by Sonia Taitz
“Excuse me, Abigail, I’m taking care of my brother’s kids. This one is Martin; he’s the youngest.”
“Your brother’s kids? What about your own kids?”
“Martin is my nephew. My brother is recuperating from a serious heart attack, and his wife isn’t doing well either. In some ways I’m more worried about her—say hello, Martin,” said Richard, as the little boy dashed under the bridge.
“No!” said young Martin from below. “You find me now. I am hiding!”
“Was that who you were talking to that morning?”
“Well, it certainly wasn’t my wife!”
“Why—don’t you talk to your wife sometimes, or do you forget her when you’re on vacation or something?”
“I don’t—I don’t actually have a wife, Abigail! For heaven’s sake, what kind of person do you take me for?”
“A bad one? A cad, actually.”
“Well, that does explain your silence, I’ll admit. It explains everything.”
“It does. Don’t sound so hurt. I’m hurt. I was very hurt.”
“Are you still hurt?” he said, concerned. “I’m shocked about all this—you must be, too.”
“Of course you are. I’ve had time to adjust—you know, nine months, et cetera. And now she’s three months old. But now you can get used to these facts: you’re a father, I’m a mother, and furthermore—”
“Yes? Furthermore?”
“And furthermore . . . I—I think I’m losing my heart to you, Richard.”
She hadn’t meant to say that. All this time, unable to say it to Tim, and there it was. She could really love him.
“Well, it so happens that—I’ve been falling in love with you, too, Abigail. You’ve been special to me since the first time I laid eyes on you. I’ve thought of you so many times since then. And I have missed you since Palm Springs. About a year now, right?”
“Oh,” she said softly, for a moment at a rare loss for words.
“But back to that phone call. You need to know this: my brother, Allen, had fallen seriously ill around that time,” said Richard. “He had a heart attack and almost didn’t make it. I needed to keep in touch with Lauren, his poor wife. She was falling apart emotionally. Never strong, three kids, and a sick husband was too much for her. I didn’t—I never imagined you were listening in on my phone call. If I’d known, I could have explained it right away—”
“Of course I was listening! Wouldn’t you? I cared about you!”
“I suppose I would have, and anyway, one can’t shut one’s ears.”
“No. So I was listening very hard. As though my life depended on it, which it did. And after that, I felt so miserable, so disappointed and ashamed, that I ran away. I had never felt worthy of you. All those years, I’d had this tiny little dream that you’d somehow notice me. Think about me. Want me. Even come to love me, the way deep down I knew I could love you. And all of a sudden, it all came true—for three little days. The man that I’d yearned for, deep down and for five years, was mine. And then it was all abruptly taken away from me.”
“I did notice you. Boy, did I ever. And I cared, too, all along, and I—how do you think I felt when you ran out on me like that? And don’t you realize I liked you all the time, even back when I was working at Fletcher?”
“You liked me, too? Come on,” she said, a deep joy beginning to rise, “you practically never showed it.”
“‘Practically.’ So you did see something. How could anyone resist you? And then there was that chemistry between us—a strange connection I’d never felt before. I did want you, if you must know. Painfully, both body and soul. Is that a cliché thing to say?”
“It’s a delicious thing to hear.”
“Yes, it is delicious, especially now,” said Richard, savoring the electricity as she now stood before him. “But you know I couldn’t make obvious overtures then, Abigail. I was a partner and you were an associate trying to please the partners; it would have seemed like—and perhaps been—an abuse of power. Seasoned man and younger woman, that old cliché. It wouldn’t have made a good beginning. Of course I noticed you. I couldn’t help it. You seemed very responsible, very hardworking. But that’s not all of it. It’s not even that you were—are—patently attractive. There are quite a lot of diligent, beautiful women in the world.”
“I know, there are,” she said humbly. Abigail felt herself flushing with delight at the word “beautiful.”
