Four Wives

by Wendy Walker

  Marie left Randy with them in the conference room. As she turned to go, she gave him a sad smile. There was no victory here, no elation that they had finally gotten to the bottom of this disturbing case. And although the truth was finally out, Marie knew the work in the matter of Farrell v. Farrell was only beginning.

  FIFTY-FIVE

  THE FALLOUT

  “LOVE?”

  Marie had tried for over an hour to reach her on her cell. Finally, she got through.

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m in the air. I was held up in Chicago.” Love’s words came in and out with the signal.

  “Shit.” Marie said it under her breath but it made it through the line.

  “What’s wrong?”

  It was after four and now apparent that Marie would never make it to the party in time. Sorting out the Farrell case had taken the entire day, and they were still waiting on a call from Patricia West.

  “I’m running late. It’s a long story. I was hoping you could get to Gayle’s to make sure everything gets done.”

  “I’m sorry. I won’t land until after six. That won’t put me at the house until nearly eight o’clock.”

  Marie started to tell her something’not to worry, get there when she could’but the line went dead again. Pacing now, with the phone pressed to her chest, Marie felt it coming on.

  They’d done the best they could for the Farrells. For the better part of five hours, the three lawyers had laid out a strategy, made phone calls, researched legal precedents, and’somehow’worked as a team to find a solution. Vickie Farrell needed help, now more than ever. Carson had pulled her out of treatment when Simone died, terrified the truth would come out and push his wife over the edge. For over two years her depression had gone untreated, and now she had the death of a child to grieve all over again. As for the children, everyone agreed they should be placed with Carson until their mother recovered. But Connely fought hard to protect his client’s rights. Draft after draft was forged, rejected, revised until they found the terms they could all live with. Farrell would have temporary custody. The divorce would be placed on hold. And Vickie Farrell would be admitted to a nearby private facility for treatment.

  Still, when their work was done, the plan had to be executed. Connely and Carson Farrell drove Vickie to the hospital. They picked the children up from their schools, drove them home. Carson brought a bag of clothing and personal belongings. They explained that their mother was sick, that their father would be living with them now until she came home. It was a heartrending scene, and Connely had returned to Marie’s office completely spent. For all his repulsive qualities, Marie’s least favorite opponent had shown extraordinary compassion in the face of a terrible situation. And that left them where they now were, waiting for Patricia West to get a judge’s signature so they could close the file and call it a day. Not that it would ever be that simple for the Farrell family.

  As for Marie, the repercussions of her actions would not be known for some time. She had done nothing illegal, and in actuality had aided her client’s case for custody. There could be no criminal charges, no malpractice suit. Still, Carson Farrell had one avenue left to vent his anger, and he was, in fact, now hellbent on filing a complaint with the state bar association. After two years of holding back the tide, his wife was now in a mental facility, his children were without a mother, and it was all at the hand of his own lawyer. That his children were at least safe now, that his wife might actually get the treatment she needed was beside the point. At the end of the day, Marie had made the decisions for him, and everyone involved with the case knew she would pay a price for that.

  All of this was weighing down on her. Alone in the office, Randy studied the face that once again had captured his attention. She looked close to breaking. He started to get up from his desk, but then stopped, folded his arms, and leaned back in the chair.

  “What are you thinking about? “ he asked her.

  “The party.” Marie had stopped pacing in front of the window, and was now peering down at the parking lot.

  “Just the party?”

  “Yes,” she said with resolve to ward off further inquiries. It didn’t work.

  “And not about the Farrells?”

  “Well, Randy, I am now.”

  He got up and walked to the window. Maybe he was unduly biased from knowing her. Maybe he was too inexperienced to know better. Still, he couldn’t help believing that what she’d done was right.

  “Vickie’s illness led to the death of one child. Carson was being reckless. You saw children in danger’we both did’and you acted.” He spoke with fervor, hoping to persuade her.

  Marie shook her head. “Well, in any case, it’s done.”

  “No, you’re not listening.” He was beside her now, and he reached out, gently holding her arm. “What you did took courage. The bar will see that.”

  She laughed sarcastically. “You don’t know the bar, Randy. What they’ll see is that I didn’t do my job as a lawyer. I made choices against my client’s will. It’s a cardinal sin.”

  “Hey,” he said, squeezing her arm once, then again to get her attention. She took a breath then turned to face him.

  “What?”

  “Maybe you acted as a mother first. But you’re a damned good lawyer.”

  Marie smiled, pretending to be reassured. Good lawyer, bad lawyer’ those were bold lines in the sand, which would ultimately be irrelevant. She would need subtle strategies now, detailed research of the association’s decisions. The investigation into Simone’s death and Vickie’s illness would have to continue until she could prove that the surviving children had been in danger under their mother’s care. Every meeting with Carson, every lie he’d told, nuance he’d manipulated, would be brought to bear. And all of this would be done with a singular intent’to force Farrell to back down. Because in the end, the severity of the sanction would be immaterial to her career. She would not be disbarred. She could wait out a suspension, pay off any fines. What she could not do was save her reputation if a hearing went down on the books.

