His protective instincts were firing on all cylinders. If she thought she was angry, it was nothing to what he felt. The depth of his fury took him by surprise.
He had the sense to hide it, though. The fact that she was talking to him at all was an unexpected gift. His feelings would scare her off.
As mildly as possible, he asked, “You didn’t realize before that you were angry?”
Linnea shook her head. “Isn’t that strange? But, you know, it really does hurt, to wonder if your own mother loves you. And I’d spent so many years believing her when she implied I wasn’t smart enough to do whatever, or pretty enough to think some boy I had a crush on would ever ask me out. She really had me convinced Finn was smarter and better at everything and more worthy.”
Matt hoped like hell the mug was sturdy, because he was gripping it so hard his knuckles must be white. After a careful moment, he set it down on the coffee table. “You make me want to punch someone on your behalf.”
Her eyes widened in startlement. “Really?”
“Really.” His voice was low, but even he heard how lethal it was. He cleared his throat. “You must have hated your brother’s guts.”
She stared at him. “It’s funny, but no. I didn’t. I spent years wishing I could impress him. Finn was nice to me sometimes, you see. I lived for the moments when it was us against Mom. Thinking back, I suspect when we were young he was a typical big brother.” She wrinkled her nose. “Obnoxious. Weren’t you, sometimes?”
He had a few memories of tormenting Tess until she started yelling for Mom or Dad. “Oh, yeah,” he admitted.
Linnea nodded. “But by the time he was eleven or twelve, he’d changed. When he teased, he could be mean.” Her eyes closed for a moment. “Really mean.” Those words were a mere breath; he barely caught them. “By the time Finn was a teenager, he looked down on me, too. Like…I was an embarrassment to him. And when he did notice me, he was unkind.”
Matt had overheard the bastard say cruel enough things to Tess, and he knew Finn had been one hell of a lot more than unkind to his little sister. His ego hadn’t allowed her to shine, too. Or maybe he’d bought into his mother’s warped view of her children. If Linnea had become convinced she had little value in her family, it was logical that her brother believed it, too.
Very softly, she said, “I lived with this sense of shame.”
In a strangled voice, Matt said, “God.” Maybe this wasn’t smart, maybe she’d recoil from him, but he couldn’t sit here, pretending to be dispassionate when she all but bled in front of him. Moving swiftly, he circled the coffee table and sat on the middle cushion of the sofa.
When he wrapped Linnea in his arms, she momentarily went rigid. Then, with a sigh that felt like a knife to his gut, she leaned into him, her face against his shoulder. He laid his cheek on the top of her head and said roughly, “I don’t know how you survived. You’re an amazing woman, Linnea Sorensen.”
She shook her head, as if a compliment triggered an automatic response, and started to pull back. “Oh, no. Not me. I wish I was.”
He released her, because he thought she needed to assert her hard-won sense of self. But this was one argument he wasn’t letting her win.
“Maybe you can’t see it, but I can. The way you fought for Hanna impressed the hell out of me. With the comfort and love and strength you’ve given her, she’s a lucky kid.”
She gazed at him with an expression of wary hope that was painful to see. She wanted to believe him. She wanted it so much, but had no practice in thinking highly of herself.
“What about your father?” Matt asked roughly. “Why didn’t he intervene?”
“He did sometimes. He’d quietly encourage me to try things Mom said I couldn’t do. But Dad—” She hesitated, and Matt could see that she didn’t like to criticize her father. “Arguments upset him. He mostly lets Mom have her way. I guess I’m more like him.”
With quiet force, Matt said, “But you would never have let your own child be demeaned to the point where she couldn’t believe in herself.”
She flinched. After a long moment, she said softly, “No.”
He wanted, as he’d never wanted anything before, to make her life different. Easier. Happier. To give her the praise and encouragement she’d lacked, to go on bended knee and offer his faith in all she could be as if it were the Hope diamond.
He sat, stunned, watching her averted face—so damned sad.
I love her.
