by Shenda Paul
"The Commonwealth contends that Dieter Quandt poses a grave threat to Ms. Bain and that he poses a flight risk. It is for these reasons that we request he be held on remand until trial."
Jodi thanks the court, and when she returns to her seat, I lean forward to touch her shoulder, an acknowledgment of how well she’s done. She turns her head to smile at me. Sensing that we’re being watched, I look up to find Quandt glaring at me. I return his gaze in kind, making sure he registers my threat. Prosecutor or not, if he dares lay a hand on Angelique again, I'll hurt him—badly.
Purcell, during his address, tells the court how Quandt, when he first spotted seven-year-old Angelique, was reminded of the younger sister he lost when she was only twelve years old. He denies that his client's interest in Angelique had ever been sexual and repeats that Quandt had been intrigued by her resemblance to his adored sister. He soon noticed her natural grace and decided that she had the potential to become a dancer. Purcell relates how, once Angelique joined his academy, Quandt came to admire her tenacity and talent as a dancer. He cared for Angelique in a purely avuncular way; all he ever did was seek a familial relationship with her, especially given the absence of a father in her life.
Purcell continues, claiming that Quandt traced her to Florida because he’d been concerned about her well-being after the accident in Leipzig. Saddened by the news of her mother’s misfortune, his client merely wanted to communicate his willingness to take care of her, he says. He then suggests that Angelique could have prevented becoming a prostitute—if she'd only accepted his client's genuine offer of assistance, he adds. He extols Quandt's virtues as a man who continues to provide financially disadvantaged girls the opportunity of a superior education and the realization of their dream of becoming a ballerina.
He refers the court to an appendix to the defense submission that details the number of students who've benefitted from Quandt scholarships. By the end of his address, I feel like sinking my fist into Purcell’s smug, pudgy face.
The court, thankfully, is not convinced by his argument. Bail is denied, and I watch with immense satisfaction as Quandt is led back to prison. On leaving court, I call Bec to check on news from the jury in Joseph’s case.
"No word," she says, but your mother’s called three times. I smile; I really should put Mom out of her misery and tell her about my plans. I had hoped to speak to her over the weekend, but the opportunity didn't arise.
"Nothing," I tell Jodi when she asks about the jury, and we commiserate that after stewing over the weekend, we still don’t have an outcome. I call Mom as soon as I get back to the office. Conversation becomes increasingly difficult as her excitement escalates after hearing my plans. "Perhaps I should call back later," I tease.
"Don't you dare!" she exclaims and then bombards me with more questions.
"Would you tell Dad, and please ask him not contact you on Saturday; he’ll give the game away if he does," I ask when she’s satisfied.
"I'll tell him. He'll be sorry not to hear the news from you, though, and Cait’s going to be so mad."
"She'll get over it, and I'll speak to Dad when I see him."
"Okay. What time did you tell Angelique?" Mom asks.
"I said I need to meet Dad at eight-thirty and that we'd be back in time for dinner. I'll pick him up on my way home to make sure we arrive together."
"Okay. I’ll arrange for Cait and me to be at your place around ten, and I’ll call Angelique to confirm. I love you, and I'm so happy and excited," Mom tells me with a catch in her voice.
"I love you too. Thanks for helping me with this, Mom."
"That's what mothers are for, sweetheart," she says tearfully before hanging up.
Our wait for a verdict ends late that afternoon when Bec interrupts a meeting with Jodi with the excited call of, "Jury's back!"
"Thanks, Bec; would you call Jon, please," I answer, meeting Jodi’s eye across my desk. Her tiny smile of acknowledgment lets me know that she shares my thoughts. It seems like forever since she and I met with Jon in this very room to hear his briefing. We’d reached an almost instant accord in our determination to bring the brothers down; we may even have anticipated friendship, but none of us could have imagined that this case would also bring us love.
"Meet you at the elevator in five," Jodi announces as she gathers her things and races out.