  “Thanks,” she said to Randy, meeting his eyes. And what she saw there, for the first time since he walked into her office, was the inescapable chasm that time had carved. She could see how much he wanted to help, how deeply he adored her, believed in her. But none of that could help her now. She needed to talk through the evidence, the arguments she would make on her own behalf. And she needed to do this with someone who was wise, experienced, and mature enough to be impartial for a moment. She needed Anthony.

  “I can’t think about this now. I have a party to throw, and it looks like I’m on my own.”

  Randy watched her as she walked back to her desk. “Is there anything I can do?”

  Marie tried to smile at the gesture. “No, thanks. You’re a great almost-lawyer, but I don’t see you arranging flowers.”

  Randy let out a small laugh. “I’m good at getting coffee, though,” he said. “I’ll be right back’cream and sugar?”

  “And make sure it’s cream. No skim milk. I’m not in a fat-free mood.”

  “I can see that.”

  Randy walked down the stairs to the street. He walked past Joe’s to the corner, where a pay phone was nestled on the front of a stone office building. Without a second thought, though he knew it was lurking inside him, he dialed the number.

  “Mr. Passeti’s line,” a woman answered.

  “I need to speak with him. Tell him it’s about his wife.”

  When he returned to the office, Marie was packing her briefcase.

  “Patricia called. I have to get down to the courthouse to meet with the judge. She wants to speak with all the lawyers before she signs off on anything.”

  She sounded tired, and now defeated. There was no way she would get to the party in time for the setup.

  “Thanks for the coffee. Let’s take it on the road. Do you mind driv-ing?”

  Randy felt a deep anguish run through him. The ri
ft between what he had to do and what he so desperately wanted to do was too vast to comprehend. As he watched her rush about packing things up, closing the office, he stood still, paralyzed by his own resolve.

  When she stopped moving, she stood before him’coffee in one hand, briefcase in the other, and a set of keys clutched between her front teeth.

  “Let’s go,” she mumbled, and Randy couldn’t help but laugh.

  “Give me those,” he said, taking the keys from her mouth.

  She started to walk by him to the door but stopped when she felt the distance grow between them. It wasn’t like him not to follow close behind her.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, facing him now.

  “If you don’t mind, I thought I’d finish something up for Nancy’s trial.”

  Marie looked at him, confused. Never had he turned down a chance to be with her, and she could see in his face that he wanted that now. But his words were clear when he said them again.

  “If you don’t mind.”

  “No, that’s fine. I’ll see you Monday?”

  Randy smiled and nodded. “Monday.”

  “OK, then. You did a great job today.”

  The escape was in place and Marie knew she had to take it. The silent space in the room was begging for something to give, something to pull them either together or apart’ending the uncertainty. There was no question that she had to go.

  She heard him call her name as she was turning to leave.

  “What is it?”

  He waited for her eyes to see him, to return from the place they had already shifted to and be again in this room’on him and only him. Then he said, softly, “Good-bye, Marie.”

  “Yeah. See you Monday,” she said.

  Then she left without looking back.

  FIFTY-SIX

  COCKTAIL HOUR

  BY SEVEN THIRTY IT was too late to park in the driveway. The valets were meeting everyone at the entrance of the Beck estate, then parking the cars along the road. A hired policeman was directing the traffic from the street, which was now backed up for a quarter of a mile. Sitting in her Volvo, sandwiched between the Mercedes, BMWs, and seven-seater SUVs, Marie felt dwarfed on all fronts. They were moving slowly, inching their way to the entrance, and Marie wanted to scream. She’d left the last trace of her patience at the courthouse, squabbling with the judge over the welfare of the Farrell children.

  It was the one angle she hadn’t thought through when she’d staged the coup earlier that day. Connely, West’she knew they’d get on board placing the Farrell kids with their father. But not knowing the case as well as they did, not understanding that Farrell’s lie about his daughter’s death was motivated by devotion to his wife and not something more sinister, the judge had required a great deal of convincing. They’d tracked down Farrell and dragged him in with the kids. All of them had met with the judge in her chambers. And, in the end, it was Patricia West who’d saved the day. As the court appointed guardian, her opinion weighed heavily, and she had sided with Marie.

  Finally, Marie was close enough to see the cop. Leaning over to the passenger side, she rolled down the window and yelled out to him.

  “I need to get through!”

  The cop shrugged as he mouthed a word to her’sorry. Checking the lane of oncoming traffic, Marie waited for it to clear then pulled around the line of cars and into the driveway. Past the cop, who was now motioning wildly at her, past the cars waiting for the valet, Marie maneuvered to the side of the garage and parked in the grass. Finally on the inside, she took a breath and pulled down the vanity mirror. Still dressed in a navy pantsuit, she took off the jacket and unbuttoned her pinstriped blouse to just above her bra. She pulled a small brush from her bag and straightened out her hair, then dug deeper for her lipstick. The morning’s makeup was all but gone and her face had taken on the gray tone of worry. She applied a thin coat of Firefox Red to her lips, then rubbed a bit between her fingers and brushed it on her cheeks. That was it’the best she could do with what she had at her disposal, and it was barely bordering on presentable. Behind her, she could see the formal cocktail dresses with their plunging necklines and leg slits, the professional coifs and expensive jewelry. For a second she thought of the dress that was hanging in her closet. She had been so close to pulling this thing off, and now she was three hours late and dressed like Annie Hall. Gayle would have to forgive her.

