by Carsen Taite
“Up here, on the right.” She’d let the entire drive to her house pass with only directional terms exchanged between them. So much for the moment alone. She’d wasted the time, unsure how to broach more personal topics in a way that wouldn’t cause Serena to shut down completely. As they pulled up to her house, she made a snap decision. “You can park in the drive.”
Serena’s eyes signaled surprise, but nothing else in her expression showed anything but the cool, calm composure Cory knew had to be a mask. She wore her own mask often enough to see through others. Cynical instead of compassionate. Objective rather than outraged. Her job as a prosecutor demanded the façade. What motive did Serena have for hiding her feelings?
The car idled in the drive. Serena obviously had no intention of assuming any hospitality on Cory’s part. Time for clarity. “Why don’t you come in for a few minutes? We haven’t really had a chance to talk, one-on-one.”
Serena stared at the front of Cory’s house for a few seconds before turning to face her. “Okay.”
Cory took more encouragement from the one-word answer than it probably merited, but she didn’t care. She waited until Serena shut the car down before opening her own door just to be sure she wouldn’t drive off the minute she exited the vehicle.
Once they were both out of the car, she considered her impulsive invitation and wondered if her house was clean. She’d been squirreled away there for several weeks, waiting to hear the outcome of her suspension. She’d lived on whatever could be delivered to her door and lived in every pair of sweats she owned. The only other person who’d gotten beyond the foyer was Melinda, and, since they’d lived together in college, she’d never given a second thought to what Melinda thought of her housekeeping skills. As she turned a key in the front door, she tossed a just-in-case apology over her shoulder. “I was in a hurry when I left this morning. The place might be a bit of a mess.”
It wasn’t too bad. She moved quickly to grab a few random takeout boxes. She pointed Serena in the direction of the formal dining room she never used, and snuck to the kitchen where she stacked the boxes in the pantry. “I have water, Diet Coke, and wine. Can I get you something to drink?” She called out the question, feeling woefully inadequate for her lack of selection.
“A glass of water would be great.”
Cory loaded the last clean glass with ice and water and met Serena in the dining room. She’d emptied the contents of her bag onto the table and had various files spread about. Serena was focused on the case. Not what Cory had in mind when she’d invited her in. Serena looked up when she entered, took the water glass, and drank half of it down. “I guess I was thirsty.”
“Looks like you’ve accumulated a lot of paperwork about your brother’s case.”
“I’ve tried. I think there is more paperwork associated with the appeal than there was for the whole trial.”
Cory considered her next question carefully before wading in. “Were you living in Florida at the time of the trial?”
“I was, but what I really think you want to ask me is why I didn’t attend my brother’s life or death trial.”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m asking.” Maybe a truthful answer would garner an honest response.
“The short answer is, I didn’t know about it. The long answer is, well…it’s long.”
Cory pointed at her glass. “I have something stronger if it would help the telling.”
Serena cracked a mirthless smile. “Something with caffeine would be great.”
“I can make a pot of coffee.” She may not have a well-stocked fridge and pantry, but coffee was one staple she’d never be without.
Serena’s smile was real this time. “I’d love some.”
“Join me in the kitchen?”
“That would be nice.” Serena lifted the water glass and followed Cory into the massive room. “What a wonderful kitchen. You must be an accomplished cook.”
Cory followed her gaze to the bright copper pots and pans dangling from the ceiling. The room was pretty impressive. And clean. Very clean, since she never used it. “Actually, I can barely boil water.” She gestured to the large oak table. “I copied the kitchen of my childhood. I have tons of good memories from being a kid, sitting around the kitchen table, watching my mom craft amazing meals, not to mention cookies and cakes. I never got the chef gene, but re-creating the atmosphere is the next best thing. Sometimes I burn one of those cake-scented candles for ambiance. Do you think I’m a total dork?”
