Today, Tomorrow, Always

by Peggy Jaeger

  The lawyer in me wanted to set him straight. The woman in me, though, could appreciate his anger. “While I understand why you feel the way you do—because believe me, I’ve heard stories about lawyers who take advantage of loopholes in the law to benefit themselves and their clients—I can only defend myself. I work for my clients, yes, to guide them through government red tape, even defend them when I need to. But I value the letter of the law above all else, and I believe with all my heart and soul in the legal system.”

  His hot gaze raked across my face.

  “It’s not a perfect system,” I said. “Not by any standards. And, yes, mistakes get made every day. Mistakes, like the one in your wife and daughter’s case, which have far reaching and injurious consequences.”

  “And yet you still work for the system.”

  I shook my head. “I work for my clients and their rights.”

  “What about my wife’s rights? My daughter’s?” His voice hadn’t risen, but the controlled fury spitting through his lips made it seem as if he’d bellowed in an empty room. “Their rights to be protected against the person who killed them? Their right for justice? What about that?”

  “I agree, they were denied those rights—”

  “You can agree all you want; it doesn’t change anything. My wife and daughter are six feet under, and the teenager who killed them because she thought texting her friends while driving was more important than keeping an eye on the road is out free and clear. And alive. She has her family intact. I’ve got nothing.” The fury in his voice finally vaulted, and he must have realized it, because, abruptly, he stopped.

  He lifted the water glass in front of him, his hand shaking, and chugged half of it down in one draft. I wanted to reach across and cover his hands again, but they’d drifted back to his lap after he put the glass down on the table.

  The justice system had failed Frayne, and nothing I could do or say would change that, make him feel better, or despise the system less.

  “Again, telling you I’m sorry does nothing to eradicate your pain or change the outcome of what happened. Nothing will ever bring back your family, and nothing I say will ever make the loss less devastating.” I stopped and considered how to erase the fury in his eyes.

  His gaze connected with mine again. All the fight suddenly went out of him. His shoulders relaxed, his back slumped a bit, and a huge sigh blew from deep within him. “I’m sorry,” he said, softly.

  “For what?”

  “Getting angry.”

  “You have a right to your anger,” I told him. “Every right.”

  He leaned his elbows on the table and folded his hands together again, while he stared down at them. “I shouldn’t displace it on you, though. Or anyone else not directly related to what happened. It’s that girl’s fault and her lawyer’s. Maybe even the judge who presided over the case. No one else’s.”

  “Again, you have every right to feel the way you do. I know what it means to be filled, even consumed, with rage after someone you love is taken from you during a senseless act.”

  He lifted his gaze to mine, a question burning in his eyes.

  “My husband, Danny, was a career soldier. He was killed while on a tour of duty a little over three years ago.” I shook my head. “Almost twenty years without a mishap and then one day he couldn’t outrun a sniper’s bullet.”

  The line popped up between his brows again. “That’s…horrible.”

  I nodded. “At the time, I was filled with immeasurable rage. But I couldn’t give in to it. I had to get his mother through her own grief and fury, had to bury Danny, and then deal with all the stuff that came afterward.”

  The line thickened, and he cocked his head in his familiar way. “Your sisters said you’re the one who takes care of everyone in a crisis.”

  I nodded again.

  “Why?”

  A good question and one I’d debated with myself for most of my life. “The easiest answer is I’m the oldest and have always been what my parents termed the ‘responsible one.’ ”

  “That doesn’t seem…fair.”

  “Fair?” I shrugged. “Maybe not. As the oldest, I assumed responsibility more times than not, as a kid. It stuck through to adulthood.”

  “Why?”

  I was charmed when the tips of his ears went florid.

  “I ask because family dynamics are intriguing and alien to me. As an only child, I don’t have any kind of firsthand knowledge about”—he flipped his hand in the air—“sibling pecking order and such.”

  It was another good question and the answer one I’d never discussed with anyone. Why I was compelled to with him, though, seemed right.