Court, today, is attended primarily by members of the media, and the buzz of muted their conversation abates almost instantly when Judge West enters and court is called to order.
With the necessary preliminaries dispensed with, he looks up at the jury. "Has the jury reached a verdict?" he asks the much-anticipated question.
"We have Your Honor," the foreperson stands and hands their written decision to the officer who, in turn, submits it to the judge.
Judge West reads the contents, then slowly raises his head. "How do you find on the charge of drug trafficking?"
"Guilty, Your Honor," she declares, and when he repeats the question in turn about the charges of drug distribution, kidnapping, and extortion, delivers the same verdict.
"And on the charge of sex trafficking and child enticement, how do you find?" Judge West then asks.
"We find the defendant guilty," she says.
Bryce, a veteran now, given the number of cases he’s advocated, accepts the verdict stoically; Travis Jones, on the other hand, appears defeated. The verdict must be a blow to a man who has, until now, experienced only success in court. Joseph looks livid.
Judge West thanks and then releases the jury from duty. "Sentencing will be heard on July seventh at eleven a.m. Court is adjourned," he declares and gathers his documentation.
"Congratulations!" Jodi leans in to hug me once judge and jury have left.
"I couldn't have done it without you—both of you," I turn to include Jon, who’s seated behind us. He smiles broadly and suggests a celebratory lunch.
"Do you think you can keep me locked up?" Joseph unexpectedly yells out. He rises to his feet. "You don't know who you're dealing with.
"You think you're a big man around town? To me, you’ll always be the sniveling runt with a prostitute mother, lover of another prostitute. I should have gotten rid of you a long time ago," he sneers.
I get up and, holding his malevolent gaze, navigate the short distance separating the prosecution and defense tables. I’m aware of Jon’s presence behind me, but I ignore him, Bryce, who’s also risen, and the court officers rushing over.
"That's just another regret you’ll have to live with for the rest of your miserable life, which will be spent behind bars," I tell Joseph as the officers surround him. "Remember who put you there when next you think of the kid whose mother you killed—think of that when you remember Eleanor Mannering."
I turn my back on Joseph Cordi then. Once he’s sentenced, I'll put him and the part of my childhood that’s hovered over me like a dark cloud behind me. I'll remember my mother as she was before he entered our lives, and I'll try, through Eleanor’s Place, to build a legacy more befitting her life.
.
On Saturday morning, I gently untangle myself from Angelique. Memories of our lovemaking the night before flood my mind as I pull the sheet up to cover her nakedness. Only the thought of what I have planned for today stops me from returning to her side.
An hour later, when I wake her to say goodbye, Angelique turns onto her back and stretches like a graceful cat. "Enjoy your day with your Dad," she murmurs sleepily and pulls me in for a soft kiss.
"I love you. I'll see you tonight," I tell her before, with a parting kiss, I leave.
I arrive at my destination, relieved to see the high-topped vehicle already parked out front. I have a quick chat with the driver before checking in at reception to confirm that my other requests have been met. Satisfied, I make my way to the room at the end of the corridor. Blue eyes, smiling this time, meet mine as, after a light knock on
the half-open door, I enter.
"Hello, Grace," I say, bending to take her hand. "Thank you for agreeing to do this."
"Thank you for involving me, Adam," she replies, her eyes misting over.
"I wouldn’t have it any other way," I assure her before asking whether she’s ready to leave.
"Are you comfortable?" I ask once she’s been settled into the vehicle.
"Oh yes, thank you," she assures me, her eyes alight with excitement.
Grace’s smile reminds me so much of Angelique’s. In fact, I've noticed many similarities between mother and daughter. I can’t help wondering, though, which of the other traits that make her so precious to me she's inherited from her father and which are uniquely hers. I regret that I'll never have the privilege of finding out first hand. From what Grace has said, Rory Bain had been a highly principled, generous man, and loyal to a fault. A firefighter, he contracted a deadly lung disease through work and paid the ultimate price for protecting his community. I just know I’d have admired and looked up to him.