“Well, actually not so many. Not ones with sterling hearts. And a valiant, brave spirit. But however many there might be in the world, the one I kept track of was you. I got to know your passionate spirit, on many levels. For one thing, I knew how hard you worked, like your life depended on it.”
“It was that obvious?”
“Yes, and it was admirable; we naturally like that in associates. But that’s certainly not all of it. It was just the framework. Because I also knew that your mother got sick, and how, in that context, your work fell off. I saw that: you took care of your sick mother when she needed you. The contrast, how you changed your priorities—that’s what I really noticed. Your good and noble soul. You touched me with that beauty. And that made it even harder to withstand your external charm, I can tell you. Didn’t you see it in my eyes, sometimes, when I looked at you?”
“I think I did sometimes, yes.” There was a long and pleasant pause as Abigail took in the fact that Richard had essentially called her irresistible.
“You knew about my hours?” she said finally.
“You were notorious for it,” he replied, smiling. “First, you had the highest number of billable hours, and then you had the lowest. One of the partners on the budget committee was ranting about it at the racquet club. I remember he complained that you were leaving early every night. And he said he’d called you in to explain, and you’d told him your mother was ill, and you had to be with her. It must have been hard for you to overcome that kind of stupidity. Here you were, doing what love requires, and then you get challenged for it—”
“And then, what’s worse, I saw you again after she died and I got soft again and I got pregnant, and a lot more uncontrollable feelings followed, that’s for sure, and big mistakes.”
“And some wisdom, too?”
“I never thought you’d be there for me. I admit I was stupid about that.”
“My poor Abigail. I’m sorry I scared you so badly.”
“No, it’s been a great lesson. It’s been a privilege to know what it feels like to be so—so alone, and to bear so much, and such deep, responsibility. I never really understood all that before. It was all about me before that, and now it was about everything but me. What an awesome thing.
“It’s been an honor to bring this child into the world. And when I look back, it was an honor to be with my mother as she left this world. Everything was quiet; her life was ending,” said Abigail, stroking her daughter’s head.
“Sweet, good Abigail.”
“No, stop, it was a privilege, I said.”
“Yes, an honor.”
“Yes, it was.”
“I understand. It’s wonderful. It’s how I sometimes feel about being with Martin.”
Martin was still under the bridge, but he seemed very still. Sometimes, he got fascinated by looking at ants, at bits of moss or lichen, or even a flake of glinting mica. Richard smiled, just thinking about this little boy.
“I used to look forward to coming in to feed my mother supper,” Abigail continued, as Richard listened intently. “The nurses sometimes did it, but some of them did it too fast. It wasn’t their fault; they were busy. They didn’t know her. I knew my mother liked to eat slowly. I knew she liked peas but not potatoes. I knew she needed sips of water between bites. Loving someone means knowing these kinds of details. Noticing, caring, and doing these very small things. You don’t just grow overnight. You can’t cram for this test, you know? It takes time, and your progress is slow, and sometimes no one even sees it.”
“Yes,
you’re right. Maybe the greatest things do need time, Abigail. And patience, I suppose. It took years after I first met you to finally come over that day on the golf course—I yearned for you, but to really be able to touch you—”
“And here I thought you didn’t know who I was.”
“At Palm Springs, that day, you were looking over to me, sort of lost. You made me feel like you knew me, you trusted me. Remember, I offered you some help?”
“Of course I remember,” she said shyly. “But at the time, I hadn’t fully recognized you. I was trying to place you. Was this actually the man I’d had the mad crush on? But it seemed more than that, suddenly. You seemed so deeply familiar, like someone I’d always known. Your kind eyes, the wonderful timbre of your voice. I knew I’d liked you, but maybe it was more. Have you ever heard the expression ‘coup de foudre’?”
