Let's Make It Legal

by Patricia Kay

  The two had absolutely nothing in common. Eliza, at thirty-nine, was the antithesis of Sydney. Sydney often thought that the only important thing in Eliza’s life was how she looked and what men thought of her.

  As far as Sydney could tell, once Eliza was out of school, she’d never again opened a book, never thought about a social issue and never had any ambition except to be married to a rich man.

  She had attained her goal. At twenty-six, she’d married Driscoll Worth, whose name lived up to its promise. He was worth millions, and when he and Eliza had divorced two years ago, Sydney’s sister had acquired several of those millions.

  Eliza had custody of their daughter, Carolyn, who was ten. Sometimes Sydney worried about Carolyn, who had a curious mind and showed signs of a social conscience. It couldn’t be good for a child like her to live with a mother like Eliza.

  Still, who was Sydney to judge? She didn’t have children.

  Sydney looked around for her niece, but Carolyn wasn’t there today. Her gaze met that of her third sister, Wendy. Only two years separated the two, but like Sydney and Eliza, she and Wendy had nothing in common.

  “Hi,” Wendy said from her seat in the recliner.

  “Hi,” Sydney responded. “How’re you feeling?” Wendy was seven months pregnant with her fourth child.

  “Okay.”

  Sydney nodded. As always, she felt awkward talking to Wendy, who never offered anything to keep the conversational ball rolling. “Where are the kids?”

  “They got bored with the game so Dad took them outside.”

  Sydney had wondered where her father was. The two of them had always been very close. Sid Wells was a man’s man, and he had always wanted a son. When his fourth daughter was born, he’d taken one look and decided she would be the son he’d never had. So he’d insisted on naming her Sydney and he’d raised her to do all the things men do. As a result, Sydney felt confident in the competitive business arena and completely inadequate in the more feminine social sphere.

  “Hey, Sydney, do you want something to drink?” asked Wendy’s husband, Craig, who stood at the bar.

  “Some ginger ale?” Sydney walked over to the bentwood rocker in the corner and sat down. She eyed the TV set. She hated football.

  Craig brought her the ginger ale she’d requested, and Sydney took a sip.

  “Geez! Would you look at that?” moaned Tom. “Three missed tackles!” He made a gesture of disgust. “Why do I watch football, anyway?”

  “Because it’s so much fun, ” Craig said sarcastically.

  “Because hope springs eternal,” Eliza said.

  Because men love games, Sydney thought.

  Just then, the back door opened, and Wendy’s three, ranging in age from nine to two, erupted into the room, followed more slowly by Sydney’s father. He saw her immediately and his face lit up. She got up and walked over to him. They hugged.

  “How’s the case coming?” he asked as he released her. “You ready for tomorrow?”

  “Almost. I’m going back to the office after dinner to look everything over one last time.”

  “Not much will happen tomorrow,” her father predicted. “Just the voir dire.” Sid Wells had had his own successful law practice before he’d retired two years earlier. He had once told Sydney that the day she decided to become a lawyer was the proudest day of his life.

  “I know,” Sydney said, “but I want to be sure I haven’t overlooked anything.”

  “You haven’t. My girl is always prepared. You’re going to set this town on its ear when you win that case. You mark my words.”

  Sydney smiled weakly. She knew her father loved her, but sometimes the weight of his pride and expectations was suffocating. As soon as the disloyal thought formed, she pushed it away.

  What did she want him to do? Act as if he doubted her abilities? Of course not. Of course he was proud of her. Of course he expected great things of her. And she wouldn’t let him down.

  During dinner, the talk once more turned to Sydney’s case. This time Claire said, “I’m thinking of coming down to watch the trial, Sydney, but it’ll probably be a zoo, won’t it?”

  Sydney nodded, pleased that her sister cared enough to want to be there. “Unfortunately, I’m afraid so.” With the publicity this case had generated, she knew the media would be out in full force, as would the curious.

  “That’s okay,” Claire said. “I’ll come, anyway.”

  “Don’t say unfortunately,” her father boomed from his end of the table. “You want all the publicity you can get, Sydney. This case is going to make your name a household word.”

  “I’m not sure I want to be a household word,” Sydney said.

  “Oh, sure you do,” Craig interjected. “Why else do you take on these cases? They sure don’t bring your firm any money.”

  Sydney gave him a sharp look. Was that a bit of a snide taunt she heard in his tone? Wendy’s husband was a lawyer, too. But his area of expertise was patent law, an area Sydney considered dull. Sydney had often wondered if he was jealous of her high-profile cases. “I take them on because I believe in these cases,” she said quietly. “Making a lot of money has never been important to me.”

  “She doesn’t need to worry about money,” Sid Wells said. “Not now. Not when she’s building her reputation.” He beamed at Sydney. “She’s smart. She’s taking her time. She knows what’s important in the long run.”

  Craig’s face reddened. “Some of us don’t have that luxury. Some of us have three, almost four kids to raise—”

  “Who wants dessert?” Sydney’s mother, always the peacemaker, interjected smoothly. “It’s pineapple upside-down cake.”

