“Dad?” Emma appeared in the doorway, brushing her long brown waves off her sleep-swollen face. “Mom needs you in Caleb’s room.”
“I’ll be right there.” He shook coffee into the filter.
“She said to come now,” Emma said.
He poured in the water, turned on the pot, and then hurried up the stairs to his son’s room, where he found Caleb whimpering in Maddy’s arms. He knelt and rubbed Caleb’s shoulder. “Hey, cowboy. What is it? Nightmare?”
Caleb winced and pointed at his foot. “It hurts.”
“Let’s take a look.” Ben gave Maddy’s knee a reassuring squeeze.
Gracie padded in as Ben unwound the white bandage. “What’s wrong?”
“Caleb’s foot,” Emma said. Gracie moved close to her sister, transfixed as Ben revealed hot-looking pink skin puffing up around his wound.
“It could be infected.” Maddy rested her cheek on top of Caleb’s head, pressing soft kisses on his messy hair. “He needs to go to the doctor.”
Caleb shook his head. “Noooo. I have to go to camp. Today’s color war. I’m the green captain.”
Pride surged at the thought that his son was a captain, though he was surprised they still had color wars in camp. By now, he’d figured, they’d banned all competition and had color love day. He gently turned his son’s foot, checking for red streaks.
“What do you think?” Maddy asked.
Ben pressed his lips together and ran a finger along the unbroken skin next to Caleb’s cut.
“Ouch!” Tears trickled from Caleb’s eyes.
Maddy touched Caleb’s head again, as though his fever might have spiked in the last ten seconds. “I don’t like how this looks. I’ll take him to the doctor. You drive Gracie to camp,” she said.
Ben touched Caleb’s arm again. It was warm, too warm, but not hot. “Can’t you drop her off on the way?”
“Triage opens at seven and I want to get him right in. Camp doesn’t start till eight forty-five.”
Ben stood. “Then take Gracie with you. My day is packed.”
“I’m scheduled back-to-back.”
Maddy’s tit-for-tat tone chipped at his patience. “Look,” he said. “I’m sorry, but I have a prep meeting before eight.”
The younger children looked from him to Maddy and back. Emma left with a small puff of disgust.
“What time is your case being heard?” Maddy took a tissue and wiped Caleb’s nose, running from his tears.
Jesus. The negotiation just went on and on and on.
“When?” she asked again.
“That’s not the point. I have to prepare. Take Gracie with you. Please.” Why did she have to start on everything?
“Can we talk in the hall for a second?” Maddy lifted Caleb off her lap. “Gracie, get some juice for your brother, okay? And could you read to him, sweetheart?”
Ben knelt in front of his son and saw deep brown duplicates of his own eyes. “You’ll be fine, cowboy,” he said. “Be a tough guy, okay?”
“Mommy?” Gracie glanced at Ben before speaking. “I can go to camp, right? I’m an assistant captain.”
Maddy patted her shoulder. “Don’t worry, honey. We’ll work it out.” She didn’t even give Ben the courtesy of a glance before walking out.
Terrific. Snafu time again, folks. Situation normal, all fucked up. Welcome to another morning with the Illicas. Ben followed Maddy into their bedroom, where she yanked underwear and a bra from her dresser.
“Ben, I can’t take her with me. The wait might be hours.” She pulled a light-pink sundress from her closet. “I can’t even take a shower.”
“What’s the big deal?” Ben took off his robe and grabbed a pair of socks from the dresser. “Gracie only needs a book to be happy.”
“Nothing in this house is a big deal to you, is it, Ben? Not like your cases, right?” She went into their bathroom and banged the door shut.
Ben slammed his palm against the closed door. “A kid’s future is up for grabs,” he yelled over the running faucet.
The water stopped. Maddy burst out of the bathroom, wiping her face with a towel. “My first client is a pregnant crack whore who’s already lost three children. Her kids will become your precious clients if something doesn’t change soon, so it actually begins here. With me. Nevertheless, I’m calling my office to reschedule. I’m just asking you to be one half hour late.”
“Why can’t someone watch her?” he asked.