“Yes, I have, and although I couldn’t act on it, I’d felt similar lightning bolts and thunder claps when it comes to you. Yes, there was always something there. But I couldn’t and wouldn’t act on it when the power dynamic between us was what it was. But that ended when I left the firm. Fletcher’s old history to me now, Abigail. Except for you—and fondly, because somehow it brought us together—I hardly think about that place anymore. Murdock & Hill let me be more of a maverick than Fletcher ever did. Before this leave, I’d been working pro bono on children’s rights, actually.”
“Really? What rights don’t children have, by the way?”
“The right to have time off from all their homework, school, and lessons. The right to play without practical purpose. The right to see their parents in the evenings.”
“That’s—that’s revolutionary.”
“There’s more. Weekends, too, should be off limits to any stress.”
“Like the Sabbath day, you mean? Unplugged peace and rest?”
“That’s exactly right, Abigail. I love that idea. And when they’re really little, say under the age of five or six, I think they should have the inalienable right to be read to before bed, and snuggled for as long as they need. I read to Martin every single night.”
“Are you planning some kind of class action about this, Richard?”
“It’s hard to think about the bigger picture now. Right now, the ‘class’ is simply my brother’s children. There’s Martin, and also Ellen, who’s ten now, and Hal, who’s twelve and a bit. I’m planning to take care of them until Allen and his wife get better. They’re all great kids, really, especially given the circumstances.”
“So their mom’s sick, too?”
“Just her nerves, and she’s improving, but yes.”
“I totally understand.”
“Do you really?”
“Yes. To be solely responsible for a child can make you very unstable.” Abigail sighed a deep, convulsive sigh.
“I know,” said Richard, looking over at Martin, who sometimes tried to go to the ice cream man all by himself. But he was safe, no longer under the bridge but playing close by with a piece of chalk some other child had left behind. He was writing his initial: “M.”
“I’m not all that stable either. Life’s not that stable. But I’m learning to balance every day,” he humbly concluded.
“And you’re wonderful. Would it help our balance if we—if we held onto each other and kissed?” she ventured.
“Won’t I squeeze the baby?” All this time, Chloe was lying quietly on her father’s chest.
“You’re always gentle, I seem to recall,” Abigail said, and Richard leaned his long torso over Chloe. His face met Abigail’s and they kissed, with their child between them.
As they parted, Abigail said: “Can you believe she’s here? All the time we were apart, she was growing. All that time. And look at her now.”
“Yes, she’s wonderful,” he said, flushing with joy. “She’s a miracle. My first child.”
“Mine, too.”
“Oh, honestly, why didn’t you call me, even if you did think I was married? For heaven’s sake, everything doesn’t have to be perfect, Abigail! Life does always have loose ends.”
“Yes,” she replied. “But I didn’t tolerate them well before. I didn’t like feeling foolish. I’ve grown to realize that folly can bring lots of good surprises.”
“Uncle Richard you are a baddie! Why don’t you play with me?”
Abigail laughed. “I guess that’s what’s in store for me with this little one, huh?”
“Well, they are related, right?”
“They are. They’re—what are they?—first cousins. And from now on, I’d be happy to take them both to the park and give you a break, you know?”
“No, let’s go together.”
“That’s the best word.”
“Uncle Richard who is that lady and who is that baby?”
“Martin, darling, could you wait a moment? Uncle Richard’s talking to his good friend Abigail.”
“No you are not! You are talking to a baby!”
“If you wait nicely, Martin, I’ll introduce you to this lady and the baby.”
“I cannot wait, I can run away and I can go far!”
“Oh, all right. I’ll put you on a swing.”
“Uncle Richard you are my goodie!”
They all walked over to the swing area, and Martin got to meet Chloe and Abigail.
“I want her to push me,” he said. “You keep holding that little baby.”
“Would you like to do that for Martin, Abigail?”
“I would like nothing more.”
All this time, Richard held his daughter to his heart. Chloe’s little pom-pom sank slowly as she fell into a deep, contented sleep.
“Higher! Higher!” said Martin impatiently, even though Abigail was pushing for all she was worth.
“I’m trying!” she shouted, as he flew toward her, and away.