That shouldn’t be such a shock; he’d asked her to marry him, for God’s sake. But he hadn’t thought then that he wanted her as his wife because he loved her desperately, passionately. He was ashamed to realize that he’d proposed because he found her desirable, because he enjoyed her company, because she and Hanna together had made him feel complete.
In other words, his motives had been utterly selfish.
Oh, he’d been in love with her, even then. He simply hadn’t known it. And as she withdrew, in the weeks after he’d put a ring on her finger, he hadn’t tried to figure out what their relationship lacked, what he should be giving and wasn’t. He’d succumbed to panic as he saw his idyllic future threatened, but he hadn’t stopped to understand that she was hurting.
His chest felt as if it was being crushed. Would it have made a difference, he wondered, if he’d ever once said those three, small words?
I love you.
But she’d implied that she didn’t love him.
Yeah. Maybe.
Or—was it possible?—that what she’d been doing was voicing a plea? Begging him to tell her how he felt? Here she was, a woman who’d never been sure even her own mother and father believed in her and truly loved her. And him, he’d bulldozed her into agreeing to marry him by saying, We feel like a family.
Really wrenches the heart, doesn’t it? he mocked himself. He suspected she’d said yes only because he wouldn’t accept no. He’d pushed and pushed until she agreed. Then, when she wasn’t eager to choose a ring, he’d discounted her motivations. Had to be because she didn’t want to tell her mother she was marrying him. No chance the reluctance had stemmed from her uncertainty about whether she wanted to go through with it at all.
Rubbing his chest with one hand, he faced the fact that he was an idiot. He’d gotten his just deserts.
Matt suddenly became aware that her head had turned and she was gazing back at him, a couple of tiny furrows between her eyebrows.
The aggressive part of him that wouldn’t accept a no was prodding, Say “I love you.” Give her the magic words. Then everything will be fine.
But he didn’t know that she’d believe him. Why would she? What had he ever sacrificed for her? He’d asked for everything from her. No, not asked—demanded. Even the house, which he’d thought of as the ultimate gift, wasn’t one she’d ever wanted.
Even the damn house had been for him.
He had to think about this. Wait, until the uncertainty of her brother’s trial was over. If Finn triumphed, there might be nothing Matt and Linnea could do to keep him from reclaiming his child. Would she refuse to see him at all then?
If Finn lost…
Matt’s throat closed. If Finn went to prison, there would be another hearing to decide Hanna’s future.
The only true gift he could give Linnea was the child she loved. The most meaningful way he could demonstrate his faith in her was to stand up in court and say, “Hanna is better off with her aunt.”
Bleakly, he faced that future. He wouldn’t be able to do for Hanna what he had for Tess. He’d never be the most important person in her life.
He’d still be part of it; Linnea wouldn’t deny him that much. But Hanna would never live with him. He’d be the equivalent of a divorced father permitted only small slices of his child’s time.
Sitting barely a foot from Linnea on the sofa, Hanna down the hall, Matt had never felt lonelier in his life.
He blundered to his feet and said in a thick voice, “I’d better get going. Uh…thanks for
coming to dinner. I’ve missed talking to you.” Talking to her? No, missed her.
Eyes widening, she rose, too. “I’m sorry. Here I was dumping all my woes on you.”
He turned on her almost savagely and said, “Don’t do that. I want to hear anything you have to tell me. I’m honored that you trusted me with your story. And ashamed. God, I’m ashamed, that I never wondered before.”
“No.” She looked astonished, dismayed. “Why would you be? I never gave you any reason to think—”
“Yeah.” His throat was still constricted, his voice not his own. “You did. I just didn’t let myself see what was right in front of me. I’m sorry, Linnea.”
“I don’t understand,” she whispered.
He shook his head, turned and headed for the front door. He opened it, paused and said good-night.
Her good-night sounded so confused and unhappy he thought, I’ve made things worse again.
But he had to keep walking. By the time he reached his car, her door was closed and he saw no shadow of movement behind the front window.
