Outwitting Trolls

by William G. Tapply

  “Sure,” said Billy. “I remember Alex. We’ll make it happen.”

  I turned to Gwen. “What about you? What are you going back to?”

  “My publishing house in Berkeley,” she said. “I’m second in command in the sub-rights department. This week has been my vacation. It’s my first time ever in New England.”

  “So what do you think?”

  She smiled. “It’s beautiful. So much variety. So different from what I’m used to. I mean, weather, climate, topography, flora, fauna, history. Everything. And it’s all so…old. Everywhere you go, there’s all this history. I’d never been east of the Mississippi in my life before now. Billy took me to Plum Island yesterday, and the other day we climbed Mount Monadnock. He showed me around Boston and Lexington and Concord, and he’s gonna take me down to Cape Cod tomorrow.” She turned to him and punched his arm. “Am I right, big fella?”

  “Right, kiddo,” Billy said. He gave her arm a gentle punch back, and it struck me again, as it had the other night at the North End restaurant, that these two treated each other more like buddies than lovers.

  We were on our second bottles when Billy said, “The other night at the restaurant? When you had to leave? Was that Dr. Nichols, the vet?”

  “It was his wife who called me,” I said.

  “You said he was murdered?”

  I nodded.

  “Murdered,” said Gwen.

  “Yes,” I said. “That’s right.”

  “Wow,” she whispered.

  “Dr. Nichols was the one who put down Bucky,” Billy said. “I’ll always remember that.”

  “You don’t forget something like that,” I said.

  He looked up at the sky. “They had a kid about my age.” He frowned. “Can’t think of his name.”

  “Wayne,” I said.

  “Right,” he said. “Wayne. He was a strange dude.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, for starters, kids used to say that he tortured animals…and his old man a vet?”

  “That’s beyond strange,” Gwen said. “That’s totally sick.”

  Billy looked at her and nodded. “If it was true.” He shrugged. “I wouldn’t doubt it. I used to play with him sometimes. I guess we were ten or eleven, not much older than that. I remember this one time we were fooling around near some pond and Wayne caught a frog. He set it on top of a rock and stuck a firecracker in its mouth, and the dumb frog just sat there with this firecracker hanging out of the corner of its mouth like a cigar or something, and Wayne lit it, and…” Billy shook his head. “It was pretty horrible.”

  “Oh, gross,” Gwen said. “That’s evil.”

  “I always felt guilty,” he said, “that I didn’t take that firecracker out of the frog’s mouth, or tell Wayne not to do it. Or something. I didn’t do anything. I knew what he was gonna do, and I just watched.”

  Gwen reached over and held Billy’s hand. “You were just a kid,” she said.

  “I was old enough to know better.” He shrugged. “I wonder whatever became of Wayne Nichols. They moved out of town when we were still kids.”

  I didn’t say anything more about Wayne. His mother was my client, and that, by extension, gave me a certain responsibility to him, too.

  So we drank wine and ale and nibbled cheese and crackers, and our conversation slid over to fishing and baseball and books, and after a while Billy and Gwen went inside to put our dinner together.

  Henry and I, following their orders, stayed out back. A bright day of April sunshine had warmed the brick patio, and my little walled-in garden area had captured and retained the late-spring warmth. Now, even as the sun descended below the city horizon, it remained comfortable outdoors.

  Billy grilled inch-thick rib eyes and roasted foil-wrapped potatoes and onions on the gas grill on my back deck. Gwen tossed a big green salad and sliced a loaf of fresh-baked rosemary bread.

  By the time our dinner was ready to be eaten, darkness had seeped into my backyard, and the chill of the evening had begun to displace the warmth of the day, so we decided to eat in the kitchen.

  Henry stationed himself under the table, a smart strategic move, as each of us accidentally dropped a few fatty scraps of medium-rare rib eye and crusts of rosemary bread onto the floor.

  It wasn’t until we’d moved into the living room with our mugs of after-dinner coffee that Billy looked at me and said, “Well, we told you we had something we wanted to share with you.” He glanced at Gwen, who gave him a quick smile. “I don’t know if you’ve figured it out. Mom did, sort of.”

