by Loree Lough
“Whatever.”
She wondered if he even had it in him to pretend, at least, to feel remorse for what he’d done….
Simon couldn’t understand why the public defender’s office didn’t hire a few recent law-school grads. That way every attorney in the office would enjoy a lighter caseload, including—especially—Julia.
Last time she’d cancelled dinner, Julia explained how the entire staff had been told they must put in extra hours. During the past few weeks alone, she’d backed out of a dozen lunches and quiet evenings together, claiming the need for time to write pleadings to prepare documents for trial. But when she backed out on the party at Casey’s, he couldn’t help but worry about her health.
He’d grown tired of eating fast food. Alone. Burgers and fried chicken had been staples in his diet before Julia, and it hadn’t taken long to grow accustomed to hot, home-cooked meals, shared with the love of his life. Knowing her, she’d been skipping meals altogether rather than make do with the greasy beef patties between stale rolls he’d been consuming.
Well, if Mohammad wouldn’t go to the mountain…
When his last patient left at three, he sent Debbie home with a “Good job these past few weeks!” pat on the back and headed for the grocery store. His culinary capabilities were limited, at best, but he’d learned a few things, standing beside her in the kitchen these many months.
Standing at her stove, Simon added garlic powder, Italian seasoning, a sprinkling of sugar, and a dash of ground cloves to a jar of store-bought spaghetti sauce, and put it on to simmer while he set the table. As he tossed the salad and buttered the garlic bread, he decided to announce at dinner that she would put her feet up for a change while he did the dishes. With his plan firm in his mind, Simon grinned. How could she object to a quick, quiet dinner even if she brought home a briefcase full of homework?
With nothing left to do but boil the water for the pasta and run the garlic toast under the broiler, Simon decided to get the ol’ woodstove going while watching the evening news. The mid-March weather had grown increasingly warmer, and this could very well be their last fire of the season. Maybe once he’d filled her belly with tasty spaghetti, Julia would agree to share her favorite dessert here in her cozy family room. Vanilla ice cream in sudsy root beer took no time to make….And maybe after that, she’d consent to cuddle on the sofa for just a few minutes so he could tell her how much he’d missed her as she’d burned the midnight oil.
It hadn’t been easy, getting through those weeks following Levi’s funeral, but Julia stood beside him all the way and made coping more bearable. She’d been so sweet and supportive, quietly enduring his rants and tirades about Michael Josephs. “I’ve heard the rumors about that nutcase,” he’d fumed the last time they were together. “I know about the crazy crimes he’s committed in the past,” he’d said just last week. “I’ve gotta believe in the justice system. Maybe his rich daddy won’t be able to bail him out this time. There’s no rehabilitating a lunatic like that; I hope they fry the demented beast so he’ll never harm anyone again.”
She’d been strangely quiet and fidgety, and he’d chalked it up to the fact that she’d loved Levi and missed him, too. He decided to put more effort into avoiding talk like that. A lot more, because she deserved to be protected from the unpleasant things in life.
Kicking up the footrest of her grandfather’s recliner, Simon laid the evening paper across his lap as the TV meteorologist predicted a cold and windy night. Perfect woodstove weather, he thought, yawning. Minutes later, as Simon snored beneath a blanket of headlines that read TEEN’S LAWYER DEMANDS PSYCH EVALUATION, a blond anchorwoman announced breaking news in the Michael Josephs murder trial as reporters surrounded his pretty young public defendant, Julia Spencer.
The aroma of spaghetti sauce filled the air as Julia dropped her briefcase on the foyer table and hung her coat on the hall tree. Down the hall, she spied a fire dancing in the belly of the woodstove as, in the family room, Simon snoozed contentedly in her grandfather’s big chair. What a wonderful welcome, she thought, smiling at the sight of him buried under pages of newspaper as the colorful light of the TV flickered blue and red and white over his handsome features.
