by Wick Downing
Kate, that ain’t like you a bit.
I stopped. “Grandfather?”
Just who did you expect it to be?
“Where did you go? I thought you’d—”
Deserted you, same as your father? Well, I haven’t and neither did he. Don’t you remember what I said?
“You’ve said a lot of stuff!” I cried. A woman who had passed me on the sidewalk slowed down and looked back at me. I turned away in embarrassment. You can’t expect me to remember everything, I said in my head.
I told you he didn’t mean it because he couldn’t help it. Isn’t that what I told you?
What a wretched place for this to be happening! I started to cry, big-time, as I remembered the rest of what Grampa had said: Let him into your heart. Trust him to be there for you, and he will.
“Are you all right, honey?” the woman who’d been watching me said.
“I could use a hug,” I told her.
Feel better? Grandfather asked, a few minutes later.
Much better, I said in my head, walking on toward the office. The woman had been so nice. She hadn’t done anything except give me what I needed just then, which was a hug.
Then watch where you’re going! the old man said.
An ant materialized on the sidewalk. I almost stepped on him, but he swerved out of the way in time to escape being mashed. Fascinated by his quick reaction, I watched him scuttle to safety. How had the ant saved himself from disaster?
Think on it, Kate.
Why do that? I wondered, but kind of teased myself with the feeling that the ant, somehow, had handed me an argument that would give me a fighting chance. The ant had acted out of instinct. Somehow he’d felt my foot dropping on him and had known just what to do. Hadn’t Herman, in saving the baby, done the same thing? If I told the jury the story of how that ant had escaped my foot, could I convince them that what Herman had done was not the act of an animal gone berserk, but a natural instinctive response that was part of him?
“Be an ant,” I mouthed silently, as though standing in front of the jury and pleading for Herman’s life. “That tiny insect I almost snuffed out of existence must have felt some force coming down that would mash him, but his instinct for self-preservation kicked in and he managed to get out of the way. Just as Herman’s instinct kicked in when he saw the baby carriage, headed for the lake. Put yourself there, ladies and gentlemen,” I continued mumbling, staring at the sidewalk to make sure I didn’t step on any ants. “Go over to where Herman is tethered, and see what he sees. Be him.”
If they thought Spence was crazy, wait until I asked them to be a dog! But my mouth and brain were too engaged to quit.
“Would you just suddenly have this urgent, terrible desire for raw meat or something?” I heard myself ask them.
“An irresistible drive that grabbed you by the throat and sent you flying after that carriage, knocking it over so you could get at a sleeping infant hidden under the covers?” I shook my head. “It makes no sense at all for you to take a baby in your jaws. You need a powerful and compelling reason to do something as drastic as that. Dogs are driven by instinct. They are driven by the forces buried in their soul that were planted in them millions of years ago.” Wow. Out of me? “We know what drove Herman to fly into action because Spencer Phipps watched it happen and told us.”
The corner of Thirteenth and Bannock, and the office of Hope and Hope, was only two doors away, and I realized how tired I was after a long day in court. I realized too that an argument pitting the word of a certified crazy against the word of a lovely au pair and a football hero had no chance. The wind went out of my sails, leaving me stranded in the middle of the ocean. If I was on that jury and had to choose between the testimony of the City’s witnesses and Spencer Phipps, it wouldn’t take me long to make up my mind. I needed more than words to save Herman’s life. I had to show them . . .
Put yourself there! See what the dog saw! Can I do that? I asked as an idea exploded in my head like a stroke, forcing me to stop in my tracks, paralyzed. Now you’re being a lawyer! Grandfather’s voice rang in my head. That’s what you do! Show them!
Something happened to me then that I can’t explain because my ego had nothing to do with it. “I love you so much!” I blurted out, as some poor man, walking in the other direction, wondered what in the world was going on.
“Were you talking to me, miss?”
