by Warren Adler
Peck lifted his hands in a studied gesture of futility.
“Why did you choose that particular day to visit your grandson at school?”
“I—I just couldn’t stand it anymore. I missed him, is all.”
“But why that particular day?”
Charlie looked toward Molly, and she forced a smile and a nod.
“My birthday. It was my birthday.”
“How old were you?”
“Sixty.”
“A very significant milestone, wouldn’t you say?”
Charlie nodded.
“What else did that day mark?”
Charlie cleared his throat.
“My retirement day.”
“Voluntary retirement?”
“They have this new program. When you hit sixty, you can retire.”
“Isn’t that kind of young to retire voluntarily in today’s world?”
“I put in my years.”
“In fact it was an involuntary retirement. A real blow. Wasn’t it?”
Molly’s stomach knotted.
“Sort of.”
“And you felt—well—lousy.”
“You would, too. You don’t work for a company more than thirty-five years and feel good about leaving. It’s only natural.”
“So you needed a bit of comfort?”
“Happens to everybody.”
“And you ran immediately to see your grandson?”
“Anything wrong with that?”
“From your point of view? Maybe not. From Tray’s? That’s another question.” He lifted his head and looked up at the judge, who remained impassive. Peck began to pace in front of the chair, then looked up suddenly and shot Charlie a question. “How did your grandson react to the confrontation?”
Charlie squirmed in his seat.
“He seemed glad to see me.”
“How glad?”
“Just glad.” He forced a laugh. It sounded hollow. “I brought him his wagon.”
“Where was he when you arrived?”
“In class.”
“And your visit interrupted him?”
“Well, yes. I said it would only take a minute.”
“How did he express his—his happiness?”
“He sort of smiled.”
“Did he rush into your arms?”
“Well, no. He was probably embarrassed to do that.”
“Did he say something like, ‘Gosh, I missed you, Grampa’? After all, it had been two years. Or did he show confusion and surprise?”
“I guess he was surprised.”
“Not confused?”
“I can’t be sure.”
“In fact, he was totally confused, Mr. Waters. We have it on good authority from the adults who were present. He was interrupted in his class. He really didn’t know what was happening. You simply bullied your way in. You did not use your real name. You said you were about to leave town.”
“I wanted to see him,” Charlie said, obviously feeling the pressure of harassment.
“Because you needed him on that particular day.”
“Is that so terrible?”
“But did he need you, Mr. Waters?”
“I’m his grandfather.”
“That was not my question, Mr. Waters.” Forte began to rise. Peck saw it and lifted his hands, palms up. “All right then, how did you feel when you saw him?”
“Better. I felt better,” Charlie said, rattled, but seizing the opportunity to report this sense of relief. “At first. Then when they kind of eased me out, I felt rotten.” He looked toward Frances. “She told me that if it happened again, she would call the police. Tell me, what was my crime?”
“No crime, Mr. Waters. The tragedy here is that you needed Tray for therapeutic reasons, to make you feel better about the things that had happened to you that day. But Tray didn’t need you. He was doing fine. He is doing fine. He was happy. He is happy, adjusted, productive, a normal boy. As much as I hate to say it, he neither needed nor wanted your visit, did he, Mr. Waters?”
“If they’d let it happen in the normal way—”
“We are dealing here with what is best for the child. That is the only issue in this court, Mr. Waters.”
“I’m not saying it isn’t.”
As the cross-examination continued, Molly felt a sinking sensation in her heart. Forte must have seen how she was taking it, and he patted her hand.
“He’s throwing everything he has at Charlie, Mrs. Waters,” Forte whispered.
“How do you think he’s doing?”
“Surprisingly well.”
“You think so?”
It encouraged her, but she wasn’t sure. After all those years together, she knew her man. Just beneath the surface, he was at the breaking point. But she was still proud of him, and she nodded and smiled.
Then, suddenly, Peck became ingratiating, leading Charlie through a series of questions that focused on his early life, the things he and Chuck had done together, boating, hunting, fishing, the affection and interests that both men had shared.
“It was a terrible blow to lose your only child, your cherished son?”
“Yes, it was.”
“You shared so much.”
“We did.”
“Everyone understands that.”
Now Molly was confused. It seemed odd that he wasn’t dealing with Charlie’s early objections to Chuck’s marriage and the cool relationship he had with Frances.
“It depressed you?”
“Very much.”
“Then came the loss of your grandson?”
“Yes.”
“And of your job after thirty-five years?”
“What is he getting at?” Molly asked Forte, who waved her to be silent.
“No wonder, then, that you were depressed, that you showed rather odd behavior.”
“What?” Charlie was rattled again, worse than before. He looked helplessly at Molly.
“And you have been known occasionally to lose your temper?”
“Sometimes. But I don’t—”
“All the pressures of life suddenly coming together can wreak havoc on a man’s psyche.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Charlie cried, his voice rising, his body taut. Molly gripped Forte’s hand.
“I’m talking about . . .” The big lawyer paused, his intense gaze scanning the room, first the judge, then his clients, then Molly, and finally back to Charlie. “I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Waters. But it has to be faced.” Molly felt an invisible hand grab at her insides and squeeze.