But her smile faded as her own image filled the screen. “No comment,” she heard herself say as she plowed through the gaggle of reporters surrounding her. Grabbing the remote from the end table beside him, she hit the OFF button and breathed a sigh of relief.
Until she realized that similar pictures had dominated the front page of every newspaper in the area. But how would she retrieve it when his hands rested, one atop the other, hiding the horrible headline?
She’d been meaning to tell him about getting the Michael Josephs case, waiting for just the right time. Unfortunately, the right time hadn’t presented itself. And now Julia stood face-to-face with the folly of her wavering bravery.
It wouldn’t be fair for him to find out watching TV or reading the evening news. She owed it to him to ’fess up. Somehow, before this night ended, she’d have to tell him…and hope for the best.
Simon had always been one of the most levelheaded, fair-minded men she’d ever known. That couldn’t be said where anything relating to Michael Josephs was concerned, however. What he felt for the boy who’d killed Levi had long since passed loathing and hostility and moved straight into hot-blooded hatred. No telling how he’d react once he found out it had become her job to get Michael the lightest possible sentence. She eased up to the chair and stooped, ready to grab the paper as she woke him with a gentle kiss.
Simon’s long-lashed eyes fluttered open the instant her lips made contact with his. “Hey, pretty lady.” Chuckling, he added, “If somebody ever figured how to make an alarm clock do that, nobody would hate Monday mornings.”
She almost felt guilty. Almost. But since she planned to tell him the whole truth tonight, absolutely and for sure, Julia didn’t feel too bad about her trickery. “What are you doing here?” she asked, taking hold of the paper.
“Thought you could use a break and a decent meal and some companionship. You’ve been working your little fingers off.”
“You’re a sweetie.” As he yawned and stretched, she dashed to the woodstove to chuck the newspaper inside.
“Hey, I haven’t read that yet.”
Julia jabbed the poker through the glowing coals a few times as the paper caught and flared then added a log to the fire. “Oops…sorry.” She walked back to the chair. “What smells so scrumptious?”
“Spaghetti.” He dropped the footrest and got to his feet.
“I repeat, you’re a sweetie.” Hugging him, she added, “I think it only fair to warn you…I brought work home. Lots of—”
“Yeah, I figured. But you have to eat.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “How else are you gonna keep putting in sixty-and seventy-hour workweeks without keeling over?”
“Hungry?”
“Starving. Everything is ready. Well, nearly ready. You have time to change out of your stiff-upper-lip business suit and into something more comfortable while I finish up.”
Melting into his arms, Julia sighed. “Is this what being married to you will be like? I’ll come home after a hard day in court and you’ll have a delicious meal waiting for me?”
Pressing a palm to her forehead, Simon said, “Mmm…you don’t feel feverish.”
Oh, how she loved this handsome, pun-loving man! Julia grinned and waited for the explanation she knew would follow.
“It says in plain English in the small print on every marriage license that it’s the wife’s job, not the husband’s, to have healthy, mood-improving food on the table at the end of a hard day.” He punctuated the joke with a merry wink. “But maybe as a savvy attorney, you can add a codicil to the agreement.”
She grinned and decided to take him up on his offer to get into something less confining while he put the finishing touches on the meal. “I’ll set the table once I’ve changed,” she said, heading for the stai
rs.
“Already done,” he called after her.
“Then I’ll toss the salad.”
“Also done.”
She was halfway up the stairs and hung over the railing to say, “Fill the glasses with ice and water?”
“Sorry, nothing for you to do but sit down and eat…and tell me about all the down-on-their-luck people you helped today.”
No way she’d ruin the mood he’d set by telling him who her most recent hard-luck case was. There’d be plenty of time to destroy his good mood after they’d eaten.
Fifteen minutes later, when she walked into the kitchen, Julia fought happy tears as she scanned the room. He stood at the sink, a kitchen towel tucked into his belt, draining pasta into a colander. A vase of daisies—no fewer than three dozen yellow-eyed white blooms—were stuffed into a glass vase in the center of the table. Beside them, in a basket lined with paper towels, were slices of golden garlic toast. “Simon,” she said, fingering the delicate petals, “wherever did you find them this time of year?”