  “My favorite,” said Tom, who always moved in to reinforce his mother-in-law’s efforts when it came to avoiding any kind of scene. He patted his stomach expectantly.

  The women, except for Wendy, all stood and began clearing the table.

  “I don’t think I’ll stay for dessert, Mom,” Sydney said, carrying her dishes out to the kitchen. “I’m edgy about tomorrow, so I’m going back to the office.”

  “All right, dear,” Helena said. “Do you want to take a piece of cake with you?”

  “No, thanks.” Sydney put the dishes down and leaned over to kiss her mother’s soft cheek. As always, her mother smelled of White Linen, her favorite perfume. “I’ll try to come next Sunday, but I may not make it. Once this trial starts, I’m going to be really busy.”

  “I know. Good luck. I’ll be thinking of you.”

  As Sydney drove toward her downtown office, she wondered just exactly what her mother would be thinking. She knew her mother’s greatest wish was that Sydney marry and have a family as her sisters had. Yet there had been times when Helena actually seemed to understand what Sydney was trying to accomplish, when she actually seemed proud of her youngest daughter.

  Sydney had long ago resigned herself to the fact that she wasn’t ever going to marry or have children. And it was best that way, she knew. Marriage was hard enough without having to contend with the female partner’s demanding and obsessive career.

  There had been a time when Sydney had—like most other young girls—dreamed of marriage, but she’d never met a man who had interested her enough for her to want to spend the rest of her life with him. She intimidated most men, and she accepted that.

  She sighed. Enough of that. She needed to empty her mind of everything but the Montgomery case. She felt confident of her ability in the courtroom, and she wasn’t really worried, but still...you never knew when something might go wrong.

  The worst thing that could happen to an attorney during a trial was to be hit with a surprise, which was always a possibility. No matter how you prepared, no matter what contingency you anticipated, sometimes things happened, like a jury hating a witness, or in-formation surfacing that you didn’t expect. That’s when things went wrong, when even a sympathetic jury could turn on you.

  Sydney wasn’t really afraid of this. She and Gerri an
d the two younger lawyers who would assist Sydney had done their research thoroughly.

  Gerri. God, Sydney hoped Gerri showed up in the morning. Still, if she didn’t, Sydney at least had an alternative. She would call the Appleton agency immediately and ask for John.

  Sydney smiled, thinking of John Whipple. She had really enjoyed having him work for her on Friday. Actually, she wouldn’t mind having him come in again. Not in preference over Gerri, of course, but she had to admit, she had really liked the man.

  Strictly as a paralegal, of course.

  Oh, of course. You didn’t even notice how attractive he was.

  Sydney ignored her inner voice. The fact that he was an attractive man had nothing to do with her admiration of him. He did excellent work. That’s what she cared about. And he wasn’t egotistical. He didn’t act as if he had something to prove. He was quick and intelligent and he’d showed a lot of common sense.

  Yes, and he sure did have a sexy smile.

  Sydney smiled in spite of herself. Well, she’d have had to be blind not to notice his smile.

  And his eyes. Don’t forget his eyes.

  Her smile expanded as she exited Memorial Drive and turned right onto Smith Street. Okay. So John Whipple was a very attractive man. So what? That had nothing to do with Sydney’s desire to have him come to work for her again.

  Liar.

  As Sydney entered the parking garage of the building housing her firm, she tried to drive away the thought. But it refused to disappear. Liar, liar, it taunted her. Why don’t you admit it? You were attracted to him. That’s why you’re trying to think up reasons to see him again. That and nothing else!

  Oh, God, she was such a fool, she thought as she parked her car on the sixth level and got out. Hadn’t she learned anything from her past experiences? Hadn’t she decided long ago that she was no good at romance, no good at sex and absolutely impossible at relationships?

  Forget him, Sydney, she lectured herself as she walked into the building and toward the bank of elevators.

  Forget him.

  John Whipple is not for you.

  Chapter Three

  “Honestly, John, what’s wrong with you this afternoon?” Janet complained.

  “I’m sorry. Did you say something?” John looked at his sister, who sat across the dinner table from him. “Guess I wasn’t paying attention.”

  “Say something?” Janet grinned, looking first at their mother, who chuckled and shook her head, then at her husband, who smiled tolerantly. “I asked you a question. Twice.”

  John shrugged. “Sorry,” he repeated. He’d been thinking about Sydney Wells. For about the dozenth time since he’d left her law office Friday afternoon. “What was the question?”

  “I asked you if you were planning to take part in the Heights Tennis Tournament this year.”

  At Janet’s mention of the tournament, a dull ache lodged itself in the vicinity of John’s heart. He and Andrea had always participated in the Heights Tournament. In fact, Andrea had been one of its most enthusiastic and tireless behind-the-scenes workers. Besides running, tennis had been their favorite sport. He shrugged again, pretending nonchalance. “I don’t know. I hadn’t thought about it. Why?”