Serena mumbled something and looked away. Cory was torn between pressing for affirmation and accepting that her banal conversation wasn’t endearing her to Serena. The dork comment was already out, she may as well go for broke. “Now I’m sure you think I’m a dork.”
Serena turned to face her and Cory saw tears in her eyes. “I don’t think that at all.”
“Good. Most people get to know me a little better before they draw that conclusion.” Cory reached for a napkin and handed it to Serena. “I didn’t mean to make you cry with my ramblings.”
“You didn’t.”
“Okaaaay,” Cory drew the word out. Better than calling Serena a liar. She’d clearly hit a nerve, but she couldn’t imagine how. She reviewed her words. She’d been talking about the kitchen, her mother, cooking…“Was it the mention of cookies? Because I might have a box of store-bought ones somewhere in here.” She grinned as she kidded. Anything to get the smile back on Serena’s face.
Serena’s smile didn’t reach her eyes, but it was something. “Thanks, but I’ll pass on the cookies,” she said.
Cory gave it a last shot. “How about a good ear while you tell me what’s wrong?”
Serena half stood, and for a minute, Cory thought she’d chased her off. Instead, Serena walked over to the coffee pot. “I don’t trust a woman who can’t boil water to make my coffee.” She reached into the coffee canister and started scooping grounds. “But I guess if you’re going to be my brother’s lawyer, I better trust you enough to tell you our story.”
Chapter Six
“Eric raised me.” Serena had never spoken those words before, but she knew with all her heart they were true. “We shared a mother, and neither of us knew who our fathers were. Didn’t matter. We may as well not have had any parents at all. The woman who gave birth to us didn’t care about anything other than where she’d get her next fix or fuck.” Serena met Cory’s eyes and was pleased she didn’t flinch at the profanity. Instead, she looked interested in hearing more. Serena wasn’t used to telling her story, but the interest and instant compassion reflected in Cory’s eyes compelled her to keep talking.
“Our mother was a junkie. She slept with whoever would buy her drugs. Sometimes she was home, but most of the time she was at the local convenience store, begging a smoke from everyone who walked in, scoping the customers out until she found the one who would make her night.
“I don’t remember how old I was when I figured out she wasn’t going to take care of me. The food on the table was there because Eric put it there. I never wondered how my brother, only a few years older than me, provided for us. We never had much, but we always had something to eat, at least once a day.
“We moved a lot. I remember angry words when the landlords would come by, looking for the rent. Eric would pull them aside, and after the visits we usually got to stay a bit longer. When we moved, it was in the middle of the night, and we took only what we could carry in one trip. Didn’t matter much since we didn’t own much more than that.” She paused for breath. She’d blurted the details out fast, scared they wouldn’t come if she didn’t hurry them along.
“I’m glad you had Eric to take care of you.”
Serena was surprised by the insight. Those who knew the story―the agency worker and her adoptive parents—focused on what she didn’t have—parents, rather than what she did have—a brother who loved her without conditions. Their focus was likely the reason they minimized her loss once they were separated. “He was my world.”
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“What happened?”
A simple question. Serena cast about for a simple response. She took a sip of her coffee as she gathered strength for the hardest part of the telling. “We finally managed to stay in one place long enough to feel like it was home, but as a result, Child Protective Services finally got wind of our mother’s antics. They made several home visits and removed us and filed papers to terminate our mother’s parental rights. I was ten. They placed us in a foster home, together at first.”
Cory nodded her head. “They always try to keep siblings together.”
Serena wondered if Cory had personal experience with the agency, and she wondered how much. “They don’t try hard enough.” She didn’t bother trying to keep the anger out of her voice. She reached for her coffee, but Cory’s hand met hers midway. She didn’t pull away, enjoying the light touch, the gentle comfort. Cory had the singular ability to still her mind from the whirling guilt, misgiving, and stress. In the calm, she was able to access the truth.