“What does?”
“Your suicidal tendency, Mr. Waters.”
“My . . .” Charlie rose out of his chair, then fell back, ashen, drained, defeated. Forte jumped to his feet.
“I totally reject this line of questioning,” Forte said. “This is disgraceful and unprincipled speculation.”
“I’m sorry, your Honor,” Peck said, shaking his head, as if the revelation were equally painful to him. He turned and looked toward Molly. “The state of Mr. Waters’s mental health, as will be shown, was reported by Mrs. Waters herself in a meeting with Mrs. Graham only a few weeks ago. I can discontinue this line now and pick it up again with Mrs. Graham. But I assure you it cannot be swept under the rug.”
The judge looked at Charlie with an expression that seemed like sympathy. She shook her head. Forte looked at Molly, his eyes sad and questioning. His gaze seemed to drill through her. She wished she could disappear and hoped that the heart beating in her chest would suddenly explode. She turned toward Frances.
“How could you?” Molly asked. Frances turned away, saying nothing. Tears suddenly obscured Molly’s view, and she opened her handbag to look for a tissue. Finding one, she sniffled and wiped her eyes.
“May I request a short recess, your Honor?” Forte asked.
The judge nodded, raised her gavel, and brought it down. She looked at the clock.
“We’re nearing lunch. Back in session at one.
”
Revealing nothing through her features or posture, she stood up, and the clerk called them to attention as she left the courtroom. For a moment, no one moved. Then Molly rushed forward to her husband.
“I’m sorry, Charlie,” she said, embracing him. He looked up at her with moist eyes.
“You really think I would have left you alone, babe?” he asked.
Answers tumbled in her mind, but she couldn’t find the composure to speak.
Later, sitting at a booth in a delicatessen near the courthouse, Molly managed to find some words of explanation. Forte listened while Charlie brooded and occasionally shook his head in disbelief.
“I was worried,” she said, avoiding Charlie’s eyes, forcing herself for Charlie’s sake to rise above her misery and remain as casual as she was able. Someday maybe she could explain her actions more forthrightly. Now all she could offer were makeshift explanations, hoping Charlie would understand. Betraying Forte was one thing, but hurting Charlie, that touched her to the core. “Maybe I did read into things more than I should have.” She touched Charlie’s arm and felt a cold shiver travel up her spine. “But you were depressed, and that night, seeing you with that damned loaded gun across your lap, what was I to think, Charlie? You weren’t yourself. I admit that I shouldn’t have even called her. But sometimes you try anything.” She turned to the lawyer. “I never expected this.”
“Tailor-made,” Forte muttered. “And he used it with great skill. Great skill. If he wanted to show instability, he scored a home run.”
“He hit me right between the eyes,” Charlie said with effort. He looked toward Molly and sighed. “Not your fault, babe. You’re right. I was acting strange.”
“I’ve always been scared of those guns, Charlie,” she said, seeking more ways to deflect his gloom. She hadn’t even mentioned it to him at the time, fearful that by saying it she might somehow cause him to act. In her heart she knew she was right. Those guns could never load themselves. The point was that it was a private matter, and to say it to others, especially Frances, was a violation of their intimacy. She bit her lip to stop it from trembling. “Me and my big mouth,” she said.
Charlie lifted his head and looked at her with sad eyes.
“Guess we blew it,” he sighed.
Their sandwiches came. Molly looked at hers and nearly retched. Surprisingly, Charlie ate his while Forte took a desultory bite now and again. It was obvious his mind was elsewhere.
“It was a curve you threw me, Mrs. Waters. No question of that.”
Maybe that was it, she decided. She had thrown them all curves. Maybe all this trouble came from her own doings. All wrong, she decided, a catalogue of self-accusations rising in her mind.
“Not going to be much fun going back in there,” Charlie muttered, turning to the lawyer. “You said from the beginning it was a long shot.”
“Didn’t expect it to be this long.” He pushed his sandwich plate away. “I don’t feel very good about this, folks. A good trial lawyer anticipates. When she walked in pregnant, I knew we were up against it. I should have asked for interrogatories, made observations. Their family setup is strong and tight, well-illustrated. The opposition seems better served.”
“No sense running yourself down, Mr. Forte,” Molly said. “I’m the one who wrecked the case.”
“A lawyer has to establish the right environment for his clients to open up, an atmosphere of candor.” It surprised her to see how hard he was taking it. She looked at Charlie, who seemed equally confused. He had told them he believed in their cause, but this attitude seemed beyond the call of duty. “No. I’m afraid it doesn’t look good, folks.”
“Are you suggesting that we walk away?” Molly asked.
“I suppose it sounds like that,” he said.
“That lady up there didn’t let on what she was thinking,” Charlie said. He seemed to be trying hard to shake off the gloom of impending defeat.
“We’ll just have to put our heads down and go forward,” Forte said, pulling his plate forward again and taking a bite of his sandwich. “It’s not over yet.” His eyes glazed over as if his mind had gone elsewhere.
Turning toward Charlie, Molly put her hand over his. “You were terrific up there, Charlie. No matter what, I was very proud.”
