“Instead of going out on your own, why don’t you try and be a partner?” Dad pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’ll get better pay and more choice of which cases you take. You could go back to defense cases. You were good at those.”
“I don’t want to be a partner. I never have.” I shook my head. “That’s why you stuck me down in the basement, remember? I just want to do it my way. I want my own practice.”
“Have you given this a lot of thought?” He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “Having your own practice is a lot of work. If you fail, you have no one to blame but yourself.”
“I won’t fail,” I assured him. “I haven’t been thinking about this very long, to be honest, but I know it’s right. It’s what I need to do.”
He sighed. “Well...” He stood up and gave me a hug. “Just make sure you clean up your cases. If you need any seed money—”
“I won’t.” I laughed. “Thanks, Dad.”
* * *
Three weeks after quitting, my mom and I were combing through used furniture at a police auction. It wasn’t one of Mom’s normal venues for furniture shopping, but she seemed to be having a good time.
“Look at this!” She pointed at a desk. “It’s an original Herman Miller. Those drug dealers certainly had lovely taste. Do you think your father would like it?”
I laughed. Only Mom could find a designer desk among a confiscated evidence sale.
“Maybe for his birthday?” I suggested. “Do you see anything that might be more in my price range?”
My budget was as cheap as possible. When no one else wanted to pick up Sheena at Dad’s office, I offered her a job working for me. It was just part-time, but I hadn’t intended on taking an assistant so soon. She started in a couple of weeks when the lease on our new office started. It was just a room big enough for two desks, but we were both pretty excited about it.
“I’m glad to see you smiling again, dear. I was so worried after you broke up with that boy in the motorcycle jacket, Jean Luc. Why did you break up with him?” she asked. “You seemed to love each other.”
“Mom...” It wasn’t the first time, or the fourth time, she’d asked this question. “You saw that he was in a motorcycle club. His job wasn’t always the safest. I just didn’t think love would be enough.”
“What was so bad that you thought it was best to go your separate ways?” she asked.
“Well.” I frowned. “He had a lot of guns and was threatening someone.”
“So the bad person would leave his child alone, right?” Mom clarified. “You’re angry because he was trying to protect his child?”
“Mom,” I protested. “It wasn’t safe.”
“And we’re here buying furniture for your new office because you like to play things safe?” she asked. “You think your childhood was always safe?”
I frowned. What was she talking about?
“Remember those surprise vacations we’d go on?” Mom continued. “Three weeks in that god-awful cabin in the Ozarks without a plug for my hair dryer? Or how about that month we spent in Tulsa. Fun, right? Your father had a hit out on him both times. Do you think life is always safe?”
I froze. My mother had just completely rewritten my childhood.
“What?” My mind raced. There were several other times that my mom had surprised me with a vacation. I just thought she liked camping. “Dad had a hit out on him?”
“Do you think defense attorneys always win?” She rolled her eyes. “Sometimes they lose, and criminals don’t like to go to jail, so they hire hit men. Or sometimes criminals get out early and hold a grudge. I’m just saying that throwing away love because you don’t want to take a risk is pretty shortsighted. You’ll just end up being unhappy.”
“Oh my god,” I whispered. Had I just thrown away love with Jean Luc because I’d been holding him to some sort of standard that didn’t exist? He was just trying to do right by his son, and I’d told him he was a criminal. My stomach flipped, and I grabbed onto a credenza to stay vertical. What had I done?
Grabbing my cell phone out of my purse, I found his number on speed dial. I’d never deleted it, but until now I’d only thought about calling him. This time I hit the send button.
There was no answer.
Several hours later, Mom and I returned home, and I sat in my room and called him again.
There was no answer.
The next day, I called.
There was no answer.
* * *
I’d given up calling Jean Luc weeks ago. It was clear he wasn’t interested. Instead, I’d thrown myself into my practice. The Law Firm of Miriam Englestein, Esquire. I still loved saying that. I’d only been in business a week, but so far it was fantastic. I had a little nest egg in the bank, so I needed to turn a profit eventually, but I was okay building my practice for a while. I walked the three flights up the stairs to my office. My office.
“Hey.” Sheena waved at me as I walked in. “You got a phone message.”
“It’s not Pete again, is it?” I asked, setting my stuff down.
“No.” Sheena twisted in her chair and looked at the wall clock. “He hasn’t called in exactly four hours. Anyway, I think it’s a new case.”
“Yeah?” I asked. “What kind of case?”
“Not sure.” She looked at the message and frowned. “She said she was Krista from the club and that you’d remember her.”
Krista? What was Krista doing calling me? Was it about Jean Luc—Skeeter?
“I do remember her,” I said, taking the message slip.
“Does it have to do with him?” she asked. “Your biker dude?”
“I don’t know.” I wanted it to be about Jean Luc, but he hadn’t answered any of my calls. “I guess I’ll have to see.”
* * *
Sheena’s note said that Krista wanted me to go to her house at a specific time. Since my office was still tiny and crammed with two desks, I usually met clients at their place or in a coffee shop.