“Oh no, sir,” I managed, as emotions I couldn’t control just then made a mess out of my face. “It’s so wonderful, because I can put them there!” I ran for the office and smashed through the door without even thinking that if Mrs. Roulette had been standing on the other side, I’d have flattened her.
The office was closed and no clients were anywhere to be seen, but Mrs. Roulette was at her desk, thank goodness, far enough away to avoid injury. When she saw tears gushing out of my eyes and heard funny little sounds coming out of my mouth, of joy and love and at-least-I-have-a-fighting chance, which I tried to control but couldn’t, she hurried over to me and wrapped me up in her arms. “It’s all right, dear,” she said. “It’s all right. You’ll feel awful, but you’ll get over it. Your grandfather will be so proud of you, honey. You did your best.”
A real, live shoulder warmed with the blood that flowed through veins felt a whole lot better than a cushion as a source of comfort. I let her pet me, soaking up the strength in that old and wonderful heart, then told her what was going on in mine. “I’m not done yet,” I said as my face at last took charge of itself and quit blubbering. “I can still win!”
“Yes, dear,” she said, letting go and handing me a Kleenex. “Of course you can. You have a visitor, did I tell you?”
“No. Mom?”
“Go see. He’s in your grandfather’s office.”
A “he”? I blotted the guck off my face and went in. “Mike!” He’d been slouched in a chair in front of the Judge’s desk, but when he looked at me I could tell he’d been crying too. “You okay?” I asked, staring at a Band-Aid on his lip and some bruising and swelling under his right eye. “What happened to you?”
“Nothing.”
“You big jerk,” I said, afraid to give him a hug even though I wanted to. “Willis told me how you almost brought in Bean Pole and Tomato Face. What happened?”
“Sally told Kenny about our witnesses,” he said, snuffling and wiping off his nose with the back of his hand, which is a guy thing that’s very annoying. “So two buddies of Ron’s showed up, and I couldn’t . . .” I didn’t tell him how disgusting it was. “How’s it going with you?” he asked, his eyes searching me out with sympathy. “I saw what happened to Spence.”
“Actually, I’m starved,” I told him, kicking off my shoes. “Got any money?”
“Aren’t you going home? I thought I’d ride with you and—”
“There’s this great idea that started with an ant on the sidewalk, but I can’t handle it on an empty stomach, and I’ll need help. Can you afford a large pizza, Pizza Palace on Colfax? I’ll pay you back.”
“Yeah.” He got up, kind of grinning but with that typical bewildered expression on his face as though he wasn’t quite sure what to do next.
“Well, move out then,” I told him, and like a good soldier he was gone.
I hopped across the hall to my room, changed into jeans and a clean T-shirt I like. It’s from NASA, and on the back it’s got my favorite picture of the Earth, blue and beautiful, as seen from the moon, and the writing on the front says Anything is possible. I slipped into a pair of Mom’s old saddle shoes and trotted into the reception room, where Mrs. Roulette was dabbing on lipstick and getting ready to leave. “Your young man said he’d be back with some food. Shouldn’t you go home, dear? I know your mother wants to see you.”
I shook my head. “We could be here all night.”
“I don’t think so,” she said, glaring at me.
“Mrs. Roulette, you don’t understand,” I said. “I really have a chance to pull a rabbit
out of the hat and win tomorrow. But I need help to put it together, and Mike is perfect because he does what I tell him, and I can count on him.” It felt wonderful for me to admit that to myself.
“You’re sure you know what you’re doing, young woman?”
“I’m positive. Can you come in early tomorrow morning and type a motion for me? It’ll be short, I promise, but I’ll need it before I go to court.”
She shrugged as she picked up her purse. “Would your grandfather approve of what you’re doing?”
“Absolutely no question about it,” I told her, and almost added that he already had, but it would have sounded too weird. “He’d say, ‘That’s what you should do!’ or something.”
Her bony old hand reached out for me and touched my face. “I have a feeling about you, young lady, that is . . . quite wonderful,” she said, peering at me through her bifocals. “Be sure and lock up when you leave,” she added, turning for the door. “And call your mother.”