  After a moment to collect my thoughts, I leaned back in the booth and stretched my hands out on either side of my plate. “When the twins were four, my mother decided to go back to work a few days a week. Nanny was touring again, and my parents figured it would be fine if I was left in charge of watching my sisters for an hour or two after school. Mom didn’t need to work. My father made more than an adequate income but”—I shrugged—“I guess she needed some time away from kids, crying, and sister drama. Be with adults, you know?”

  He nodded.

  “Anyway. I hated being in charge of them. Colleen was okay because she was only a few years younger than I was and she never caused any trouble, but the twins were rambunctious. And wicked spoiled. They never listened to anything I told them, and I finally started ignoring them, left them to watch television or play by themselves. One afternoon, I was doing homework when I should have been minding them. They were screaming they wanted to go to the park, but I was tired and I had a test to study for, so I banished them to their room and forgot about them. Eileen, somehow, managed to get outside. She was always a little Houdini when it came to crawling out of her crib or high chair, but I never for a moment thought she’d be able to unlock the door and leave the house.”

  The terror I remembered feeling when Colleen ran into my bedroom to tell me Eileen was missing wormed its way up from my memory and made my body start to shiver.

  “Good Lord. What happened? Did she get far, or get hurt?”

  I shook my head. “Luckily, a neighbor boy out walking his dog spotted her, right as Colleen and I sprinted down the road to search for her. The minute I saw her, I started screaming, which made her cry. Even Colleen was bawling. Maureen, who Colleen was holding, started up then. Mitchel Kineer, the poor kid who found her, was so uncomfortable with all of us standing in the road sobbing our eyes out, he beat a hasty retreat. When we got back to the house, I sat them down in the living room and read them the riot act. In truth, I think I was more frightened than they were. Colleen recovered quickly since she wasn’t in trouble and told me I was lucky Eileen hadn’t been hit by a car, or worse, and that our parents were going to be angry when they came home and found out what happened.”

  “As a parent, I can understand that feeling.”

  “It was the ‘or worse’ that got to me. My baby sister could have been taken by some psycho, or even wandered off into the woods and been lost forever. She was only four. She had no survival skills, no sense of right or wrong. Right then and there, I vowed never to complain about being left in charge or being the responsible one again.”

  “You were a kid, Cathy.”

  Was I ever just a kid?

  “When my parents came home, I confessed what happened. Of course, Colleen added her own sense of drama to the situation. If I wasn’t distraught enough about the whole incident to begin with, the looks of disappointment my parents gave me solidified the fact I was a horrible and irresponsible child. My mother quit her job soon after that. Like I said, she didn’t need to work. It took a long time before they trusted me again.”

  I didn’t add I’d gone out of my way for years to prove I was a good, trustworthy, worthwhile daughter. I did chores before I was ever asked to, got straight A’s in school, helped my sisters in whatever way they asked or needed, all without being told or asked
to by my parents.

  “Didn’t you ever feel…I don’t know? Resentful, maybe?”

  I was sure he wasn’t only talking about my status as the oldest sister. “Honestly, no.”

  His brows were almost touching now, the skin around his eyes tight. “You’re a much better person than I am.”

  “Better? I don’t think so,” I said. A smile bloomed quickly before I told him, “Nanny claims it’s because I’m a control freak like my father. Falling apples and trees, you know?”

  My heart did a little stutter dance when the corners of his lips twitched.

  “The same has been claimed about me a time or two.”

  We ate our cheese sticks in silence for a few moments. I’d have given anything to know what he was thinking. The fact I couldn’t read him, read his mood and his thoughts, was frustrating. And I’d be lying if I didn’t say it was also wildly appealing.

  “How did you get through it all?” he asked. “How did you get past it? The anger? The all-consuming fury after your husband was killed?”