  I shrugged. “I’ve thought about it, got a hypothesis or two, but I don’t want to play guessing games. Unless you want me to.”

  He grinned and shook his head. “Nope. Here it is. You’re gonna be a grandfather.”

  This was more or less what I’d expected. “Well,” I said, “congratulations. Both of you. Or all three of us, I guess. When…?”

  “October,” said Gwen. “October fourth, says the doctor.”

  “I’m not old enough to be a grandfather,” I said.

  “Meaning,” said Billy, “that I’m not old enough to be a father, huh?” He looked hard at me. No sign of a smile.

  “You’ll always be my little boy,” I said, “but I didn’t say that. Really, I was just kidding. I’m happy for you. For me, too. A lot of my friends are grandfathers. They tell me having grandkids is great fun.” I looked from Billy to Gwen, then back at Billy. “So when are you two…?”

  He shook his head. “We’re not getting married.”

  “We don’t love each other,” said Gwen. “Not husband-and-wife love, I mean.” She glanced at Billy. “We kinda slipped last winter when I was out skiing with him. But that’s not what we’re about.”

  “We’re good friends,” said Billy. “Best buddies. We don’t want to wreck a nice friendship. That’s what marriage does.”

  I shrugged. “Not necessarily.”

  He shook his head. “Look at you and Mom. Hell, look at all the divorces you handle. You make a living off of marriages that don’t work. Anyway, we’ve made up our minds, so don’t try talking us out of it.”

  “Don’t worry about that,” I said. “It’s your problem. Yours and Gwen’s.” I turned and gave her a smile.

  “Actually,” said Billy, “we don’t have a problem.”

  “Problem was a bad choice of words,” I said.

  “We’ve both got lives,” Gwen said. “Billy’s is in Idaho. Mine’s in California. My parents are nearby. They’ll help with the baby.”

  I arched my eyebrows at Billy. He grinned and nodded. “We got it all worked out.”

  “I’m going to raise the baby,” Gwen said. “Billy is the father. He can visit anytime he wants. He can teach him how to fly-fish and ski and shoot shotguns. You, too, Mr. Coyne. I want our baby to know his grandparents. You and Gloria can visit him. Maybe when he’s older, he can come east and spend time with you.”

  “Him?” I asked.

  She smiled. “It’s a boy.”

  “You should call me Brady,” I said.

  “Okay. Sure.”

  “So that’s it,” said Billy. “We wanted you and Mom to know what was going on.”

  “So you’re going to keep living in Idaho,” I said, “teaching skiing and guiding fly-fishermen?”

  “It’s what I do,” he said. “It’s who I am.”

  “Even though you’re going to be a father.”

  He nodded. “Gwen’s with me on that.”

  “You’re going to, um, support the child?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t make a shitload of money, you know—but, sure, as much as I can.”

  “My job pays well,” Gwen said. “Plus, my parents have tons of money. That’s not an issue.”

  “Not now it’s not,” I said.

  Billy looked at me. “What’re you saying?”

  I shrugged. “Just that things change. Gwen could lose her job, or she could get sick. You might decide you wanted to se
e more of your son. Or Gwen might get married, and her husband might want to adopt the child. Or—”

  “Wait a minute,” Billy said. “We got this all figured out, you know? I mean, we’ve talked a lot about it, and we know what we want to do.”

  “You want me to mind my own business, you’re saying.”

  “Well, yeah.”

  I shrugged. “I’m just thinking of the future. You never know what’s going to happen. You should plan for the unexpected.”

  “Why do you feel like you always have to complicate everything?” Billy asked.

  I spread out my hands. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to complicate anything. It’s just how I think, I guess.”

  “Like a lawyer,” he said.

  I smiled. “You say ‘lawyer’ as if it’s a dirty word.”

  He shrugged.

  “Well,” I said, “in fact, it wouldn’t do you any harm to talk to a lawyer. Both of you. A lawyer could help you think it through, anticipate issues that might come up in the future. A simple written agreement now could save you both a lot of problems and heartaches later.”

