The Five Lives of John and Jillian

by Greg Krehbiel

  “Your honor, I recognize that the laws of the state of Ohio do not give me any rights at all with respect to my son.” The judge’s expression became more grave, as if he expected to have to cut off a diatribe against the evil state of things – things beyond his control or the scope of the proceeding. “And I’m not here to debate that with you,” Tom added with a smile, and the judge’s expression changed from brittle irritation to curiosity. “But there is a law higher than the Ohio court, and I have come to realize that I have responsibilities to that boy, whether Ohio agrees with me or not.”

  “It was wrong for me to father a child out of wedlock, and it was wrong for me to abandon him and his mother afterwards, and for that,” he turned and looked directly at Jillian, “I am sincerely sorry.” His gaze lingered on Jillian for a moment, and she realized that he was serious, and then wondered what he hoped to accomplish. He had to know that she was married now. Her name was listed as Jillian Mathews. Did he want to take the child himself?

  “And so, your honor, for the past five years I have kept an eye on Karl, and sometimes I’ve stepped in and helped his late mother when she was in a scrape.”

  This was a complete surprise. Norma had never mentioned Tom’s involvement.

  “I don’t want to lose that connection,” Tom continued. “He’s my boy, no matter what the laws of Ohio say, and I have a moral duty to see that he’s cared for. If he’s transferred out of state, I’m afraid I’ll lose touch with him completely, and I’m here to ask the court, very simply, if there is any way that I can keep up with him and make sure he’s provided for.

  “I don’t know Jillian anymore,” he said, looking back at her, “and I really have no idea how well she and her husband can care for Karl. I’m not here to discredit her, or speak ill of her, or to oppose the adoption, except to the extent that whatever happens here makes it harder for me to do what I feel I must do.”

  Jillian’s lawyer smiled and rose to say something, but the judge signaled him to sit back down. He stared at Tom for some time, and then looked at Jillian, as if trying to gauge her reaction.

  Jillian felt those keen eyes on her and wondered what they saw. She wasn’t sure how she felt, and she was somewhat self-conscious about what the judge might read from her expression. Tom’s request wasn’t completely unreasonable, she thought. Karl was his child, after all, and no matter what Ohio thought, that fact did carry a moral obligation with it. And here Tom was, trying to do the right thing. Jillian could see on the judge’s face how hard this decision was for him. Surely he had seen too many cases that went the other way, where fathers refused to recognize the responsibility they bear for their actions, and surely he could see some merit to Tom’s petition, even if it had no basis in law. Was it just, after all, for the court to do something that would prevent a man from doing the right thing?

  “Mr. Henry,” the judge finally said, “I’m very gratified to hear that you wish to take responsibility for your past actions, but the fact remains that this court is charged with looking after the welfare of the child, not with accommodating the moral scruples of fathers who have a late conversion to their duties. And so far as the welfare of the child is concerned, Mrs. Matthews has demonstrated a long-standing interest in the welfare of the child, seems to have adequate resources to care for him, pending review by a child-care agency,” he added, giving a significant look to Jillian’s attorney, “and has the best claim of kinship. I am not disposed to interrupt this proceeding.

  “However,” he continued, just as Tom looked as if he was going to speak, “I do not wish to cast your concerns aside with no consideration at all, and so I am directing that you meet with Mrs. Matthews and her counsel to see if any reasonable accommodation to your concerns can be reached. I want to emphasize that you have no standing in this case, Mr. Henry, and that Mrs. Matthews may reject your proposal with impunity, but I want a full report from you, counselor,” he indicated Jillian’s attorney, “on whatever decision you come to, and that report will be entered into the record.”

  * * *

  Max shook his head and smiled. “That was almost perfect,” he said to Jillian. “He gained nothing, and the judge seems to be in favor of the adoption. The only rub is that we have to file a report on how we deal with Mr. Henry, and we have to be careful about that. Remember, some do-gooder child psychologist is going to have access to the record in this case, and we can’t afford to make a bad impression.”

  Jillian nodded, but she still suspected that Tom had something else in mind – some other card to play. And despite her lawyer’s optimism, she realized that she had lost both time and money by being dragged out here for this foolish hearing.

  “The judge didn’t give us any time table, so we’re in no hurry to get this done. Why don’t you call my secretary and we can arrange something for next week, or whenever you plan on being in town again.”

  Jillian shook her head. “I want to get it done now,” she said. “Right away, in fact. And then we can use our time to decide how to draft the report for the judge.”

  A sly smile spread across Max’s face.

  “You don’t intend to give Mr. Henry anything, you just want to be sure we don’t make a bad impression with the judge. I see. But I think it might be wiser to talk about our strategy first, before we meet Mr. Henry.”

  Jillian shook her head again. “No, Max. I know Tom. Or at least I used to. And he’s got something planned. I want to hear him out first, and then we have plenty of time to think it over and deal with whatever he’s got up his sleeve.”

  Max nodded. “You’re the boss. But he’s got nothing up his sleeve. He was lucky to get a chance to stand before the judge in the first place, and there’s nothing he can do now. The ball’s in our court.”