Maddy sat on the unmade bed, red sandals dangling from her right hand. “It’s six thirty in the morning. Exactly who do we leave her with?”
“I’m not suggesting auctioning her off as a child bride, just leaving her with a neighbor.” Ben grabbed a pressed shirt and riffled through the closet for a matching tie. Then he frowned at his own absurdity. “Forget that idea. Stupid. I know.”
Maddy brushed her hair with a few hard strokes and pulled it back into a large brown clip. “Please, can’t you just drive her?”
Ben heard her hesitation and knew he’d gained the edge. “Not with a court date—I just can’t wait until camp starts.”
“Mom. Mommy.” Gracie stood in the doorway, twisting the front of her oversized purple nightshirt. Ben could barely hear her words. “I don’t have to go to camp.”
“Don’t worry, baby,” Maddy said. “We’ll get you there. Get dressed super fast, okay?”
Gracie nodded. “Do you want me to make breakfast cheese sandwiches to take?”
His daughter’s false eagerness cleaved Ben in half.
“That would be great.” Maddy turned to him. “Good luck today.”
He took her hand and brought it to his lips. “Thank you.”
She smiled too big for his small gesture.
Gracie raced over and hugged him hard around the waist. “I love you. Good luck, Daddy,” Gracie said.
“I love you too, cupcake. Sorry I can’t drive you.” He bent over and kissed her head, smelling the baby powder Gracie had taken to sprinkling all over herself.
“That’s okay. I hope you win when you go to the court.”
• • •
Ben smiled briefly at Mrs. Gilman as he walked to the garage, avoiding eye contact. If he let her catch him, she’d talk for ten minutes straight about everything from the trash the postal workers dropped when they cut through their street to her wishes that they could fence off the road completely.
Their hidden road, a private way behind busy Centre Street, was only fifteen minutes from downtown Boston, but if you never left their porch, you wouldn’t have a clue that they lived close to the heart of the city.
Their large house was barely in his salary range when they bought it before they married, but now it was worth more than four times what they paid. Maybe higher. Each year Jamaica Plain, which everyone called JP, became more desirable for being diverse and hip. In his estimation, when the new people moving in said diverse, it was code for living with people who were admirably different in skin or church while comfortably similar in bank accounts. You didn’t see them screaming to diversify their way into the housing projects half a mile away. He’d grown up here in JP and hated listening to residents of two years who knew exactly what “they” needed.
Before leaving, he used an old library card to scrape off the damn bird crap that ended up on his window every morning. He kept telling Maddy to pull up so he could get out from underneath the tree that seemed to be home to every sparrow in the city. Maddy called his car his mistress—and he laughed—but she couldn’t be further from the truth. Nobody would consider a V8 female. Not only was the car a guy, it reminded him of the kids he’d grown up with in Jamaica Plain, before JP became cool. His parents’ house was in Moss Hill, the rich part of the neighborhood, but Ben hung out near the not-affluent Monument. He still remembered the afternoon one of his friends’ brothers drove up with a brand-new 1985 Camaro IROC-Z and took them out on the expressway. Jesus. The ride felt closer to flying than driving.
Two years ago,
when he came home with his own airborne car, he couldn’t predict whether Maddy would scream or smile. He hadn’t told her he planned to celebrate his promotion to senior attorney by buying his own flying Camaro, a 2010 SS V8. An entirely inappropriate car—one that didn’t safely fit the whole family—but damn it, he could fly from zero to sixty in less than five seconds. In thirteen seconds he’d be over 110 mph. None of which he told Maddy, instead passing the Camaro off as a friendly fun car. The kids will love it! Look at how magnificent! Imagine the two of us zooming to the Cape when the kids are with your parents!
He didn’t mention how those sexy looks, that long beveled hood, made the car drive a bit big, hardly perfect for twisty skinny roads, and forget checking over your shoulder or counting on the rearview mirror. Changing lanes was sometimes a point-and-go affair, but the Camaro had muscle.