Chapter Twenty-eight
“HONEY?”
I recognized the voice as Mom’s, then turned my back to her and hugged the pillow.
“It’s after eight, Kate. Aren’t you supposed to be in court at nine?”
“Mom! Why didn’t you wake me up?”
I bounded out of bed, but my eyes were sewn shut and it took a second to find my robe that I couldn’t get into because it was backward. “I did wake you up,” Mom snapped at me, as though I’d accused her of murder. “Come downstairs now and eat. You haven’t been eating.”
“I have to get dressed.”
“Now. There’s time because I’m taking you and we need to talk.”
I didn’t have time for a lesson in life, but I did need a ride, so I compromised my principles and tried to bargain with her. “Can’t I even brush my teeth?”
“Yes.”
Downstairs, she had the ironing board out and was pressing the pale green button-down miniskirt she thought looked so cute on me that I couldn’t stand. “Are you borrowing my clothes now?” I asked her. “I don’t think you can wear that.”
“It’s for you. It’s the only dress you have that’s clean.”
“My Christmas dress?”
“All wrong. It’s dark, too long, and too dressy for what you need today. I talked to Mrs. Roulette last night, and she told me you really think you have a chance. But not in something designed for parties and subdued lighting. This is daytime, and you want to look cheerful and optimistic. Trust me.”
So she didn’t like my Christmas dress. I decided not to argue.
“Sit down and eat,” she commanded, pointing at the kitchen table with its cereal, milk in a pitcher, orange juice, and a toasted bagel. “There’s an article in the News this morning about you that doesn’t paint a very pretty picture about your case, but I want you to know something.” When she snuffled, I realized she was worried about me, and it really surprised me. “If you lose, if your scheme or whatever it is doesn’t work, it won’t be the end of the world. Okay?”
“It will be for Herman,” I said, pouring milk on the bran flakes but feeling safer with her on my side.
“Is there anything you want to tell me about your relationship with Mike? I mean . . . well, you know what I mean.” Mothers are so suspicious. I waited for the rest of it. “Gladys called me last night at ten o’clock, looking for him. I called the office and no one was there. You told me that’s where you’d be, and you weren’t. Neither was he. Where were you?”
“Having sex in the law library, but don’t worry, I’ve been reading Ms. and know how to protect myself from babies.” I glanced at the clock on the wall. “It’s eight thirty!” I said, jumping up.
“Your dress is ready,” she said, through the slit under her nose where her mouth used to be. “We’ll talk in the car.”
But the drive to the office wasn’t much fun for me because my stomach tipped upside down, almost ruining the dress Mom had gotten ready for me. She must have seen it coming and pulled over in time for me to empty my breakfast into the gutter. “Oh, honey, you’ve inherited my nervous stomach,” she said, with her hand on my back. “Take these,” and she handed me Tums for my stomach and mints to sweeten my breath. “Do I take you to the courthouse or the office?”
“Office,” I said miserably, hiccupping but getting the meds down. “I need to pick up some things.”
“Shall I wait for you?”
“No thanks, Mom. I need to walk.”
“Promise me something?” she asked as I opened the door. “When the jury comes back with its verdict, you’ll call me?”
I nodded at her and we traded smiles. “Thanks for breakfast,” I said. “I love you.”
“Break a leg.”
The usual assortment of wonderful old leftovers and discards waited patiently in the lobby to see a lawyer. But they seemed to know I was in a trial, and they smiled at me. Mrs. Roulette was at her desk, helping a young girl with a baby in her arms fill out a form. “Is Mike here?” I asked her, searching the counter for my motion.
“No, but he was when I arrived this morning.” She stared at me suspiciously. “He looked like he’d been up all night.”
“I hope not,” I said. “Where is he now?”
“Home, I think. He wanted me to give you a message.” She found a note on her desk and read it aloud. “‘Everything is ready, but it took forever to get the truck running. It needed a fuel pump.’ What is going on?”