“Oh, it ain’t tough for people in the know.” He winked. “You like ’em?”
“I love them.” He was stirring noodles into the sauce when she hugged him from behind. “I love you. This is such a nice surprise.”
“Hey, it isn’t all for you, you know,” he said, turning to wrap his arms around her. “I’ve missed the daylights outta you, so this is for me, too.”
Julia looked away, unable to meet his trusting eyes. “I’ll try to do a better job of clocking out at a normal time from now on,” she said, meaning it.
“I wish I knew who to credit for one of my favorite adages.”
“Which?”
“‘Do or do not,’” he quoted, fiddling with the radio dials, “‘there is no “try.”’”
He settled on an oldies-but-goodies station, and in no time they were chatting quietly as they ate, stopping now and then to sing along with a line from a favorite tune. If he’d mentioned Levi or the accident or Michael Josephs, she might have found the courage to tell him everything, even amid the amiable atmosphere. But either he’d decided to avoid all unpleasant topics, or he suspected something….
“If you can afford a couple minutes more away from your briefcase,” he said, stacking the dishes, “I’ve got dessert, too.”
She glanced at the clock. Nearly eight. She had research to do and needed to get started on interrogatories, but what difference could a half hour make, especially considering how often she’d disappointed him lately. “Seems you’ve thought of everything,” Julia said, opening the dishwasher.
“Oh no, ya don’t,” he said, playfully muscling her aside. “My job isn’t over till the last spoon is washed. Have a seat, m’dear.”
“Spoon? We didn’t need spoons for dinner. Does that mean what I think it means?”
“Root beer floats.”
Minutes later, side by side on the sofa, they scooped creamy vanilla ice cream from tall soda-filled glasses as Julia asked him about his day. Mouser purred between them, occasionally lifting her gray-striped head for a pat as the fire emanated cozy warmth and provided the only light in the room.
“You know, I could stay forever,” he said once they’d emptied their glasses, “but it’s after nine, and I know you have things to do. If I want you to get any rest at all tonight—and I do—I’d better head on home.”
Julia remembered a time not so long ago when she didn’t think she deserved love at all, let alone the love of a man like this. But Simon, with his big and giving heart, patiently taught her how wrong she’d been. She didn’t want to tell him about Michael Josephs after an evening like this, when he’d gone to so much trouble and been so thoughtful.
But how could she not, was the haunting question that echoed in her soul.
“Simon,” she said, “I have something to tell you, and you aren’t going to like it.”
He scooted closer to the edge of the cushion and turned slightly to study her face. “Maybe I don’t want to hear—whatever it is—if that look on your face is any indication of how much I won’t like it.”
Taking his hands in hers, Julia said, “You know how much I love you, right?”
“Sure I do.” And as if to prove it, he kissed her.
“And you know how much I appreciate all the gifts you’ve—”
“Aw,” he said, “just trinkets. No big deal.”
“They were a big deal, a very big deal to me, and I love them all!” If he kept looking at her that way, could she tell him? Or would she chicken out? “But it’s not the presents I’m talking about. It’s the other gifts, like the caring way you taught me to believe I’m normal and lovable and worthy of a happy future, complete with children.”
“All true, Julia. Every word of it and then some.” He frowned and ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t mind telling you, you’re scaring me a little, babe.”
Lord, she prayed, help me do this, please. And help Simon understand….
After taking a deep breath, she said, “I’m representing Michael Josephs at trial.”
Simon shook his head and grimaced. A long, horrible moment of silence passed before he said, “You’re…you’re what?”
“The office is understaffed and overworked. The case landed on my desk, and I have to—”
“You have to turn it down. That’s what you have to,” he snarled.
“I can’t, Simon. My boss all but said that if I didn’t take it, I’m out of a job.”