Lugging my bag up to the front door, I rang the bell. I brought Jean Luc’s drawing of her house and checked the address a million times. I’d only been to Krista’s house that once and didn’t want to walk into the wrong place. It also gave me an excuse to look at Jean Luc’s signature.
She answered with her blonde daughter hiding behind her. “Hey!” She leaned out and gave me a hug. “Thanks for coming.”
I clung to her. It was embarrassing the way I held on for dear life. It was the first time I had seen someone from Jean Luc’s life in three months, and I wasn’t prepared for the emotions that welled up inside.
“Oh, honey.” She pulled away and looked at me. “Are you okay?”
I nodded and took a deep breath. I had to make sure my voice wouldn’t shake. “I’m fine. So you said you needed some legal paperwork done?”
“Yeah.” She held the door open. “Why don’t you come inside, and we’ll have some tea.”
I stepped inside their house and heard a familiar voice. “Miri?” he screeched.
Christophe.
“Hey, buddy.” The word caught in my throat. “How is school?”
“School is okay, but I’ve started Little League, and that’s great.” He stood up a little taller. “We won our first two games. Will you come to a game?”
“I’m not sure,” I said, kissing the top of his head. “But I’m glad to see you.”
“Hey, kiddo, why don’t you go watch cartoons with Becky, all right?” Krista said from the hall. “Miri and I have business.”
Christophe nodded and went into the living room. It was just Krista and me and two cups of tea at the table in the kitchen.
“So what kind of legal paperwork do you need?” I asked.
“I’d like to have Colt adopt B
ecky.” She smiled. “But it’s a surprise, for his birthday.”
“Oh. I hadn’t realized he was her stepdad.” I took out my legal pad. “So what does her real father think about this?”
Krista bit her lip. “He’s dead.”
“Well, that makes it easier.” I wrote out a few notes. “We’ll need his death certificate, then it’s just a matter of a few signatures.”
Krista was still biting her lip. “Well, I don’t have that. He’s just sort of gone. Permanently.”
“Oh.” I made another note. “So he’s just sort of disappeared, then? No one has heard from him?”
“Well, you’re my lawyer, so you can’t repeat anything, right?” she asked, tapping the side of her coffee mug.
“That’s right.” I nodded. I tried to use my best professional voice. “I’m your counsel, so anything you say is confidential. Tell me what happened.”
“Robby, my ex, was into a lot of drugs, and he owed people money.” She cringed. “Anyway, he tried to use me and Becky to pay off a debt. So, um, Colt stepped in, and that’s why we don’t have a death certificate.”
Colt. It all came clear. Colt must have killed Krista’s ex. I didn’t press for details about how it happened. I didn’t want to know.
I leaned back in my chair. “How do you deal with it?”
“It was the right thing to do.” Krista sipped her tea. “Does that shock you?”
“Not really,” I admitted. It might have shocked me before I met Jean Luc. It might have shocked me before my mom confided in me. “I’m sure there was a good reason.”
“My daughter was the reason,” Krista explained. “We couldn’t really go through the courts at that time, so we did what needed to be done.” She leaned in. “I know you and Skeeter had your differences, but I’ve been kind of hoping you would give Skeeter a chance. He was just trying to do what he thought was right, and he misses you. A lot.”
“What do you mean he misses me?” I felt tears prick my eyes. This was dangerous territory for me. I’d spent many nights crying myself to sleep when he didn’t return my calls.
“He hasn’t dated anyone since you left.” Krista squeezed my hand. “And he’s kept the little passenger seat on his bike.”
“None of that means anything.” I shook my head. “I’m sure he gives Christophe rides on his motorcycle.”
“You guys never gave it a try. You never had a chance to try and make a home, did you?” Her eyes were shining. “Do you still want him?”
The world was going fuzzy, and I blinked to try to keep the tears back.
“It doesn’t matter.” I sniffled. “He’s already told me we were from two different worlds, but that love wouldn’t be enough.”
“Oh.” Krista frowned. “Maybe he just needs some convincing. You guys just need to create your own world, so you’re not living in two. That is, if you still want him.”
Creating our own world. It sounded amazing, but here it was—the awful truth.
“I’ve called him,” I admitted. “Five times, and he’s never returned my calls. If he’s given up, I have too.” I looked down at my notes from our conversation about Becky’s adoption. I should get down to business.
“There are two ways we can approach your case. We can either have your ex declared dead if he’s been gone long enough, or we can just terminate his parental rights based on abandonment.” I explained the timelines and requirements for each option. “I’ll have to go home and check the laws, but I think the easiest method will be terminating his rights. Once they’re gone, then Colt will just sign on the dotted line for the adoption.”
I congratulated myself on being professional—even though I wanted to curl up and die.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Skeeter
Colt and I had been making some deliveries at the Indian casino for Tate and decided to head back to Colt’s place for a beer. I could hear his bike right behind me as I turned the corner into his neighborhood.
The leaves were starting to change, and school would start again soon. Christophe and I had a whole summer of baseball games and movie nights. In the morning, I’d wake his ass up early and see if the fish were biting at the little creek behind the house. We never caught anything except frogs, but we had a good time.