  “Day by day. I know it sounds clichéd, but it was really the only way I could. When it looked as if everything was going to settle down and I could give myself permission to vent my anger, Eileen got sick.”

  “Cancer.”

  “Yes. Before I knew it, we were all wrapped up in her care. Taking her to chemo treatments, staying with her when she was ill so Maureen could run the inn. Then at the end, sitting vigil. The year after Danny’s death flew by, and by the time I could actually let myself feel anything again, I realized I couldn’t change what had happened. Danny was dead. I was a widow, and nothing was going to alter that reality. Acknowledging it, knowing it, I finally laid it all to rest.”

  “I wish I could do that. There are times I can forget what happened.” He blew out a breath thick with pain. “I’ll get involved in a project or with writing, or even go for a long run and not think about it at all. But the anger is always there, waiting to creep back in.”

  “Have you talked to anyone about it? Anyone who can help you through it?”

  “Like a therapist?”

  I shrugged. “Or a friend? Family? Talking with my sisters and Nanny made everything…easier, somehow, on me.”

  He lifted his glass and took another sip of his water. “You’re lucky. My relationship with my family isn’t like yours. My parents are…older. Both of them are in their eighties now, and they have their own problems to deal with. We’re not…close. Never have been.”

  That sounded so sad to me.

  “After the case was dismissed, I went…well, I went a little off the rails. Started doing things I shouldn’t and lost myself for a year or so.”

  I reached across the table again and slid my hand over his. I had a pretty good idea of how he’d gone off the rails after my conversation with Seldrine, but I wasn’t about to reveal that. When my hand came in contact with his, he startled again, glanced down at it, and then back up at me when I gave it a gentle squeeze.

  “I started drinking,” he said. “A lot. A whole lot, to be honest. I wanted to forget everything, block it all out, forget it ever happened. Being drunk helped. Stupid, I know.” He shrugged. “I missed a few deadlines for a project I’d been commissioned to do but didn’t care. My agent, Marci, was the one who realized what was going on. She got me checked into rehab, and after a three-month stay, I was better, physically. I still go to AA meetings. They…help. Some.” He took another big breath, and I let go of his hand. “Nothing helps with the pain though.”

  “It doesn’t. It’s always there, right under the surface.” I leaned back against the booth back. “I know that’s true for Maureen. While she’d never admit it because she wants everyone to think she’s fine, I know she’s still processing everything. Losing a sister is tough. Losing a twin…well, it has to feel like a part of yourself is gone. They were the best of friends, did everything together, even attended the same college so they wouldn’t be separated.”

  Frayne’s eyebrows rose.

  “The one area they differed on was cooking. Eileen hated it. To Maureen, cooking is an extension of her heart, you know what I mean?”

  He nodded. “I’ve seen it firsthand at the inn. She’s always willing to make anyone something to eat, no matter what time of the day or how busy she is.”

  I nodded. “I’ve always thought feeding people is her way of coping with what happened to Eileen. If she feeds us all, we’ll stay healthy. We won’t get sick because we’re well nourished.”

  This time, Frayne nodded.

  Finally, because my curiosity got the better of me, I said, “I read there was a third person killed in the car.”

  He stared across the table at me. A streak of anger slashed in his eyes, hot and swift. Just as quick as it came, his gaze shut down, his expression blanking like a clean slate. When he stayed silent, the notion he’d make a good lawyer blossomed in my mind again. The ability to wait the other person out before giving a knee-jerk response was one most people didn’t possess. Frayne did.

  But so did I. He stared at me, and I stared right back, hoping against hope the expression on my face was one of open acceptance.

  It must have been, because Frayne’s shoulders relaxed again. “Thomas Roadman. He was a family…friend.”

  I thought he might be a little more than that.

  “Well, more Cheyanne’s friend than mine. He and I had a professional relationship since he was my editor.”

  “Were they…close?”

  A harsh cry shot from between his lips as he threaded his hands through his hair. “If that’s a polite way of asking if they were lovers, the answer is yes.”