  “Christ,” said Billy. “Gwen and I trust each other. We both want the same thing. We’ve got it all worked out. We don’t need some fucking lawyer to come along and screw it up.”

  “Fucking lawyer,” I said.

  He narrowed his eyes at me. “That’s what I said.”

  I looked at Gwen. “What will you do if five years from now Billy decides he wants fifty-fifty custody of your child?”

  She shrugged. “He won’t. He says he won’t, and I believe him.”

  “What if you get married?”

  “Whoever I marry will know about our child,” she said. “If he doesn’t accept the situation, I won’t marry him.”

  “What if you run out of money, or the baby gets sick, or you do?”

  “Look, Mr. Coyne,” she said. “Brady, I mean. Billy and I have thought a lot about this, and we’re cool with it. It’s going to be okay. Really. You shouldn’t worry about it.”

  “I was only—”

  “Fuck this.” Billy stood up. “Come on, babe.” He held down both hands to Gwen. “Let’s get the hell out of here. I thought he’d be happy to know about our baby. I didn’t think he was going to play lawyer with us.”

  Gwen allowed Billy to pull her to her feet. She looked at me. “Everything’s going to be all right, Mr. Coyne,” she said. “Please don’t worry.”

  “He wasn’t worrying,” Billy said to her. “He was just trying to ruin everything. He’s always picking at things, making problems where there aren’t any. You were wondering why a nice couple like him and my mom got divorced? That’s why, right there. Come on. Let’s go.”

  Gwen allowed Billy to tug her to the front door. He yanked it open, and as they walked out, she looked at me over her shoulder and mouthed the words, “I’m sorry.”

  I got up and hurried over to them. “Wait a minute,” I said. “Don’t—”

  “We’re outta here,” Billy said. He slammed the door behind him, and they were gone.

  I stood there for a minute. Then I went back to the sofa and sat down. I picked up my coffee mug and took a sip. It was cold.

  “Did you see that?” I asked Henry. “Did you see how I screwed that up?”

  Henry, who’d followed Billy and Gwen to the door and was sitting there as if he expected them to come right back, got up and came over and put his chin on my leg.

  I patted his head. “If I talked to you like a lawyer, butted into your personal business, questioned your judgment, would you still love me?”

  Henry rolled his eyes up at me, gave his stubby little tail a couple of wags, and licked my hand.

  “So why can’t people be more like dogs?” I asked.

  Henry shrugged.

  After a few minutes, I got up, went to the kitchen, cleared off the table, and loaded up the dishwasher. Then I wandered through the house straightening out the furniture and in general banging around, cursing myself for my stupidity.

  Not that I didn’t think I was right. If Billy and Gwen did what they planned to do with no written agreement, they’d be awfully lucky not to run into problems at some point.

  Billy was right about one thing. It’s one of the jobs of lawyers to anticipate problems and to plan for them. That’s why I almost always suggest prenuptial agreements. It’s one of the reasons people don’t like lawyers. We raise subjects that they don’t want to think about.

  Billy’s reaction to my suggestions was predictable. Not many couples like to talk about potential or hypothetical problems. They believe in love forever and ever—in Billy’s and Gwen’s case, friendship forever—and they can’t imagine anything ever changing.

  When it does, as it does more often than not, it’s usually too late.

  Henry and I caught the last three innings of the Red Sox game, and then I let him out back. While I was standing there on the deck looking up at the stars, searching idly for Alex’s constellations, the phone in the kitchen rang.

  Billy, was my first thought. Calling to apologize.

  Nope. Not likely. Billy didn’t cool off that quickly. Who else? Alex? It was a little early for her to call. Maybe it was Wayne Nichols, returning my call after all.

  I hurried inside, picked up the phone, and said, “Brady Coyne.”

  I heard a soft chuckle on the other end. “Gloria Coyne,” she said.

  Gloria. My ex-wife. Billy’s mother. I couldn’t remember the last time she’d called me.

  “Hey,” I said. “Hi.”

  “You’re all out of breath,” she said.

  I sat on a kitchen chair. “I was out back pondering my sins.”

  “Like pissing off your number-one son?”

  “He went running to Mommy?”