“OK, THANK YOU, YOU ARE VERY NICE LADY!”
With Martin safely flying, Richard said, “How’s it going with work, or have you not been back?”
“I have been back, but they sent me away again. I’m not sure why. They’re supposed to be deciding now about my partnership. Can I ask you something about you and Fletcher?”
“Sure.”
“Why did you leave?”
“Hmm. Tough question. You still work there.”
“Who knows, Richard?”
“All right. I’ll tell you in confidence. It might be valuable information to you. In those days, the firm had a nasty habit of suppressing evidence. It was actually an unwritten policy of the partnership, of which I was a member. But I didn’t come across this policy until I worked on a particular custody case, in which my client, the father, was about to win. I realized, based on some information that the firm and I had, that this man should not get the child. And it finally made it hard for me to get up in the morning and work for them. I prefer to make up my mind based on the truth. On what’s right, and all that. Not on who’s paying the bills. I probably sound like an old hippie to you.”
“You sound great,” she said, pushing Martin, sailing up to the sky and back. The little boy squealed with happiness. “How’d you get that way?”
“How’d I get this way? Oh,” Richard laughed easily. “You know the saying. Hard cases make bad law. Well, I guess after all this time, I’m just a bad lawyer.”
“But a pretty good person?”
“You’ll have to decide that for yourself. After much deliberation, of course.”
“I don’t think the firm has changed yet, Richard. They tried to play ‘hide the evidence’ with a case I’m working on, too.” Abigail hesitated. “So I think I’m becoming a bad lawyer, too.”
“We’re a pair, then,” said Richard.
“You’re so sweet, Richard,” said Abigail. “But—just to be pedantic—we’re technically a trio.”
The long kiss they then shared was anything but pedantic.
38
Richard may have handled things well in those moments with Abigail, but his composur
e utterly abandoned him after she and Chloe left the park. And though he was loathe to cause his brother any stress after his suffering a heart attack, he felt he had no other choice. He had to tell him everything, and soon. Allen was his closest friend in the world, the only person he ever confided in. But he had never told Allen about his brief romance with Abigail. And now there was the baby to talk about as well.
He was due for a visit to his brother. And though he generally came over with the children, on weekends, Richard waited for the week to begin so that all three of them could be back at school. There were things he wanted to tell his brother that weren’t completely comprehensible to, or appropriate for, a young child like Martin.
Even for grown men, there would be much to explain, to ponder, to discuss. How he’d fallen deeply and irrevocably for a woman—one who’d broken his heart by seeming to leave him, one whose heart he’d broken by seeming to betray her. How he’d unknowingly fathered a child. And how he felt about it all, now that he knew—now that he’d seen Abigail and their little girl.
Allen was only forty-five years old—a mere slip of a boy in these days of perpetual youth, but he had always seemed much older. Richard had his slow and quiet ways, but Allen was born quick and efficient and hard-driving, a banker type who loved calculations and checklists. His type A personality may have contributed to the cardiac infarction, if not also to Lauren’s sinking into depressive darkness in the chaotic weeks that followed.
And it was hard to be happy, Richard thought, in a house as dark and full of “gravitas” as Allen’s—the floors polished mahogany and Persian-rug smothered, the walls adorned with valuable oils and lit by brass fixtures that would have been at home in a good insurance firm. Lauren had been almost too ready to be the wife and helpmate to a man who had looked so good in a three-piece suit and silk tie, shoes polished and laces twice-knotted.
The heart attack had grayed and stooped Allen in a way that almost made Richard cry—to see him in his pajamas, in a robe (albeit an expensive, velvet one), in slippers (albeit monogrammed ones), sitting at home, shuffling miserably as though he were afraid to be betrayed again by his own fragility. Still, every time Richard visited his brother, Allen seemed that much better. He was told to do no manual labor, but he’d begun to work again at his accounting, and his partners had been kind enough to send some fairly standard things his way.