“So? You’re smart and talented. You’ll find work elsewhere. No way can you convince me that you want to represent that…that…animal. You loved Levi, too!”
He was on his feet now, pacing, one palm clapped to the back of his neck, the other waving in the air. “Your grandparents left you this house and plenty of money in the bank. You don’t need that rotten job. So let them fire you! Where’s your sense of right and wrong? Where’s your decency, Julia? Where’s—”
“Simon, Michael is sick. Very sick—and has been for most of his life. I can’t go into detail because of client-attorney privilege, but there are things…horrible things…that go way back to when he was a little boy himself. Things that his parents didn’t bother to—”
“I can’t believe what I’m hearing. That monster murdered Levi. Burned nearly every inch of his little body. You weren’t there, Julia. You didn’t see what I saw, didn’t hear what I heard. But I’ve told you. I’ve told you.”
His voice was cold. Colder than she’d ever heard it. Colder than she knew he could sound. “I know it seems crazy, me representing Michael, especially considering how I felt about Levi, but Michael has rights under the Constitution, and I’m sworn to uphold them.”
He’d been stomping back and forth on the other side of the coffee table, big feet pounding the floor hard enough to make the spoons in the soda glasses clatter with every step. But he stopped when she referred to the Constitution, planted his feet shoulder-width apart and shook his head. “Do you actually believe the nonsense you’re spouting?”
“Yes,” she said timidly, “of course I do. Michael has no one. His parents have turned their backs on him, and his so-called friends have, too. There’s no one in his corner, Simon, no one but me.”
He drove a hand through his hair and grabbed a fistful of sandy-colored curls. Then he aimed a stiff forefinger at her. “Your childhood,” he spat, “was way tougher than—than that spoiled-rotten freak of nature—and you didn’t spend it maiming innocent animals and blinding babies. You didn’t have anybody in your corner, so why do you want to be in his?”
She exhaled a shaky sigh. “Because…because it’s the right thing to do. God hates what that boy has done all his life, but He loves the boy. I can’t turn my back on him.”
“Can’t?” An uncomfortable beat in time passed before he added, “Or won’t?”
So far, his reaction was pretty much what she’d been afraid of, and why she’d put off telling him about her involvement in the first place. “Look,” she
began, “I understand why you’re angry, and hurt, and confused. I understand why you think you hate—”
“I don’t think it, Julia. I have good reason to despise that sorry excuse for a human being.”
She took a deep breath and launched back into her explanation. “Okay, so I get why you hate Michael. He killed Levi, after all!” Julia clasped her hands, prayer fashion, and asked God to guide her next words. “What I don’t get,” she said, “is why you can’t see past your fury. Where’s all the compassion, all the acceptance, all the Christian forgiveness you showered on me?”
“Apples and oranges!” he barked.
Simon stared her down, as if willing her to stop talking. For the moment, she humored him.
“So which is it, Julia? Can’t or won’t?”
“Is there a difference?”
He blew a frustrated blast of air through clenched teeth. “So I take it to mean you’re gonna do this awful thing…a slap in the faces of Hannah and William. I thought they were your friends.”
She’d been over that ground dozens of times since accepting the case, praying that God would lead her to do the right thing. It hadn’t been coincidence, Julia knew, that at the conclusion of every heartfelt prayer, she was left with the reminder that the Amish considered it a sin to harbor feelings of hate, judgment, or vengeance. The Gundens would understand, but in Simon’s present mood, she couldn’t very well point that out. “I’m sorry,” she said, meaning it, “but it’s part of what I do for a living. Sometimes the people I represent aren’t the most upstanding, law-abiding citizens. Sometimes they’re—”
“Baby killers and arsonists and creeps who torture their fellow human beings with thumbtacks, stones, and firecrackers? Oh, don’t look so surprised. I’ve lived in this town a long time. Long enough to have heard horror stories about that wacko. And it just so happens I know some of the people he hurt, too.”