Hell.
He braced his hands against the roof of his car, bowed his head and fought for control.
Love hurt like a son of a bitch.
THE PARKING GARAGE WAS very nearly full today. Linnea felt lucky to find a spot in a far corner, a good distance from the elevator. She’d have farther to run if she fled the courthouse today.
Well, then, don’t flee.
She knew she could stand up to her mother, and there was nothing harder than that. If the press waylaid her, she was perfectly capable of saying “No comment” and repeating it until they gave up.
After locking her car, she walked at a steady pace to the elevator, which she shared with two men in expensive suits who ignored her. They did stand back so that she could exit first, the younger one smiling at her with a glint of appreciation in his eyes.
She blinked, and smiled uncertainly back.
Maybe they hadn’t ignored her. Maybe they were being polite, so she didn’t feel threatened by two strange men. Maybe, Linnea thought, she wasn’t as invisible to other people as she often believed herself to be.
The very idea caused an odd shift, as if the earth had moved subtly beneath her feet.
Feeling unsettled, she joined the traffic into the courthouse and through the metal detectors.
She was here because her father had called the evening before, his voice heavy.
“It’s almost over, Linnie. The closing arguments were this morning.”
“So soon.” Matt had told her how near the trial was to ending, but she supposed she hadn’t quite believed it. They had all been in this state of suspension for so long now.
“The judge gave the jury their instructions after lunch and sent them out, but they hadn’t reached a verdict by five. Erlanger sent everyone home. The jury is to start up again at nine in the morning.”
“How do you feel about it, Dad?” she asked.
He was silent for a long time. “I don’t know,” he finally admitted. “I want to believe. Your mother is so sure, but…Kershner tells Finn it’s a good sign the jury didn’t come right back.”
Deciphering this fragmentary speech, she understood that her mother, of course, was absolutely convinced Finn was innocent and that any moderately intelligently human being would agree. Ergo, the jury would return a verdict of innocent. Her father, though, was less certain. And, although her brother’s attorney was pretending confidence for Finn’s sake, he might in fact be bracing for a loss.
“Do you just go sit there tomorrow, waiting all day?”
“Your mother thinks we should. I’ll bring a book.”
She’d thanked her father for letting her know, and hung up the phone pensively.
This morning, Linnea had sent Hanna off to school, called the library to let them know she wouldn’t be in and driven downtown to join her parents in their wait. She might have mixed feelings about Finn’s fate, she and her mother might be estranged, but this was still her family.
Her parents were already there when she entered the courtroom, seated as they’d been that first day in the front row on the defense side.
When she sat beside her father, he smiled at her with approval and welcome. Her mother’s face softened for an instant, then tightened into a scowl.
“Why would you bother to come now?” she snapped.
“Because you’re my family.” She hesitated. “I love you, Mom.”
Her mother sniffed. “Well, it’s about time you came to your senses.”
Linnea’s sigh was inaudible, but her father gave her arm a quick, sympathetic squeeze.
“How are you, Dad?” she asked him quietly. “This has to have been hard on you.”
Stress seemed to play a part in exacerbating the symptoms of his multiple sclerosis. How sad, she thought, that he lived with someone who practically embodied stress. His fear of the ravages of the disease, she’d always known, was a significant reason he hadn’t battled on her behalf.
“I’m holding up,” he murmured. “I’ll be glad when today is over.”
Linnea looked around at the nearly deserted courtroom. “Where is everyone?”
“Apparently, the jury signals when they’ve reached a verdict. Gives the attorneys something like an hour to appear. That way, they’re not sitting around twiddling their thumbs for what might be days.”
Like we’re doing, Linnea couldn’t help thinking. But it didn’t matter; she was here for her parents’ sake. Especially Dad’s. She could wait.
Yes, but where was Matt? she wondered. At home, waiting alone for the phone call? She shuddered to imagine his emotions right now.