Krista would watch him in the afternoons, and I would work. The clay was more pliant in the heat, and he could watch television at their place in the air-conditioning. But tonight there was a robot movie playing that I was sure Christophe would love. After a quick beer with Colt, Christophe and I would be on our way to the show.
I knocked twice and opened the door when I didn’t hear anything. “Anyone home?” I called from the hall.
Christophe and Becky were in the front room watching some singing cartoon, and they waved to me. I looked around; usually Krista would come greet me at the door.
I walked in back, toward the kitchen. The table was covered in forms and paperwork, and seated, facing me, was Miri. She was beautiful. Her hair was loose, a little longer. The curls spilled over her shoulders.
She glanced up at me and blinked. “Jean Luc.”
A riot of emotions swirled around inside of me, and I froze. Jesus Christ, what should I say? I’m in love with you, but I don’t think there’s any hope for us was hardly romantic. Besides, she and Krista were clearly in the middle of something. I was probably just a complication.
Before I could take my lovesick useless self out of the way, the front door clicked open and closed again. “I’m home,” Colt called as he walked into the kitchen. “Miri?” He looked at me. “Did you two get back together?”
Miri was hurriedly stuffing papers into her bag when Krista jumped up from her chair at the kitchen table. “I asked her here.” Krista smiled. “Why don’t you guys go sit in the living room? We’ll meet you out there.”
Colt stood his ground. “I think I want to know why there’s a lawyer in our house. Why are you here, Miri?”
Miri looked to Krista. Neither of the women were talking, and judging by the amount of paperwork Miri was stuffing into her bag, they were meeting about something important.
“Are you leaving me, Krista?” Colt demanded, sounding raw. “Someone better start talking fast, because that’s what it looks like.”
“No.” Krista laughed and walked over to Colt. “You ruined the surprise, babe.” She put her hands on his cheeks and gave him a kiss. “Miri was drawing up adoption papers for you to adopt Becky.”
“You’re not leaving me?” he asked. “I wanna be sure.”
“No, baby.” Krista kissed him. “I want you to be Becky’s dad—legally.”
Colt started to laugh until his shoulders started to shake. Then he caught Krista and picked her up.
“Hey, man.” He turned to me. “Watch the kids for us for a second.” He winked.
I groaned as they headed for the bedroom. They’d better be fast.
I got a glass of water and sat at the table with Miri. Before I could say anything, we were interrupted.
“Dad!” Christophe screeched as he ran into the kitchen and skidded to a stop on the linoleum. “Next week is my snack week for baseball.” He turned to Miri to explain. “Every week the moms take turns making a snack for the whole team. Jimmy’s mom brought cookies and juice boxes.” He frowned. “All Dad makes is scrambled eggs and steak. Will you make our snack during my week, Miri?”
Great. My son was asking her out, and there was no way Miri was going to want anything to do with me or my kid. She’d called me, and I’d ignored every one of her calls. She must hate me.
“Don’t put her on the spot like that,” I said. “She’s really busy. We can just buy some cookies and juice boxes, and it will be fine.”
“I wouldn’t mind.” She ruffled Christophe’s hair. “I can make s
ome cookies for your practice. What kind?”
“Peanut butter with chocolate chips.” He had obviously thought this out. He spun in his stocking feet and headed back to cartoons. “Thanks, Miri!” he said as he ran.
When we were alone again, I wasn’t sure what to say.
“You don’t have to bring cookies to baseball.” I shook my head. “Christophe has just been having a hard time without a woman in the house.”
Miri shrugged. “I want to bring cookies. I’d like to support Christophe, but I just wasn’t sure if you’d be okay with it.” She looked down, unable to look in my eyes. “You didn’t return any of my calls, so I just assumed you didn’t want to see me.”
Shit. I had to say something.
“I didn’t answer your calls because I didn’t know what to say,” I admitted. There was a hell of a lot more to it than that, but that was all I could get out right now. “Come to the game. I’d like to see you.”
“Really?” Her voice was breathless as her eyes searched mine. “Are you sure, Jean Luc?”
“Yeah, I’m sure.” I’d never been more sure of anything in my life.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Miri
It was hot as I walked across the park. I had stuffed juice boxes and bottles of water into the bottom of the ice chest and then put the cookies on top. The heavy plastic cooler bumped against my legs as I walked. No reason to be nervous—I was just here to support Christophe. I wasn’t completely in love with a guy who didn’t love me back.
I kept repeating Krista’s words to myself. We needed to create our own world—together. Then he would realize that we weren’t so different. The ball field was a good place to start, but I knew I’d go back to the clubhouse at some point if I wanted it to work between us. The clubhouse, with all the memories of violence, would be hard, but I was ready to try.
I steadied the cooler as I walked. A man jogged across the open field and fell in step next to me. He was tall, dark brown hair, clean-cut. “Can I get that for you?” he offered. His voice was deep and rich and definitely didn’t have a Cajun accent.
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