The Choice

by Robert Whitlow

  The following morning Sandy walked to the bathroom without any trouble, then took a shower and washed her hair. Her mother, after another night in the recliner beside the bed, looked even more haggard. Linda arrived while Sandy was finishing a bowl of oatmeal with raisins. Dr. Berman came into the room and performed a quick exam.

  “Ready to leave?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Sandy said with finality.

  “I’ll prepare the discharge order. Are you going to follow up with me or a doctor in your hometown?”

  “I’m going to spend two more weeks with Linda so I can finish school. The principal is allowing me to do a home-study program.”

  “Good. Call my office and schedule an appointment the first of the week. I’d like to see you at least one more time.”

  “Okay. And thanks for everything.”

  Dr. Berman left. Sandy’s mother took a sip of coffee and put the cup on the tray.

  “I’m going to take a last trip to the nursery,” she said. “Do you want to come with me?”

  “No,” Sandy said. “I’ve said my good-byes.”

  “May I join you?” Linda asked.

  “Yes. I’d like some company.”

  They were gone about thirty minutes. When they returned, Sandy could tell her mother had been crying. For Julie Lincoln, the first steps on the path of grief were wet with tears.

  “Let me see what you have to wear home,” her mother said, wiping her eyes with a tissue.

  “There aren’t a lot of—” Sandy started, then stopped when Linda shook her head.

  Sandy’s mother laid out her clothes and helped pack her suitcase just as she did when Sandy went to summer camp. A nurse came into the room, went over warning signs for problems, and handed Sandy a packet of information. She wheeled Sandy to the front door of the hospital where Linda was waiting with the car. As they drove away from the hospital, Sandy felt a wrenching pain deep in her heart. She turned around and saw the hospital disappear behind a row of buildings. Sandy knew the sharp ache was the cry of her spirit as she was separated from the two baby boys she’d never see again. She closed her eyes until the pain subsided.

  Whatever the future held, part of her would remain forever with the sons she’d borne.

  part

  TWO

  SIXTEEN

  Santa Clarita, California, 2008

  The Santa Clarita courthouse on West Valencia Boulevard in Los Angeles County was familiar territory to Dustin Abernathy. He usually entered the building as an attorney, not as a defendant forced to be there. It was cool in the air-conditioned courtroom, but Dusty was perspiring beneath his dark-gray suit as he waited for his case to be called. He ran his fingers through his reddish-brown hair and leaned over to Melissa Burkholder, the lawyer representing him.

  “Are you sure we shouldn’t offer another grand a month in alimony and extend it to twelve months? It’s not that much money in the big scheme of things.”

  Melissa tapped the folder on her lap with a pen.

  “Adultery may not be grounds to deny spousal support in California, but when I show the judge that Farina is living with Nathaniel Cameron in his big house in Malibu and driving an $80,000 car he gave her, I don’t think the judge is going to find a legal basis for ongoing need. That will save you a ton of cash.”

  “But she didn’t have any earnings during our marriage.”

  “Which lasted a total of 854 days before you split up. Come on, Dusty, we were in complete agreement on our strategy when we went over this stuff at my office last week. If you hadn’t followed Farina from the spa to Cameron’s house, we never would have known what she was doing. You connected the dots.”

  Dusty glanced over at Farina, who was sitting beside her lawyer. Hadley Bingham was a senior partner with a prestigious firm in Beverly Hills. Farina’s benefactor, Nathaniel Cameron, had to be paying the bill for such high-priced legal talent. Melissa was a battle-tested divorce attorney who wasn’t afraid of a legal knife fight. However, most of her skirmishes were fought against storefront lawyers who handled so many divorce cases they had trouble keeping the names of their clients straight. Today, she would face off against an attorney who represented a handful of multimillionaires at a time.