She and her parents had all brought books and read, with only occasional, desultory conversation, until lunchtime, when they went out together. Predictably, over sub sandwiches Linnea’s mother could talk about nothing but the trial—Finn’s irritation at what he saw as missteps his attorney had taken, the foolish testimony of some of the expert witnesses, the absurdity of the whole proceeding. Imbued with nervous energy, she ate only a few bites. Watching her, Linnea thought, She’s terrified.
And why not? Finn was Mom’s life. She might love her husband, and to some extent Linnea and Hanna, but what she felt for Finn was different. It was as though she could hardly believe she had borne and raised a personage so glorious. Sometimes she seemed in awe of him. Even, maybe, a little afraid of him, or else why did she always rush to agree with him, or to soothe his irritation or to head criticism off at the pass?
Was it at all possible that Mom sometimes, secretly, feared that she’d created a monster and was desperate that no one else ever see what he was? Linnea shook her head. She felt so strange today, as if her vision had acquired an odd clarity, as if she herself was at once removed and able to be dispassionate.
They walked to the courthouse, took their same seats and opened their books. But they hadn’t been reading long when there was a stir outside, and other people began to arrive. Linnea saw her mother go rigid. Dad grasped her hand and held it, then gave Linnea’s a squeeze, too.
The prosecution team arrived and settled at their table, then the defense. Finn, with them, stopped to hug Mom and Dad over the waist-high railing. He hesitated, then held out his arms to Linnea. Neither the jury nor judge had reappeared. Finn’s face was somber, and he looked older than he had the last time she saw him. He was scared, too, she realized. After only the briefest of pauses, she hugged him and felt his arms close tightly around her.
“Thanks for coming,” he murmured, before releasing her. For an instant, their eyes met and she thought she saw a younger Finn, the big brother she’d once adored.
The judge entered the courtroom and took his place. Was Matt going to miss the verdict? Where on earth was he?
She turned in her seat and saw him walk in the door. Wearing a dark suit, white shirt and tie, with his air of contained energy and impatience, he could have been another attorney. When he spotted her, his stride ch
ecked and his eyebrows lifted in surprise. She gave a jerky nod and he inclined his dark head. He came even with her and stopped. Did he intend to say something?
To her shock, he entered their row and took the seat beside her rather than his accustomed spot behind the prosecutor. What was he doing?
But she knew. Up until this minute, Matt had insisted the jury see him every day right behind the prosecutor, the face of their consciences. How was it he had put it, talking to Hanna? Bearing witness. Yes, that was what he’d done. Now, the jury had already reached a verdict and he could do nothing more for his sister. Even though, in outrage and loyalty, he wanted to hear “Guilty as charged,” he’d chosen to sit beside Linnea to say I’m here when you need me.
Unbearably moved, she looked at him. He smiled, a rueful, twisted smile in which she saw irony and pain and—oh, God, was it possible?—love.
For Hanna. It had to be for Hanna. He’d said himself they felt like family, but it wasn’t just a feeling. They were family. That’s what he’s acknowledging, she thought now, the quagmire of emotions inside her tangling into a mass that pressed against her rib cage, constricted her lungs, hurt.
And, oh, what must Finn be feeling?
Matt took Linnea’s hand and laid it on his thigh, still encased in his warm grip. Clearly, he had no intention of letting go. His muscles tensed, and she followed his gaze to see the jury filing in, their expressions solemn. None of them seemed to want to look at Finn.
The judge asked the foreman to stand and whether they had reached a verdict.
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“And that verdict is?”
The courtroom was utterly silent. Nobody breathed.
The foreman looked directly at Finn. “Guilty as charged.”
Linnea’s mother let out a terrible cry. Finn’s shoulders sagged, and he abruptly bent his head. Seated at the back, members of the press hurried out of the courtroom to file reports for the morning papers.
Even sound seemed hollow and distant to Linnea now. The judge set a date for sentencing. Finn’s attorney started talking about appeals. Linnea’s father held his wife in a protective embrace.
Match Made in Court Page 19