  She got out of the car and walked as gracefully as she could to the front entrance. Forced to slow down by the meandering crowd, she let herself take in the scene. The sun was low, almost gone now, and the sky had taken on a glorious orange hue. The grounds were perfect, vibrant green grass cut low, blooming flowers in small beds around the old oak trees and interspersed with the sculpted shrubs lining the house. The stone walkway was adorned with ivy and loose petals. Somehow, everything was just as it should be.

  “Good evening, and welcome.” A man in a black tuxedo was greeting the guests at the front door, taking the ladies’ wraps and directing them around the side of the house to the party in the back.

  Marie followed the nicely dressed people, finding a semblance of calmness inside her as she realized there was no disaster underfoot. The caterers had set up the appetizer stations in the right spots and were now passing hot hors d’oeuvres. The tables were presentable, with white and cream linens and gold-trimmed plates. Round glass bowls with colorful peonies sat in the centers, giving the yard a springtime feel. In the back corner, the band was setting up while a harpist played Mozart. And the weather’the one wild card’had turned out to be perfect, not a chill in the air.

  Waving to people she knew, making excuses not to stay and chat, Marie worked her way through the crowd to the back entrance. She found Gayle just inside, speaking with the caterer in the kitchen.

  “I’m so sorry!” Marie said, scanning her friend’s face for some sign of emotion. Anger, fear, nervousness’something. But Gayle was calm, her movements slow and nonchalant. The smile on her face was like none Marie had seen before.

  “Hi, Marie. Do you know Brad?”

  Marie looked at her with surprise. Of course she knew the head caterer’she’d been dealing with him directly for weeks.

  “How’s it going, Brad?”

  The man was on the move. He filled her in on the food schedule for the night, seemingly relieved to be speaking with someone other than Gayle. They were handling the cooking from the setup in the garage, as requested, and it was causing all kinds of headaches. Still, it was getting done, and Marie felt a powerful sense of relief that there was no one disrupting the inside of her friend’s house. In fact, everything was coming through as planned.

  When Brad scurried off again, Marie tried to capture Gayle’s attention. “Was it crazy here, getting set up? Did you get my messages? And where the hell is Janie? “

  But Gayle was distant, her mind on prescription autopilot. “It’s all fine. Isn’t this wonderful?”

  No matter how well things had turned out, Gayle Beck would never consider a gathering like this one’at her home’wonderful. Never.

  “Have you heard from Love?” Marie asked, again trying to get Gayle to tune in.

  “She’s on her way, isn’t she? Her flight was delayed.”

  “That’s what I heard. I just thought she’d be here by now.”

  “Don’t worry. Everyone did such a beautiful job, Marie. And Anthony was a trouper.”

  Now Marie knew something was wrong. She didn’t even think her husband would show. “Anthony?”

  Gayle nodded. “He got here at five o’clock. Took all the plans, put everyone to work. Really, he was incredible. Why don’t you go outside, get something to eat. Enjoy yourself.”

  Searching for clues to make sense of her friend, and now her husband, Marie noticed that Gayle’s champagne glass was empty and this satisfied her for the moment.

  “I’ll see you out there,” Marie said. But she didn’t go outside. Instead, she walked through the house to the side entr
ance and headed for the garage. The cars had been removed to make room for the gas-powered chafing dishes and prepping tables. Men and women in white and black uniforms rushed about, filling trays, cooking, cleaning up the spills on the floor. And at the center of the storm was a middle-aged man in a gray suit who looked more like a lawyer than a chef.

  “Anthony?” Marie asked, as she got closer.

  Her husband smiled. He wanted to put his hands on her shoulders, rub out the tension that seemed to cover her from head to foot. But he hadn’t touched his wife in weeks and decided to follow caution.

  “How’d I do?”

  “The question is, what did you do? How did you know I couldn’t get here?”

  Anthony looked confused now. “Some kid from the courthouse called and gave me your message.”

  “From the courthouse?” Marie’s heart stopped. “What did he say?”

  “That you were stuck on a case and needed me to get here ASAP for the setup.”

  “How did you know what to do?”

  “The plans were here. The people showed up. I gave them their orders. Not exactly rocket science.”

  Marie smiled. My thoughts exactly. It was comforting to be on the same page with her husband again. Still, she was unsettled as she thought about what had transpired. Randy had gone out for coffee’that was when he’d made the call. He had known she needed help and somehow he had believed that Anthony would come through, even when she herself had not.

  “I don’t know how to thank you,” she said. But it was more than that. Looking at the balding, slightly bulging man who had just recently slipped from his position as the center of her world, Marie could feel something again. It wasn’t a burst of love, an overflowing of attraction. Instead, it felt like a slow trickle from a faucet that was once again open’a stream of hope that her husband was actually still alive inside the man before her.