He’d given Maddy his love-me-I’m-just-a-kid grin. A Jewish girl who grew up in leafy prosperous Brookline, surrounded by books and good intentions—how could she understand his Boston-boy romance with a car like this one?
When she’d smiled, he’d almost cried. “What the hell,” she’d said. “Better to drive your midlife crisis than bed it.”
His father’s old-world scowl appeared when he saw the Camaro. Known to all as the Judge—despite being retired, the appellation had become both familial and professional—he needed few words to show displeasure, but the Judge’s disapproval made Ben’s ride all the sweeter.
• • •
Ben sprinted up the last flight of stairs in the Public Defender’s building, opened the door marked Level 5, and headed toward his office, not the least bit winded. He’d bested his brother, Andrew, at their last three games of handball and intended to do the same come Friday. His office door was ajar. Elizabeth sat at his desk, hunched over a yellow legal pad, surrounded by files.
“You said you were coming in early.” She took off her tortoiseshell reading glasses and smiled.
“Barely seven fifteen qualifies as early, I’d think,” he said.
Elizabeth twisted her grin into mock disapproval, perhaps not completely put on—she was so young and sanctified by idealism. “But you said you’d be here before seven.” She pulled a thick orange file from under a pile of standard beige folders. Color-coding hot cases was but one of the many innovations she’d managed to foist on everyone. “I got here at six.”
“And that’s why you’re the gem of this ocean in which we drown each day.”
“I’ve pulled together everything I thought we’d need.”
He had to watch this one. Ben already found himself drawn to Elizabeth’s cool blondeness, and she seemed besotted by his power as senior trial counsel for the Boston Public Defender Division. Admiration could be as addictive as cocaine.
“Unavoidable delay,” he said. “Problem at home.”
“Serious?” Judging from her concerned expression, she expected an enormous story. Fire! Broken limbs! Ben wanted to construct the tale well—keep that sympathetic look going.
“Caleb cut open his foot yesterday. It looked like hell this morning.”
Elizabeth appeared confused, unimpressed even.
“He needed to go to the doctor, and Gracie had to go to camp.”
Their morning drama sounded weak. Exactly what had riled them so?
“But we wrapped it up—all’s well in family world again.” Ben waved his hand at Elizabeth as she started to rise—ready to return his rightful seat—gesturing for her to stay put. He settled in the worn leather guest chair he’d pulled from promotion to promotion since starting in the Public Defender’s office. Before that he’d tried to work with his father, but Benedikte Illica Sr. ran his law firm as though it were the Ottoman Empire. Room for only one ruler there.
Ben leaned back. The chair gave a satisfying creak, like pulling on his knuckles and getting the snap. “Review what you have for me one more time, okay, Lissie?”
Elizabeth mock-glared. She’d told him Lissie was infantilizing. He grinned.
“Summary first?” she asked, shuffling through her files.
Ben pushed back a hank of hair and scribbled haircut into a memory Post-it, along with a reminder to call the trophy store. He wanted to give Elizabeth an engraved plaque with a quote from Oliver Wendell Holmes for her twenty-third birthday: Young man, the secret of my success is that at an early age I discovered I was not God.
Maddy would say he needed that plaque far more than Elizabeth. Of course, Maddy would be more interested in knowing why he was planning presents for Elizabeth’s birthday. That’s why you had to rush into the office?
He’d given birthday presents to male interns, hadn’t he?
Right.
“Sure you don’t want your seat back?” Elizabeth balanced her legs on the open bottom drawer she’d pulled out to use as a footrest.
Ben held his hand up in a gesture of generosity and then pointed to the papers in her lap. “Shoot.”
“Okay. Nutshell. What we have, and what they’ll say: Prosecution says B-bird, a.k.a. Barry Robinson, allegedly murdered Joseph Kelley last January. B-bird admits he was mad that the victim tried to pick up his girlfriend, but swears he didn’t kill him . . .”
Ben laced his fingers behind his head, leaning back to make his stomach appear flatter. As Elizabeth read facts that he’d already memorized, he concentrated on the pleasure of judging her and her performance.
Finished, she folded her hands. “Did I cover it?”