  Dusty’s predicament was the result of his failure to insist on a prenuptial agreement with Farina in the first place. He’d been burned financially by Sharon, his first wife; and when he started dating again, his buddies at the law firm warned him not to tie the knot without a loose string attached to a prenup. Idealistic and in love, Dusty called his friends cynics, and he took the tall, black-haired Farina to St. Croix for a barefoot wedding as the surf rolled over their toes. Within a year and a half, the couple was spending most of their time arguing. They tried a few months of marriage counseling, but it exposed more problems than it solved. Then Dusty came home one Friday night after a three-day trip to Sacramento and found a note telling him that the marriage was over. Farina had moved out. She changed her cell phone number and instructed her mother not to tell Dusty where she was. The divorce petition landed on his desk thirty days later.

  Judge Harriett Wilcher, a woman in her late forties, entered the courtroom. Everyone stood.

  “Be seated,” the judge said. “Madam Clerk, please call the first case on the afternoon calendar.”

  “Abernathy v. Abernathy,” the court clerk said in a nasally voice.

  “Let’s do this,” Melissa said to Dusty.

  They walked up to the counsel table. Dusty sat slightly hunched over as the lawyers went through the preliminary formalities. He avoided looking in Farina’s direction.

  “Proceed with your first witness,” the judge said to Bingham.

  The lawyer motioned to Farina.

  “Plaintiff calls Farina Abernathy.”

  Farina walked to the witness stand like a model on the runway. Even now, Dusty had to admit she cut a classy swath across the room. However, Farina was Exhibit A to the old saying that beauty is only skin-deep. Push one of her multiple hot buttons and scalding steam escaped. Her lawyer smoothly brought out the basic testimony establishing that the marriage was irretrievably broken and that Farina met the prima facie requirements for spousal support.

  “Were there any children from the marriage?” Bingham asked.

  “One,” Farina answered.

  Dusty’s eyes opened wider. He’d told Melissa this issue might come up, but he was surprised Farina wanted to go there.

  “A year into the marriage I conceived, and Dusty insisted I have an abortion,” Farina said.

  “Insisted? Please explain that for the court.”

  Farina turned toward Judge Wilcher. As she moved her head, Farina’s steely gray eyes met Dusty’s for a split second and shot a glint of hate in his direction.

  “Dusty was belligerent and aggressive when he drank. I’ve looked it up online, and the way he treated me when he was drunk would be considered emotional abuse—”

  “Objection,” Melissa said, quickly standing up. “First, the witness isn’t competent to offer expert psychological testimony. Second, the answer is nonresponsive to the question.”

  “Sustained. The witness will answer the question without offering a legal or medical opinion.”

  “I wanted to be a mother,” Farina continued, “but Dusty didn’t want to be a father. When he found out that I was pregnant, we had a big fight. He’d been drinking all day and started yelling at me and broke a glass. I was terrified, and he forced me to go to the women’s clinic on San Jacinto Boulevard for the abortion.”

  “Who drove to the women’s clinic?”

  “Dusty.”

  “Was he intoxicated while driving?”

  “Objection on the same grounds,” Melissa interjected.

  “Sustained.”

  “How many drinks had he consumed?” Bingham asked.

  “I’m not sure, but enough to make him mean. I was afraid not to do what he said.”

  “Did Mr. Abernathy physically threaten
you?”

  Every muscle in Dusty’s body tensed.

  “Not exactly,” Farina answered. “But I was scared because he would yell and throw things. When that started happening, I tried to get out of his way. That day I didn’t have a choice. If I hadn’t done what he wanted, I’m sure I would have been hurt.”

  “Objection to speculation,” Melissa said.

  “Sustained as to the witness’s last statement,” the judge said.

  “Please continue,” Bingham said.

  “I don’t remember much about the trip home. I was in a lot of pain.”

  Farina’s recollection of the termination of the pregnancy was only partially right. First, it was an accident that’d she become pregnant at all. However, when the home pregnancy test came back positive, the first thing Farina did was pour a stiff drink. Dusty was drinking a beer in their entertainment room when she hysterically broke the news. At first, the idea of being a father sounded exciting to Dusty, but Farina immediately ramped up a heated argument. After the dust settled, their discussion resulted in a rare instance of agreement when they decided abortion was the best option. They drove to the clinic in stony silence. Farina had had a previous abortion when she was in her early twenties and knew what she was getting into. Dusty was confident his version of the facts would come across as more credible than Farina’s.