  “I hear you,” Jillian said, “but I still want to meet with him right away and hear him out. Just hear him,” she emphasized. “I don’t intend to talk much.”

  * * *

  Later that afternoon, the three of them were seated in Max Steinbach’s conference room. It was a decent room, but Jillian expected better from a lawyer. The furniture was a small step above IKEA, and the wall hangings were prints from the local museum in half-decent frames. It looked more like the office of a real estate agent.

  Tom stood across from her at the large table. He still wore the arrogant smugness Jillian remembered. In high school it had seemed cool. He was popular, and being around him made her popular. Now, that smugness was simply irritating. She thought of boys making faces, and mothers saying “if you keep doing that your face will stay that way.” Tom’s face had stayed that way. His subtle gestures, the look in his eye, the turn of his head, all retained that high school arrogance.

  “Hello, Jillian,” he said as he took a seat across the table from her. There was something in his eyes that made her hope grow. Behind those eyes lay sorrow, compassion and deep-felt concern. “Before we get into any of this,” he continued, “I want to tell you again how sorry I am for the way I treated you. What I did was inexcusably wrong. And I want to thank you for bearing Karl and giving him life.”

  Jillian wanted to accept his apology graciously, but she was still wary of this man, and she had made up her mind to keep her distance. Under no circumstance was she going to get close enough, emotionally or physically, to send the wrong message, or, heaven forbid, rekindle old feelings.

  “Thank you, Tom,” she said in a lukewarm voice, and then almost regretted her resolve as she saw the hurt in his eyes. He wanted her forgiveness. Maybe that was the real reason why he was here.

  Jillian turned to her lawyer with a “may we get started” expression and refused to look back at Tom until she sensed that he had turned his attention to Mr. Steinbach.

  “Well, Mr. Henry, the ball is in your court,” he began. “We’re supposed to hear your proposal.”

  “It’s very simple, actually,” Tom began quickly and with surprising energy. “I have an obligation to that child that transcends the laws of Ohio
...”

  “Yes, yes, but we’re in Ohio, Mr. Henry,” Steinbach interrupted in an irritated tone of voice, “and ...”

  “If you would let me finish,” Tom continued in a commanding voice that surprised Steinbach into silence. “The laws of Ohio do not concern me, but the laws of God do. I realize that I have no claim to the boy. I gave up that right ten years ago, and I’ve learned to regret that decision, along with many others. But I do have an obligation to provide for him, and there’s no reason why I can’t do that.”

  “Mr. and Mrs. Matthews are able to provide for the child,” Steinbach began again, but Tom cut him off.

  “I’m glad to hear that, and I’m not trying to interfere with the adoption. I want to help. Specifically, I want Karl to go to a Christian school – Catholic, preferably – and I’m willing to pay his entire tuition, plus any incidental costs, if Jillian and her husband will allow it.”

  Jillian was sure she wasn’t breathing. And then she was sure she was going to cry. The adoption stood on the edge of a knife, but she wanted to add the cost of tuition, which would certainly end their chances. And now those concerns looked like they would fade away. Could it be true?

  Steinbach sat in stunned silence for a moment, but quickly recovered.

  “Of course my client can’t commit to anything, and, if she were to accept, we’d want to work out an arrangement where the Matthews didn’t depend on your continued generosity.” He paused, trying to command his brain to adjust to the new situation.

  Tom almost chuckled. “I’ve deposited fifty thousand dollars in Karl’s name in this account as a show of my good faith,” he said, sliding a bank statement across the table. “I’ve looked into several schools in Maryland, and I think that should cover tuition in most of them until he’s ready for college. But if they need more, we can work that out, or, in the alternative, if any is left over, that can be applied to college. Or maybe we’ll work something else out entirely. That fifty thousand is just to show that I’m serious. All I need you to do, counselor, is write the agreement that would give Jillian access to this money for Karl’s education.”

  “And what if she doesn’t want ...” Steinbach began, but Jillian cut him off.

  “No, Max, let’s leave it at that for now,” she said, setting a restraining hand on top of his, and then turned to Tom. “We were planning on a Christian school,” she said, feeling the water come to her eyes, “and we’ve been over the accounts again and again to find a way to do it, and still pass the audit. We were about to give up hope. This is truly amazing, Tom. I can’t tell you what it means to me.”

  She finally met his eyes squarely, and Tom seemed ready to burst with joy.

  * * *

  It didn’t take long for Mr. Steinbach to draft an agreement. Jillian was waiting in the reception area, sipping their office coffee. She wanted to call John, but she also wanted to have something concrete before she lifted his hopes.

  The receptionist quietly asked her to go back into Mr. Steinbach’s office.

  “I’m working on this agreement with Mr. Henry,” he said as soon as she walked in, “and I wanted to get a few details on what you and John are looking for.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well,” Max said, sounding somewhat apologetic, Jillian thought, “Mr. Henry seems to prefer,” he put an odd accent on that word, “that Karl go to a Catholic school. There are several ways to draft something like that, but before I spend lots of time fussing over it, I want to hear what you and John think of that. Are you Catholic?”