  Saying I was sorry sounded ridiculous. Once again I kept my mouth shut.

  “Apparently, they had been for some time,” he continued. “I found out the night of the crash when I got to the emergency room. His wife told me. They’d been separated for a few months, and Tracy explained Cheyanne was the cause.”

  I shook my head.

  “I was clueless. Had no idea at all. There was a bit of a rough patch after our daughter was born. Cheyanne was resentful because she didn’t want to put her career on the back burner, but I thought we’d worked through it.” He dragged in a deep, heavy breath. “Obviously, I was wrong.”

  He lifted his gaze back to mine. The hollows and shadows were back, full force. “I’m not like you,” he said. “I can’t let the anger go completely. I’m mad at Cheyanne, at Tom, at the teenager who was driving. I’m angry at the entire judicial system. There are still days I can’t contain it, and all I want to do is have a drink and forget everything that’s happened.”

  “Do you?” I asked, even though I pretty sure I knew the answer.

  “No. No, I do what was suggested at rehab and find a meeting. That…helps get past the anger for a time.”

  “That’s a good thing.”

  He dragged in a big breath, and when his gaze settled on me again, some of the shadows had lifted. “That girl who works at the nursing home with your grandmother? The one you represent? Seldrine?”

  “What about her?”

  “I spotted you dropping her off at the church a few mornings ago. I’ve…we’ve both been attending the same meetings. She recognized me the other night when we were with your grandmother but pretended she didn’t. Anonymity, and all.”

  I stayed silent.

  He continued to stare at me, his head tilted. Finally, he shook it, a ghost of a grin pulling at his lips. “I get the feeling you’re an exceptional lawyer.”

  Surprise warred with elation. I wasn’t exactly sure it was a compliment, though. “Why?”

  “Aside from the fact you have a great poker face?”

  Still not sure I was being complimented here, but…

  “Without divulging too much of what’s been said, your client thinks the world of you. She’s lucky to have you in her corner.”

  It broke my heart he had no one in his.

  “I’ve said some horri
ble things to you about lawyers. Hearing how you’ve helped her has made me rethink a few things, so I want to apologize again for what I’ve said. I know you’re not anything like the lawyers I’ve had to deal with.”

  Elation turned to a warm, all-consuming joy at his words. “For the record, most lawyers are more like me than not.”

  He took another breath and nodded.

  For a few moments, we ate in silence.

  “Did you ever consider filing a civil suit against the girl?” I asked. “Was the option presented to you by your lawyer?”

  His brows pulled together again as he regarded me.

  “Justice comes in many forms,” I added. “It would be a way to make the girl—and her family—assume responsibility for what happened. I’ve found when a monetary punishment is sought, if the offending party complies, then some sense of justice is afforded to the complainant.”

  “Isn’t that a little like putting a price on the lives of my wife and daughter? Reducing them to dollar signs?”

  “No, not the way you’re thinking,” I said quickly, fearful he wasn’t understanding my point. “It’s not the money you’re seeking. It’s righting what you feel is an injustice by making the driver take responsibility for her actions in the eyes of society. Whether it’s one dollar or ten million, she would have to face—legally, ethically, and financially—what she’d done, in a court of law and in the court of public opinion.”

  I went on to tell him about a case I’d studied in law school about a father who’d lost his daughter in a car crash where his son-in-law had been driving. The man had fallen asleep at the wheel on the way home from dinner and lost control of the car. A subsequent investigation had proven he’d had a drink at the restaurant. While not legally drunk, his action combined with fatigue had caused him to grow groggy on the drive home. The court had ordered the husband to send the father one penny every day for twenty-five years.

  “That’s an unusual…sentence.”

  “It was a way to make the husband remember the consequences of his actions every single day for the foreseeable future. His wife’s father wanted him to know, although his behavior hadn’t been deemed criminal, a life had been lost.” I shrugged and added, “It’s something to consider.”