“I should be honest. Eric didn’t handle the environment very well. We were in three different homes together before the agency decided he was the source of the problem. After years of being in charge of himself and me, he didn’t take too well to being told what to do.”
“How old was he?”
“Fourteen.”
“It’s hard for kids to adjust at that age.”
“Do you have kids?”
Cory abruptly pulled her hand away and leaned as far back in her chair as possible. “Uh, no. None.” Cory seemed taken aback by the question. Another fact Serena filed away for later inspection. Her thoughts wandered to Skye, weeks away from having her first child, a child born on purpose, not by accident like she and Eric had surely been. Skye was clearly excited about the prospect of parenthood. Did Cory want children of her own, or did she share Serena’s fears about re-creating mistakes? The question seemed too personal. She ignored the irony in not asking and changed the subject.
“You just seem pretty familiar with CPS policies.”
“I am. Part of the job.”
“Of course.”
“So what happened when Eric could no longer get along in foster care?” Cory seemed to relax as the questions moved away from her and back to the original subject. Again, Serena noted the vague answers Cory gave when any subject turned personal, but let it go. She could ask Paul more about Cory’s background. After all, she had a right to know more about the attorney who would be working on her brother’s case, didn’t she?
“We gradually slipped apart. Eric was arrested several times. Petty thefts, but enough to wind him up in juvenile court. No foster family would take him after that, so he went to a boys’ home, which wasn’t a home at all; it was really a last stop on the state dime.”
“It’s hard to find permanent placement for older kids.”
“I know. The agency didn’t even post his profile on their adoption site.”
“But yours?”
“Mine was up for only two weeks.”
“I suppose you were beautiful even then?”
Serena felt the heat of the blush. Funny, Cory was blushing too. She glossed over the remark. She couldn’t afford to do anything but. No way was she going to confront Cory about what she considered mild flirtation. By calling attention to it, she’d have to discuss it. What would she say? Are you a lesbian? Is that why you took me to a lesbian bar for a business meeting? Are you attracted to me? Is that why you keep touching me, with your hand, with your smile?
What if Cory thought her questions were crazy? Even she thought her questions were crazy. Better to ignore these subtle actions than make a fool of herself. Still…
“I was cute. Cute dress, cute bow in hair. Besides, little girls are less trouble. At least that’s the prevailing theory.”
“Good one. So you were adopted and Eric wasn’t.”
“I was not only adopted, but I was adopted by a family in Florida. Eric was still in the boys’ home when it happened. We never even got to say good-bye before I got on a plane for the very first time in my life and flew away from everything that I knew.”
“But you kept in touch.”
“Letters, an occasional phone call. I saved every letter. The phone calls were usually laced with anger. Eric became hostile. I was living the privileged white life with my white parents in white America.”
“Hardly fair. It wasn’t like you had a choice. You were too young.”
“And he was too young to realize he wasn’t being fair. He softened up later. When he started getting into more serious trouble.” Serena considered her next words. She’d only discussed Eric’s past with the Clarks, and then only what was necessary to disclose. She considered his past private, like her own, and kept shared details to a minimum. But Cory would have to know everything if she was going to represent him. She may already know the outcome of Eric’s transgressions, but she didn’t know the details behind his wayward path, and that was why Serena was here in Dallas, instead of dispassionately phoning in her help from Florida.
“He was seventeen the first time he was arrested as an adult. He burglarized someone’s home. With his juvenile record, the public defender gave up without trying. Eric took his first trip to the pen.”
“I don’t think that a pen time plea recommendation was out of line. Probation is usually reserved for first time offenders.”
“Don’t you tell me that there aren’t tons of seventeen-year-olds offered probation, no matter what they did as children. Shoot, a seventeen-year-old is still a child in my book.” Serena folded her arms. “Here’s what I think. I think the system wrote Eric off—aged out of foster care, problems with authority. That court appointed lawyer told Eric he didn’t have a choice. He didn’t even bother to fight for him.”