“I was dying inside, babe. I tell you true.”
“Me, too.”
Forte seemed lost in thought, and they ignored him.
“Forgive me?” she asked. She knew she would spend a lifetime asking that question.
“For what?” And he would spend a lifetime answering it in just that way.
“I could kick myself,” she said.
“Hell you can.” He tried to smile. “That’s my job.”
“If I were Peck, I’d ask for a dismissal,” Forte said suddenly, his fingers tapping the table. “It may be over sooner than we think.” But it did not seem as if his words ended the thought. “She might not go for that.” He seemed to be talking to himself.
“For what?” Molly asked.
“I don’t know,” Forte shrugged.
“It sounded like you did,” Molly said.
“Just an embryo,” Forte muttered. “Too complicated to explain.”
Molly sensed that he was being evasive and did not pursue the point. She noted that Forte had finished his sandwich.
When the hearing reconvened, the two lawyers stood in front of the bench talking in whispers, then came back to the table.
“She didn’t grant his request for a dismissal,” Forte said.
“I suppose that’s good,” Molly said.
“Neither good nor bad. She simply might have no place to go for the rest of the day.” Molly detected a note of sarcasm, although Forte seemed uncommonly vague. He was working things out, she decided. She pointedly avoided looking at Frances and Peter.
Then Frances rose and waddled to the witness stand. Peck followed. Despite her size, she looked more radiant than Molly had ever seen her. Her face had filled out, and her skin, devoid of makeup, glowed with health. Clear-eyed, neat in her crisp maternity blouse with its big red bow, she looked the picture of confidence and contentment. Happy. So you put us all behind you, Molly thought, glancing at Charlie. Yet, notwithstanding the dispute, Molly felt more than just a grudging admiration for her. She had come a long away from Dundalk, from Chuck and his indifference. From them. Perhaps, from Frances’s point of view, she and Charlie were pariahs, reminders of sadder days, an unwanted, unnecessary, and negative influence on Tray. Maybe it was time to stop this charade.
Peck led Frances gently through her testimony. Earlier, he had driven home the main point of his arguments. It remained to put the frosting on the cake. The initial questioning had clearly established that the life of the Graham family, Tray included, was a model of loving, caring, respect, and, in fact, unbounded happiness.
“And your first marriage, to Charles Waters, Jr., was, to say the least, unsatisfactory?” Peck asked.
“At first it was reasonably happy. Then Tray came along, and my husband went off to foreign countries.”
“Rarely coming home?”
“Rarely.”
“And when he did come home?”
“He was distant and indifferent.”
“Did you contemplate divorce?”
She lowered her eyes and clasped her hands across the expanse of her pregnant middle.
“It was on my mind. Yes.”
“Not true,” Charlie whispered.
“You don’t know that for sure, Charlie,” Molly snapped, and he looked at her queerly.
“With respect to your in-laws, how did they treat you during the marriage to their son?”
“We never had words. They were very devoted to Chuck, and I, of course, was his wife. Molly was thoughtful and understanding. My father-in-law was more interested in”—she hesitated as if searching for exactly the right word—“manly things. His relationship with my husband was very close. Also with Tray. They were not unkind.
I’d never say that. Not once. I was married to their son.”
“And before?”
“My father-in-law opposed the marriage. It was no secret.”
“For what reason?”
“He said it was because Chuck and I were too young.”
“That seems logical. Was there any other reason?”
“I think he would have opposed any woman who wanted to marry his son.”
Molly squirmed uncomfortably. There was no denying the truth of it.
“Regarding Tray, did they ever treat him badly?”
“Of course not.”
“Are they sincere when they say they love him?”
“I believe so.”
“Is it true that after your husband’s death, they were supportive, loving to Tray?”
“Yes. They were.”
“And when your present husband came along, how did your father-in-law react?”
“He did not approve of our getting married so soon after Chuck’s death.”
“And he made these views known to your future husband?”
“Emphatically.”
“But neither he nor your mother-in-law opposed his plan to adopt Tray?”
“No.”
Peck paused. Turning, he looked at Molly and Charlie, telescoping the importance of the message that was about to come forth.
“Would you tell the court, Mrs. Graham, in your own words, exactly why you feel that it would be better for your son if Mr. and Mrs. Waters did not visit him at this time.”
Frances sucked in a deep breath. Here comes the painful part, she thought. The judge tilted her head toward the witness, her attention totally focused. Molly reached out and took Charlie’s hand. He was sweating.
“Tray is a happy, well-adjusted boy. He has a loving father in every respect. He has a new brother whom he loves and, as you can see, another one on the way. Hopefully, a sister. I know that my former in-laws think us cruel and heartless for taking this action. But we have to make decisions that are best for our son. For Tray. The past for him is only a dim memory. Why should he be disturbed, his life disrupted, in any way? He has loving grandparents in my husband’s parents. Why should he be treated differently from the other children? It is not necessary for him to visit with Mr. and Mrs. Waters. In fact, it will undoubtedly be bad for him—”
“What makes you say that?” the lawyer interrupted.