  Bingham moved into the financial area and introduced the joint tax returns the couple filed during their marriage. Dusty wondered how his annual income compared to Bingham’s. Lawyers like Dusty who worked on contingency cases often made more than attorneys who billed by the hour, even at Beverly Hills rates.

  “What was your average annual income for the three years prior to your marriage to Mr. Abernathy?” Bingham asked.

  “Thirty-five thousand dollars. Clerical jobs in advertising agencies don’t pay very well.”

  “Did you continue to work during the marriage?”

  “No, Dusty wanted me to be there when he got home from work.”

  Dusty couldn’t keep from smiling. Farina was thrilled that he’d set her free from the workplace grind. She had no trouble filling her day with self-centered opportunities to pamper her body and occupy her frivolous mind.

  Bingham finished his direct examination without any effort at preemptive damage control about Farina’s relationship with Nathaniel Cameron. Melissa stood up. Dusty saw Farina’s eyes widen. He knew his estranged wife was scared.

  “Ms. Abernathy, are you currently living in Malibu?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you live there on a full-time basis?”

  “Yes.”

  Dusty relaxed. Proof that Farina was cohabiting and receiving substantial support would demolish any claim for spousal support.

  “How many people are in the household?”

  “Four.”

  “Who are they?”

  “Myself, Nathaniel Cameron, the housekeeper, and a chef.”

  “The housekeeper and chef live in the residence?”

  “Yes.”

  “So you don’t have to do any cooking or cleaning?”

  “No.” Farina gave Melissa a puzzled look.

  “Does Mr. Cameron furnish you a car to drive?”

  “I can use the red Mercedes if I need to.”

  “Anytime you need it?”

  “Pretty much. He drives the black Mercedes.”

  “When did you first start staying with Mr. Cameron?”

  “Do you mean in Malibu or in New York City?”

  Melissa raised her eyebrows. “You also lived with him in New York?”

  “Yes, for about a year when I dropped out of college. He was working at Presbyterian Hospital in Manhattan, and he offered to let me stay with him at his apartment while I tried to land a modeling job.”

  “Mr. Cameron worked at a hospital?”

  “Yes, he’s a pediatric neurosurgeon. He’s semiretired now.”

  “So, when he moved to Malibu, you continued your relationship, is that correct?”

  “Of course.”

  Dusty’s mouth dropped open. He could see that Melissa was also shocked.

  “Natty is my uncle,” Farina continued. “Or half uncle, I guess. He and my mother have the same father but different mothers. I hadn’t seen him for several years, but he was nice enough to let me stay with him when he found out that Dusty and I were splitting up. I didn’t want to go to my mother’s house because Dusty knows where she lives and would harass me. He doesn’t know my uncle, so it was a safe place for me to live until the divorce was finalized.”

  Dusty glanced at Bingham, who had a bemused expression on his face. Melissa returned to the table and picked up some financial records. She avoided eye contact with Dusty. She faced Farina.

  “Ms. Abernathy, besides enjoying the amenities of your uncle’s house, is there anything preventing you from returning to work in the advertising field?”

  “I’ve been looking for a job because I can’t stay with Natty forever. I’ve submitted over a hundred résumés and had a few interviews but haven’t gotten any offers. Dusty isn’t giving me any financial help, and I don’t have the money to get my own place closer to town where most of the jobs are.”

  Farina had been well coached and played Melissa like a fish on a hook. Information that could have been brought out on direct examination had much greater impact when spoken on cross-examination. Dusty wrote a figure on a legal pad in front of him and circled it. When Melissa finished and sat down, he slid it over to her. She grimaced and nodded.

  “Your Honor,” Melissa said, standing up. “Would you allow me a few minutes to consult with opposing counsel?”