“B-bird’s girlfriend. What’s up with her?”
“She wasn’t at the scene.” Elizabeth swung her legs off the desk drawer.
“The girlfriend was the reason for the fight, right? Will she be on his side? Will we see her in court?”
Elizabeth’s stricken face made Ben feel almost guilty. Almost. She had to learn. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I spoke to her. She’ll be sitting right next to B-bird’s mama.”
“Sorry. I thought I had it covered.”
“Don’t be hard on yourself. It’s called learning.”
Elizabeth wrung her hands, now more Oliver Twist waiting for gruel than Oliver Wendell Holmes. She gave a determined smile as she gathered her papers and then stood. “Next time, I’ll ace it.” Her hips strained her skirt as she stretched to place a folder in the wire basket on his desk.
Ben fought to keep from staring at her perfect backside. He’d better watch himself if he wanted to remain in the thirty percent bracket. Maddy reminded him on a regular basis, half joking, half not, that seventy percent of married men cheated. After fifteen years of marriage, they assured each other of their faithfulness in shorthand. She’d look at him and put seven fingers in the air. Ben answered by putting up three, letting her know—Scout’s honor—that he still belonged to the other thirty.
Sure, he could be a supreme schmuck, but he’d never cheat—that was his inviolate line in the sand. Maybe he played the line—flirting, using a woman’s admiration as an ego salve, especially during the dog days of marriage—but crossing that border? Never.
• • •
Ben felt as crumpled as his shirt when he put his key in the door at seven thirty. Traffic had sucked, as usual. Whoever said Boston became quiet in the summer didn’t drive his roads. He threw his suit jacket on the chair, along with the tie he’d pulled off in the car. If he could climb straight upstairs, shower, and fall into bed, he’d be happy. The hall had to be a hundred degrees. Air-conditioning was impossible in this old house with its barely code wiring. Maddy nagged him about upgrading the electrical system, but exactly which kid’s college fund did she plan to sacrifice?
Television chatter drifted into the hall. Jesus, was that all they did?
“You missed dinner,” Maddy said as he walked into the living room. She kept her eyes on the screen. The Simpsons? Why did she let them watch that crap?
“Daddy, look!” Caleb held up his foot, showing off a thick bandage.
“What happened, champ?” Ben dropped on the floor next to hi
s son.
“They had to sew me.”
“You’re going to be a pincushion pretty soon if you keep this up.” He turned to Maddy. “Everything okay?”
She frowned and scratched a mosquito bite on her bare thigh, still dark from last weekend’s trip to Singing Beach. Her skin, like his, ate up the sun. She’d looked good as ever at the beach—even with her curves covered in the stern-looking tank suit. Her sun-tinted skin, dense curls wild with salt air, deep brown eyes rimmed in some natural black line she must have been born with—it had kept him aroused all day. That itchy feeling he carried around for her drove him to suggest the kids sleep at their grandparents’ that night.
That night, groaning in bed, Maddy hadn’t been all prune-faced like she now appeared.
“The doctor threw in two stitches,” Maddy finally answered.
Right. Just the facts, ma’am. What sin had Ben committed while not even present?
“When do they come out?” he asked.
Ah, another deep sigh from his lady of perpetual disappointment. “They’re dissolvable. He should be fine; he just has to keep it very clean. Which is like asking a dog to read. That’s why they put that thick bandage on. It’s not infected, but they want to prevent any trouble. I should have taken him last night. Stupid. I was so stupid. We just barely hit the time period before he couldn’t get stitched.”
He felt like a jerk—her sighing was over displeasure with herself, not him. “Hey, we can’t get it right one hundred percent of the time.”
She smiled in gratitude, stood up, and gave him a tight hug. In response he ran his hands along her back.
“I won, Daddy,” Gracie said. “In color war.”
He smiled at his beaming daughter. “You won? Terrific, honey!”
“She didn’t win.” Caleb turned to Gracie. “Your team won, stupid fatso. Not you.”
“Caleb, stop it,” Maddy warned. “Don’t ever use those words in this house.”
Accidents of Marriage Page 2