  “No,” she said reflexively, but then she felt a curious flood of emotions about her denial. For the first time in her life it almost seemed a shame. She remembered the conference, and her mental image of the monks in Europe. She remembered St. Patrick’s. And then, she recalled something else. She had a vision – some kind of collection of images from movies and books, perhaps, or maybe it was that Kate O’Beirne article that John made her read. In any event, she seemed to see young men in school uniforms, studying Latin and history, reciting poetry, crossing themselves with holy water before daily mass, playing soccer, getting their clothes dirty and losing buttons off their trousers – and loving school. Her sensible side told her that she was living in the past, or in some imaginary world. There may have been schools like that once upon a time, or maybe in England, but not in Bowie, Maryland.

  “No, we’re not,” she continued, “but that doesn’t mean we have to rule it out, if we find a Catholic school we like.”

  “And what about John? What does he think of private schools?”

  “Mostly, he thinks they cost too much,” she said with a somewhat nervous laugh. “I think he likes the idea of a serious school, if we can find one.”

  “But, specifically, what about Catholic schools. What does John think of them?” Max persisted.

  “I’m not sure,” she said, and then she went into a short explanation of John’s recent conversion to Christianity and his relationship with Fr. Miller. She thought she was boring him with the details, but Max set down his pen and gave her his full attention.

  “This is very interesting, Jillian,” the lawyer said. “I’m a Catholic myself, and I’ve always been interested in these sorts of stories.”

  “Oh, well, John’s not a Catholic.”

  “Not yet,” Steinbach said with a wink. “So the Father’s name is Miller? What parish is he from?”

  “St. John’s. But I think the answer to your question, Max, is that we’d consider a Catholic school, but we don’t want to be roped into one. We want to leave our options as open as we can.”

  “Of course, but there’s a little more to it that I didn’t tell you. Mr. Henry may be willing to put more money into Karl’s education account if you send him to a Catholic school.”

  “I’ll try not to take offense at that, Max. John is a very principled man and wouldn’t allow money to influence his convictions.”

  She seemed certain of that at first, but after saying it she wasn’t entirely sure if it was true. John certainly had his principles, but he also believed in weighing all the options.

  “I didn’t mean to imply anything,” Max said apologetically. “The question is whether it’s an option, and if so, how we can work that into the contract. I simply want to find out what you’re willing to consider. The language will be quite clear that it’s your decision. But you’ll understand it all when I send you a draft of the contract.”

  “Okay, Max. I’ll have to review it with John, of course. I wanted to wait until I had something definite before I spoke with him about this.”

  “Great,” Max said. “Give me his email address and I’ll send a copy to the both of you.”

  Jillian hunted down a copy of John’s business card and gave Max the information, then spent a few minutes listening to a summary of the other details of the case.

  She could hardly believe it. Things just might work out.

  Chapter 22 – Legal Fees

  The next morning John watched his five dollar mechanical pencil tap against the t-square as if another hand were controlling it. He brooded over a cup of designer coffee in his summer-weight, linen suit, lost somewhere in that empty mental state where it seems a burden to think. The phone pulled him back into the world of conscious thought.

  “Matthews,” he said, answering the phone.

  “John,” Jillian said, “some woman from the adoption agency is on the phone. She wants to have a conference call for a couple minutes. Can you do that?”

  “Yeah,” he said, taking a deep breath and hoping his voice didn’t betray his feelings.

  “Okay, I think I know how to conference you in. I hope it works.”

  After a few annoying clicks, another voice was on the line.

  “Hi, John, I’m Peggy Eichner with the Maryland Adoption Network,” she began breathlessly, “and I have a few questions for you and Jillian. Just formalities, really. I’m sure everything will check out. But we do have to please the courts
and go through all the procedures,” she said, still hardly pausing for breath in her rapid-fire, somewhat giddy tone.

  “Do you mind if I run down a checklist and get the ball rolling?”

  “That would be great,” John said, relieved that he wasn’t speaking with a psychologist. And what is your problem with psychologists? he imagined Peggy asking, suspiciously, making some cryptic note in her case file.

  Most of Peggy’s questions seemed very simple, and John was beginning to feel that he was making too much of this review process. Maybe it would be easier than he thought. But then she spoke the dreaded word.

  “Finally, there’s the financial disclosure. I think the easiest thing to do is email you the forms, and you can send them to me when you get it all together.”

  “That’s fine,” John said, and gave her his email address, but he had a growing suspicion that their finances would be the stroke of doom. Sure, this Henry fellow was willing to pay for Karl’s education, but that didn’t begin to dig them out of the hole they were in. Their money had looked bad before Jillian got this bug about Christian education; “the father’s” generosity simply zeroed out that part of the problem. The other problems remained.

  Well, not quite, he realized. Karl in a Christian school would mean that Jillian could continue to work. So, essentially, they were back to where they were before he had ever learned about Karl. They’d squeak by on their two incomes, paying off cars, the addition, and whatnot. But there were the lawyer’s fees, and all the traveling Jillian had been doing. That added up. Yes, they could pay. Barely. John would never have hired a lawyer if he couldn’t pay him. But it would mean packing his lunch every day, wearing his shoes and his suits a little longer, no dinners out, no pizza.