Serena shuddered at the memory. She’d received a letter from Eric, return address one of the state correctional facilities. She was only thirteen when she received it, but smarter about the system than any teenager should be. Eric explained what had happened. He’d aged out of foster care. Homeless and jobless, he got in with the wrong crowd. He’d been the lookout for a couple of other guys who’d broken into a house and stolen whatever they could carry out in one trip. Instead of his past mitigating his culpability, the court system viewed him as a lost cause. He got the minimum, but the minimum was two years in the penitentiary. He did a year before he was released on parole. At thirteen, she’d been angry about the sentence, at thirty-three, she was indignant.
“That began the downward spiral. A felon on parole can’t find a job, so he either steals to earn a living or he does drugs to forget his troubles. Since he can’t afford to buy drugs without a job, he steals. Either way, he’s doomed. Seventeen is awful young to realize you’ve hit a dead end.”
“There are alternatives.”
Serena heard the trace of judgment in Cory’s otherwise gentle tone. She knew Cory was right and she’d ultimately come to that conclusion herself, but she didn’t need a stranger to tell her how she should view her brother’s cause. She started to tell Cory exactly what she could do with her uninformed opinion, but stopped short when Cory added, “I get that he couldn’t see his way through to them.”
She reined in her anger. “I made excuses for him for years. It wore on me. Wore on everyone around me.” The late night phone calls—she’d braced herself with every ring. Was he arrested or was he dead? Either was dreaded. Either could be a relief. How could she explain the roller coaster of emotions to a total stranger, especially one who’d probably never experienced what she and Eric had?
“It sounds like you’ve had a really hard time. But look at you.” Cory paused to do just that. “You started out with nothing, and you’ve obviously done well for yourself. And you’re here now to help your brother. And you’re not alone. You have lots of smart, capable people working on his case.”
Did Cory include herself among the smart and capable? Did she really care about her, about Eric? The doorbell inte
rrupted her thoughts.
Cory stood, her expression puzzled. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”
Serena waited a few seconds, but discomfort settled in. She paced the kitchen while she waited. She’d spent the day with Cory, but hardly knew a thing about her. And she wanted to. She wanted to know all about her. Severe restraint kept her from glancing through the stack of mail scattered across the kitchen counter. The return address on the top envelope read “State Bar of Texas.” Of course. Cory was a lawyer. That much she knew. But she was also a woman with a big kitchen, and seemingly a big heart, even if she kept sections of it closed off. Probably to keep herself from being hurt. Now that was something she could relate to. She would do well to keep a cooler head, guard her emotions. Eric’s case was going to sorely test her abilities. She should start by leaving her, or his, lawyer’s home. As much as she enjoyed the connection between them, she had no business in Cory’s personal space.
Serena grabbed her purse and left the kitchen. She found Cory standing in the entryway with a wallet in her hand. An enormous vase loaded with red roses rested precariously on her hip. Cory looked up and Serena read chagrin in her expression.
“Hey. Sorry to keep you waiting. I was trying to find a tip. For the guy. He just left. The flower guy.” Cory stopped talking, but the fluster didn’t leave her face. Roses, fluster. Serena couldn’t help a quick glance at the card perched on a plastic fork in the forest of roses. Of course it was in an envelope. Didn’t matter what the card said, only one kind of relationship merited red roses. Wasn’t any of her business anyway. Time to leave.
“Let me set these down and then we can talk some more.”
“You put those in a vase. I’m going back to my hotel.”
“I’m sorry; you must have had an exhausting day. I forgot you flew in this morning.”
“Long day.” Serena kept the words short so she wouldn’t say what she really felt. She preferred Cory’s home to the drab motel, Cory’s company to the solitude she normally enjoyed. Her changing preferences confused her. As long as she was in Cory’s presence, she didn’t need to examine them. So why was she leaving? She shelved the introspection and opened the door. “Thanks for the coffee. For everything. I appreciate your kindness.”