  “You’ve had several months to talk to Mr. Bingham. Why should I let you do it now?”

  “To see if we can narrow down the issues,” Melissa answered.

  “I’d welcome the opportunity to address that as well,” Bingham said amiably.

  “Very well,” the judge said. “But when you ask for a few minutes, that’s all I’m going to give you.”

  The judge left the bench. Bingham and Melissa met in the space between the two tables. Dusty moved closer so he could listen.

  “What would your client accept for spousal support?” Melissa asked.

  Bingham had a legal pad in his hand and held it out so Melissa could see it but Dusty couldn’t. Dusty saw Melissa swallow.

  “That’s a lot,” she said.

  “I have a strong case, and you haven’t heard all of it.”

  Melissa showed Bingham the figure Dusty had written.

  “I appear in this courtroom a lot, and I’ve never seen Judge Wilcher award this much,” she said to Bingham.

  “Then maybe we can set a new record,” Bingham responded coolly.

  The older lawyer stepped over and spoke to Farina for a moment. When he returned he showed Melissa a new number. She turned the pad so Dusty could see it. Dusty winced.

  “That’s as low as we’ll go,” Bingham said. “Otherwise, we’ll let the judge decide.”

  “What’s that other number?” Dusty asked, pointing to a figure below the amount for spousal support.

  “My attorney fees,” Bingham answered.

  Dusty swallowed. Bingham definitely made more per year than he did.

  The judge returned. Dusty stared at the table while Bingham and Melissa recited the general terms of the divorce agreement into the record. The judge looked out at the courtroom.

  “I’ll grant the divorce and accept the settlement as in the best interests of the parties. The attorneys will file a consent order and formal agreement within ten days.”

  Dusty and Melissa left the courtroom in a hurry. Out of the corner of his eye, Dusty could see Farina give Bingham a hug.

  “That was a massacre,” Dusty said as soon as he and Melissa were in the hallway.

  “You were the one who put me on to Cameron—” Melissa began defensively.

  “Don’t go there,” Dusty cut in. “I’m not blaming you. I shoul
d have had a prenup. But it’s going to be peanut-butter sandwiches with an occasional night out for cheap Chinese food until I can get Farina off the payroll.”

  It was a thirty-minute drive from the courthouse to Dusty’s office. The law firm of Jenkins and Lyons, P.C., was located in a modern, three-story building at the corner of a busy intersection. Dusty had clerked for the firm the summer after his second year in law school at Northwestern and received a job offer upon graduation. Five years later he became a partner; however, at Jenkins and Lyons partnership status didn’t change the fact that orders issued by the two senior partners were obeyed with minimal opportunity for debate. Dusty parked in his designated spot and rode the elevator to the third floor.

  “Mr. Lyons wants to see you,” the receptionist said as soon as Dusty walked through the double doors. “He’s in conference room three.”

  Dusty walked down the hallway to one of the firm’s five conference rooms. Seated at the head of the table was fifty-five-year-old Fred Lyons, a bear of a man with a reputation for mauling the other side of a lawsuit into submission. Also present was Mike Gelwicks, a senior associate; and Bruce Mack, a first-year lawyer who barely knew his way to the courthouse.

  “Where’ve you been?” Lyons barked when Dusty came into the room.

  “In court. I didn’t have a meeting with you on my calendar.”

  “That’s because I scheduled it an hour ago.”

  Turning to Mike, Lyons said, “Show Dusty what we’ve got. Put it on the screen.”

  Mike hit a few buttons on his computer and a list of names appeared.

  “These are the Dexadopamine clients in Georgia we’ve signed up with in the past three months,” the associate said.

  Lyons turned to Dusty. “Do you know what this means?”

  “A lot of Dexadopamine was sold by nutritional supplement stores in the Southeast, and our TV ad is working.”

  “Yes. There are truckloads of rednecks with livers that are going to go haywire in the next twelve to twenty-four months. With this many cases, we’re going to run into problems obtaining leave of court to appear as out-of-state counsel.”