"Angelique was his world," Grace told me during our recent telephone conversation. "He would have been utterly devastated by what happened to her, and he would have blamed himself for not protecting her, just like I do."
"You’re not to blame, any more than you were to blame for the accident that put you in this position; sometimes bad things happen to good people for no reason. It's my job to protect Angelique now, and I'd die before I see her harmed," I said in response.
"Rory would have approved of what you're about to do, and I know he would have liked you," she added, and I told her how grateful I am to know that.
"If there's anything you need, please don't hesitate to let me know," I urge her now as we move at snails pace through the congested New York traffic. "We just have one very important stop to make before we make our way to the airfield."
"I can't believe I’m about to fly in a private jet," Sharon, Grace’s carer, remarks.
"I hope you're not nervous?" I turn around to ask.
"Excited," she replies, her eyes gleaming with anticipation.
When I called the care facility last week to discuss my plans with the director, she'd been extremely helpful in making this trip comfortable for Grace. I asked whether she could provide a carer Grace is comfortable with, and she promised to speak with her personnel. Sharon volunteered, and I'm glad she did. She seems like a nice person, and she's obviously highly competent. It's also clear that the two women get along well.
"Oh!" Grace exclaims when we arrive at our destination. "I've dreamed of coming here."
"It has special meaning for me too. I'll tell you about it on the plane," I promise before getting out to help the driver lower the wheelchair ramp.
.
.
"Rory always talked about visiting Boston," Grace remarks as she stares out of the aircraft window at the billowing clouds.
"The most Irish city in the U.S. of A," I reply, and when she looks at me quizzically, I relate Angelique’s tale about why she chose Boston.
"I remember him saying that," she says wistfully. "I wish he were here with us."
"I’m sure he's with you in spirit," I assure her.
"He promised me that before he died, and Rory would never break his word if he could help it," she murmurs and then, giving me a grateful smile, turns to the window once more.
Some hours later, I pull up at Mom and Dad’s to find Dad already waiting on the doorstep. "Good day, Son?" he asks as soon as he’s settled into his seat.
"Wonderful!" I tell him, unable to stop smiling. "I apologize for not personally telling you, Dad."
"I understand, Adam, and I'm extremely happy for you." He reaches over to grasp my shoulder affectionately. "Now, let's get our stories straight before we face your sister. You do know that she's going to kill you, don't you?"
"It won't be immediate, though; she'll be in shock," I laugh at the thought of Cait’s likely reaction.
"If she asks why I didn’t tell her, I'll say you blackmailed me."
"No point in us both dying," I respond dryly.
"Exactly," Dad counters, giving me a wide grin before turning his attention to the road ahead.
"Smells good in here!" he announces on entering my kitchen. I’m aware of everyone else’s presence, of course, but my eyes immediately seek out Angelique, and, as always, my heart jolts at the sight of her.
"Hi," I greet her and raise her chin to kiss her mouth. "What’ve you been doing?"
"Learning to cook," she tells me.
"You're already a great cook," I draw her close and capture her mouth in another kiss.
"Hel…lo, people here!" Cait feigns distaste, and Angelique flushes with embarrassment. I run my fingers over her silky skin and place a reassuring kiss on her forehead before turning to face my family, my arm still wrapped around her waist.
Dad and Mom are standing in a similar position and smiling at us indulgently.
"Hello, Mom. It's lovely to see you," I say to irritate Cait.
"Ass!" She signs for emphasis. "Love-struck, stupid ass who I know is hiding something. What are you up to?"
"You look beautiful, Sis; pregnancy suits you," I reply, ignoring her probing. It’s true, though; she does look lovely and content now that her bouts of morning sickness have passed. They'll be moving next door in just over a month, at which time, Cait will be just past the halfway mark in her pregnancy.
"Do I have time for a quick shower before dinner, Mom?" I ask before Cait can continue her interrogation.
"We’ll eat in about forty minutes when the pie comes out of the oven."