“I’ll explain later.” My stomach took another major twist. Thank you God, I thought, for making sure there’s nothing left to throw up. A thousand things could go wrong, and if just one of them did—curtains for Herman. I found the motion with two copies the sweet old woman with gnarled fingers that looked like twigs had typed for me, then searched everywhere for my briefcase . . .“It’s in your grandfather’s office,” she said. I found it on his desk and stuffed the motion and copies inside, then blew Mrs. Roulette a kiss as I rushed for the door. “Wish me luck!”
“You look very nice, even though that dress is awfully short. Did you see the story in the paper?”
“No, but Mom told me it was awful.”
“Your grandfather called about it. I told him you were up to something, and he said, ‘You tell her I’m not worried one bit!’”
It was two minutes after nine when I walked into the courtroom with my stomach under control and Mom’s smile on my face—and it was like walking into a freezer. Judge Steinbrunner glowered at me from the bench through an absolute and total stillness, even though every seat was taken and kids were lined up against the walls. The only sound came from my heels that missed a beat, then marched down the aisle. Mr. Thomas and Officer Milliken watched from their places in the pit with snide little smiles on their faces, Max Briar sat in the front row with his head down, scribbling in the open notepad on his leg, and Miss Willow shivered in a huddle at the defense table, cold and frightened and alone, like a bag lady in March.
Even the court reporter and jurors were in place. My confidence level was not high, but I aimed my smile at the judge anyway, with no effect. “You are late, Miss Hope,” he said. “Do you have an excuse?”
“No, sir,” I said. “I just overslept.”
“Overslept?” He leaned over the bench to get a better look at me. “Miss Hope, you do not keep a jury or this Court waiting so you can sleep!” My hands sweated like sponges as my heart, at two hundred beats a minute, fired blood through my veins like water jets. “Approach the bench,” he ordered ominously.
I set my briefcase down, let my hand drag across Miss Willow’s back, and realized Spence was nowhere to be seen. Neither was Mike. I walked up to the bench with Mr. Thomas and the court reporter. “Miss Hope, what are you doing in my courtroom wearing a miniskirt?” the judge whispered angrily.
“What?” Mom’s smile can usually handle surprises, but not this one. It vanished as I checked the hemline, less than two inches above my knees. Not extreme at all. What was his problem?
“In my court, lady attorneys are required to wear dresses that are modest and not revealing.”
“But . . .” I was going to tell him that my mother had picked it out, but how would that help? “Would you like me to go home and change, sir?” I asked, fighting to keep my real feelings of anger and humiliation from showing.
“No. But an apology would be nice.”
“I can’t do that,” I said without thinking, meeting his stare with one of my own. But I pulled my eyes away rather than get into a contest with him, which he’d have lost.
“Your Honor,” Mr. Thomas whispered, “I noticed that two of the jurors are in miniskirts. I don’t like it any more than you do, sir, but . . .”
“We will talk about this later, young lady,” the judge’s whisper-covered-with-ice informed me. “Let’s get started.”
Mr. Thomas and I returned to our places. I hated having been made conscious of my knees hanging out, as though that were a crime. But I refused to hide them as I sat down and managed a smile at Miss Willow, who gave me a quick and timid one in return.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this trial has been more of a trial, perhaps, than any of us expected,” the judge said, “but we’re finally approaching a conclusion. The evidence is now before you, and it’s time for—” I stood up—“final argument.” He frowned at his hands but wouldn’t look at me. “What is it, Miss Hope?”
“Your Honor, the defense has more evidence to put on.”
“It’s too late for that!” he exploded. “I will not allow you to put on another surprise witness! This is the third time you’ve made that request and the Court has been extremely lenient with you, but now we will have final argument! Are you ready to proceed?”
“It isn’t another witness, Judge,” I said, in a very reasonable voice that was loud enough to let him know I would not back down. “Furthermore, I would remind the Court that the defense has not rested.”
