a sharp click and a change in the tone of the line to a recording. “We’re sorry. The number you have dialed is no longer in service. Please check the number and dial again.” As the message began to repeat itself, I hung up. “The number’s not in service.”
Stephen nodded, as if he had already guessed.
“Well, there’s probably a good reason why she doesn’t want to talk to you,” he said.
I looked up at the clock. It was almost 9:30. “There’s nothing we can do about that right now. Are you thinking of staying?”
He shrugged. “I’ve got no other plans.”
“But what about…”
“I can’t say that I support this, Karen. But I’m Sherry’s doctor; I should keep an eye on her. And if this is actually going to help people…” He didn’t need to finish the sentence. The words had been going through my mind like a mantra for the past several days.
If this is going to help people…
I nodded at him, then said, “So. Any thoughts about how we are going to do this?”
SIMON
Garrett Fitzgerald didn’t rise as I entered his office. He didn’t even acknowledge that I had arrived. He was sitting in his famous burgundy leather wing chair, leaning toward Martin Stoller and Stephen Ross, the senior partners, who were seated on the matching leather sofa. They glanced up as I closed the door but quickly looked away.
Garrett cleared his throat and leaned back into his chair.
I stood my ground, a few steps inside the door. There wasn’t a place for me to sit that didn’t require my asking permission, which I wouldn’t do. I didn’t say a word. The dead air in the room wasn’t about to force me to start this conversation.
“You know why you’re here,” Garrett said.
“I can guess.”
“We’re very concerned. The three of us have spoken several times over the weekend, and we met first thing this morning.” Garrett’s voice was smooth, his phrasing delicate.
I did not take the bait.
“Simon, could you please explain to us the article on the front page of this morning’s New Sentinel?”
“The track record of the New Sentinel in matters such as this—”
He sighed heavily to interrupt me and Ross burst out like a bulldog. “Simon, cut the crap. What the hell is going on here? Why the hell is the name of this firm in a story about fraud?”
There it was, on the table.
“The paper got it wrong today,” I said. “The previous articles were more accurate.”
“You mean to tell us that your daughter is some sort of miracle worker?” Stoller stared at me as if I’d lost my mind.
“I didn’t say that. There were some occurrences that aren’t easily explained. The newspaper got hold of them. I didn’t even know about it until I read the paper last Thursday morning.”
“Yet you’re opening your home to strangers.” Ross this time, flat-voiced.
“It would seem that way.”
“What about this Donna Kelly and her little boy?” Stoller leapt in again. “What about your attempt to extort money from her?”
“I can assure you—”
“Well, that’s not good enough, is it? Is that how you win cases? By assuring the jury that your client is innocent, and that they should just ignore any evidence to the contrary? Does that usually work for you?”
I suppressed the desire to snap back. “I believe that Karen and I are being harassed.” Less than impressive.
“That’s as may be, Simon.” Garrett’s soothing voice. “But we have to look out for the firm.”
“I’ve done nothing to impugn the firm, Garrett.” I struggled to keep my voice even.
He shook his head slowly, portentously. “You were named, Simon. We were named. And what would you have us say when the clients call? Because they have been calling. All morning. Should we say that despite an article that mentions a police investigation, we have complete confidence in both your abilities and your integrity?” Garrett paused. “Do you expect us to lie, Simon?”
He let the words hang in the air.
“Just how long are we supposed to turn a blind eye to your indiscretions?” Stoll
er asked, after a long moment.
“Indiscretions?”
Ross sighed. “While you might think it’s acceptable for one of our associates to have an affair with a junior member of this firm, you should be aware—”
“Gentlemen,” I interrupted. “Are you asking me to leave?”
Garrett’s face lifted in surprise. He seemed about to speak when Stoller interrupted.
“There’s no ‘asking’ involved, Simon,” he said. “There’s no option here.”
“We can’t have you making a laughingstock of this firm,” Ross added.
Garrett watched me in silence.
I paused for a moment, then I began to pace—the slow, deliberate steps of a final summation—but this time there was no script, no notes to follow, no jury. “I assume you’re offering a severance package.”
Garrett cut Ross off with a gesture, his eyes never leaving my face.
“You have absolutely no grounds to dismiss me.” I didn’t wait for confirmation or argument. “Given my length of service, my billings, the fact that there have been no prior complaints or reprimands and no investigation on your part into a defamatory newspaper report, I expect an amount equal to my last two years’ gross salary and billings, including my bonus, to be paid out within seventy-two hours.”
Stoller rose to his feet. “You’ve got to be—”
Garrett waved him down again.
“I also expect to maintain my medical benefits, and to have my pension plan transferred to a fund that I’ll set up. And finally, Garrett, I’ll need a letter of apology from you, deeply regretting the circumstances that have arisen that have forced you to take this action, as well as a letter of reference. Carla will know all the right things to say. And, in the future, if I hear that you’ve been expressing any reservations to potential employers, I’ll have you in court.”
Stoller and Ross seemed dumbstruck.
I kept my eyes locked on Garrett, knowing that, in the end, only the two of us were playing the game.
“Pay him,” he said, his eyes never leaving mine.
“What?”
“Pay him,” he repeated. “Have Human Resources put the package together and have it ready for him by three this afternoon.” He shook his head. “If you’re in the building after three, we’ll have you arrested for trespassing.”
Before I Wake Page 20