  “He and Gwen are staying here,” Gloria said. “William came banging in like a thunderstorm a few minutes ago. I asked him what was the matter, and he said you went all lawyer on him.”

  “I offered advice to those two kids,” I said. “It was stupid of me.”

  “Yes, no doubt,” she said. “I imagine you had good advice, but you know how he can be.”

  “I guess I’d forgotten,” I said. “I just talked to them as if they were sensible adults. I did have good advice. They’re headed for trouble.”

  “Well,” Gloria said, “there’s your mistake right there. I think they both realize deep down that they’re flying without a parachute. They’re scared and insecure and full of doubts and questions. The last thing they need is to be reminded of it. Especially by a parent.”

  “You trying to make me feel better?”

  “Why would I ever want to do that?” She chuckled. “You screwed up, no doubt about it, and if you were more tuned in to people’s feelings, you wouldn’t have done what you did. Who knows? Maybe William would’ve come to you for advice.”

  “That’d be a first.”

  Gloria laughed softly.

  “Anyway,” I said, “that’s certainly not going to happen now.”

  “Probably not,” she said, “but maybe they’ll go to somebody else. Unless I’m mistaken, you put some doubts into their heads. If you hadn’t, William wouldn’t be so upset now.”

  “Small consolation,” I said. “I’d much rather we’d just had a pleasant evening and talked about nothing significant whatsoever. I should’ve just said, ‘That’s grand. You’re having a baby. Congratulations. I hope the three of you have a swell life.’ But no. Not bigmouth Coyne. Now my son’s not talking to me.”

  “He’ll get over it,” Gloria said. “I think Gwen’s a pretty down-to-earth girl. She’ll straighten him out.”

  “Well, thanks for the optimism.”

  “I know how you are. You’ve been beating yourself up, right?”

  “Kinda. I deserve it.”

  “You were just being you,” she said, “and you really aren’t such a terrible person.”

  “Not that bad, huh?”

  “William prob
ably wouldn’t agree with me right now,” Gloria said, “but he’ll come around. You’ve just got to be patient.”

  “Okay.”

  “Everything else all right?”

  “Sure,” I said. “Everything’s good.”

  “Evie’s gone, though, huh?”

  “Long gone and hard to find,” I said. “That’s an old story.”

  “Well, Brady,” Gloria said, “be happy, okay?”

  “Sure,” I said. “You, too.”

  “Oh,” she said, “don’t worry about me. I’ve been working on it for a long time.”

  Thirteen

  I called my office phone on Wednesday morning while I was sipping the day’s first mug of coffee out in the backyard. It was early enough that Julie wouldn’t be there to answer, which was the whole point. That way, I could leave her a message without having to listen to her disapproval. “I know I have no appointments today,” I said. “Don’t make any. I’m taking the day to attend to some business connected to the Nichols case. I’ll try to check in sometime in the afternoon, and I’ll definitely be there tomorrow. Take a long lunch and close up early, why don’t you.”

  I disconnected, put the phone on the picnic table, and blew out a breath. That wasn’t so bad. Julie would disapprove, of course. A day without billable hours was a lost day, as far as she was concerned, and my mumbo-jumbo about the Nichols case wouldn’t fool her. I had no intention of billing Sharon for the hours it would take me to drive to and from Webster State College in southwestern New Hampshire in search of her son.

  I debated slipping into a comfortable pair of blue jeans and a flannel shirt and sneakers, but my better judgment told me that wearing one of my lawyer pinstripes might help with the day’s quest. I didn’t know how hard it would be to track down Wayne or, assuming that I succeeded with that, how cooperative he would be when I asked him some challenging questions, as I intended to do. Sometimes the gravitas of my being an attorney—and looking the part—helped convince people that they ought to cooperate with me.

  Sometimes, of course, it had the opposite effect.

  Henry and I had a discussion about whether he could come along with me. I’m not sure I entirely convinced him that he’d be happier lounging around the backyard than spending the day cooped up in the car. He did love road trips. I gave him a bully stick to gnaw on, though, and when I patted his head and said good-bye to him a little after nine that morning, he was lying on the back deck with the stick propped up between his front paws, and he barely glanced at me.