"The smells in this kitchen are driving me crazy," Matt grumbles.
"Me too." Dad choruses.
"Well, why don't you help me set the table?" Mom suggests as I pull Angelique upstairs with me.
"I missed you." I cup her face in both hands as soon as we enter our bedroom. Passion ignites when our lips touch and builds as we explore each other's mouths, tongues probing, stroking ever more insistently. I pull her down onto the bed with me.
"Your family’s downstairs," Angelique reminds me breathlessly.
"Tell me about your day?" I ask with a resigned smile while gently moving the hair back from her face.
"It’s been lovely. Your Mom and Cait arrived with pastries, and then we went shopping for baby clothes before coming back here to cook."
"Do you want children?" I ask, watching her lovely face turn pink.
"At least two, I think, so neither would be an only child like me," she admits almost shyly.
"I've dreamed, literally, of watching my pregnant wife sit on a bench in our garden," I confess in return. "You featured heavily in those dreams, even though I didn't recognize you at the time."
Her eyes cloud with emotion, but she doesn’t reply. She strokes my stubbled cheek and leans in to gently kiss my mouth instead. I don’t push; I’ve come to understand Angelique’s moments of insecurity, moment’s when she believes she doesn’t deserve to be loved. I simply wrap my arms around her and cradle her to my chest.
"Did you and your Dad have a good time?" she asks after a while.
"I'll tell you about it later." I deliberately avoid her question—the last thing I want is to exacerbate the lie I’ve already told. "Right now, I need a shower. I'd love for you to join me, but I won't be able to resist having you, and we'd both hate for Cait to walk in on us." I’m only half-joking because there’s nothing I’d like more than to make love to Angelique right now, and Cait would most assuredly come banging on the door if we were conspicuously late.
"Wait for me; I’ll only be five minutes?" I ask and, with a last, lingering kiss, rise from the bed.
.
.
"Did you manage to get her mother settled?" Mom pulls me aside to ask when we return downstairs.
"Yes. She and Sharon, her carer
, seem very happy with their accommodation, and I told Grace you'd see her in the morning. I'm sorry I can't be there to introduce you."
"We'll be fine, Adam. Is there anything special I should know?"
"Just that she's incapacitated from the waist down. Grace has limited use of her hands and can raise her arms a bit, so she’s able to shake hands. Just hold hers lightly, Mom, her grip’s very weak. Other than that, you're going to love her; I already do."
Dinner is delicious and the company jovial. Angelique is less talkative than anyone else, but I now know it’s not because she feels uncomfortable or overwhelmed by everyone else’s boisterousness; it's just her innate shyness. I join in the banter but continue to ignore Cait’s attempts to goad me into confessing. Dad’s amusement, naturally, grows with each of her efforts.
"I'm going to get it out of you, if it's the last thing I do," she whispers in my ear as she and Matt say goodbye.
"You can try," I challenge, quickly dodging her hand because I know she’s about to pinch my arm. She's been doing that since we were kids.
Casting me a mock-glare, I’ve lost count of just how many she’d lobbed at me over dinner, Cait turns to hug Angelique. Then, with a peck on the cheek for Angelique from Matt, they leave.
When we return to the living room, Mom, who’d apparently instructed Dad to distract Angelique, pulls me aside once more.
"Is everything arranged for tomorrow?" she whispers conspiratorially even though we can’t be heard.
"Yes, thanks. Just contact Theo, the driver I hired to transport Grace and Sharon, to make sure he’s running on time. His number's in the text I sent you earlier. Angelique and I should arrive around seven-thirty."
"Does she have any clue?"
"Not an inkling," I reply.
Chapter Fifteen
You spoil me," Angelique says as she sits up in bed the next morning.
"You'd better get used to it, Miss Bain, because I intend doing it often," I tell her, placing a cup of tea and plate bearing a slice of toast with honey on the bedside table. "Besides, you spoil me too…" I silence her objection with a kiss.