  “Well, I bumped into Dave Neff at H.E.B the other day, and he asked about you. Said they’d really missed you the last couple of years.”

  John nodded. He didn’t want to discuss the tournament. He didn’t want to discuss anything about his private life. Not here. Not now. Maybe not ever again.

  He knew how Janet and his mother felt about his withdrawal from most of the activities he and Andrea had participated in together. But they didn’t understand. They thought he didn’t want to associate himself with those activities because the memories hurt too much.

  That might have been the case at first, but it had been almost three years since Andrea’s death, and the hurt had become bearable, although John was sure it would never disappear entirely.

  No, it was the guilt he felt that had made him change his life-style so drastically. The guilt that kept him away from all of his old activities. Because no matter what the doctors had said, John would never believe that he bore no responsibility for Andrea’s collapse and subsequent death. And how could he explain that?

  “You know, John,” his mother said softly, “it might be good for you to take part in the tournament again.”

  John looked away. Noticing his son playing with his food, he seized the opportunity to change the subject. “Jeffrey, stop that,” he said, hoping his mother and sister would take the hint and drop the subject. “Those peas are to eat, not to play with.”

  Jeffrey looked up guiltily, but he stopped pushing his peas under his mashed potatoes. His freckled face, so like Andrea’s, was a road map of his thoughts and emotions.

  John never looked at his son without the reminder of everything he had once had and lost. Everything his children had been deprived of when they’d lost their mother.

  “I don’t like peas,” Jeffrey said, making a face.

  “Your father never liked peas, either,” Cecelia Appleton said. She ruffled Jeffrey’s hair and gave him a fond smile.

  “You didn’t make him eat his, did you?” Jeffrey asked hopefully.

  “Well,” Cecelia hedged, her dark eyes twinkling.

  Emily piped up. “Daddy says we have to eat our vegetables or we don’t get to watch any TV at all.” She gave Jeffrey one of her superior ten-year-old-girl looks.

  Jeffrey elbowed his sister, and Emily gave John an indignant look. “Daddy!” she said.

  “Jeffrey,” he warned. “Your sister’s right. Now eat your peas.”

  “I hate you,” Jeffrey muttered, giving Emily a murderous look.

  “Daddy!” Emily said again.

  The children finally settled down, and as John had hoped, the talk turned to other things. But after dinner, when he and Mike, who had insisted on doing the cleanup while the women relaxed in the living room, were rinsing the dishes and putting them in the dishwasher, Mike introduced the subject again.

  “I know you don’t want to talk about this,” he said, “but Janet’s worried about you, John.”

  John stiffened. “There’s no reason for her to worry about me.”

  “She thinks you’re alone too much.”

  “Alone? I’m never alone. How could a man with two kids be alone?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  Yes, John knew what he meant. Sometimes he felt so lonely, he hurt inside, but that kind of loneliness wouldn’t be assuaged by the blind dates Janet and Mike had been trying to arrange for the past year.

  Like tonight at dinner, they had also been pushing him to participate in neighborhood and church activities. “Look, Mike,” he said with a sigh, “I’m not ready. Can we just leave it at that?”

  “It’s been almost three years,” Mike said.

  “I’m well aware of how long it’s been.” As if he could forget. As if he hadn’t counted every one of the days, every one of the minutes. It was only in the past year that Andrea’s death had begun to be tolerable— that he could think about her without having the memories tear him apart.

  “It’s not good to isolate yourself,” Mike continued relentlessly.

  John rammed a plate into the dishwasher harder than he’d meant to. He straightened. “I know you mean well, but drop it, okay? It’s my life.”

  “You can’t grieve forever.” Mike’s blue eyes, kind and sympathetic, met John’s. “I know how much you loved Andrea, how close the two of you were. But it’s time to let go. Time to find a live woman to share your life with.”

  John bit back a sharp retort. He nodded. “If I ever meet a woman who interests me, I’ll bear that advice in mind.”

  Yet, as the two of them finished their cleanup, then joined the women and children in the living room, John knew he hadn’t been entirely truthful with his brother-in-law. He had met a woman who interested him.

  Her name was Sydney Scott Wells.
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  Unfortunately, even if he hadn’t lied to her, thereby eliminating any possibility of follow-up on this interest, she wasn’t a woman he could ever pursue. He had no interest in involvement with a high-powered career woman like Sydney. What had happened to Andrea had taught him a hard lesson.

  He wasn’t about to repeat the same mistakes.

  * * *

  Sydney arrived at the office at six-thirty Monday morning, her stomach churning. She hadn’t been able to eat this morning, even though she knew it was important to fuel her body in preparation for the challenge ahead. She’d compromised by stuffing a high-fiber bar in her purse with the promise that she’d eat it later.

  She’d dressed in her power suit—a lightweight navy wool paired with navy pumps and a cream-colored silk blouse. She wore a discreet gold circle pin on her lapel and matching gold earrings in her ears.

  Her team would meet at seven. They were due in Judge Andrews’s court at ten. She hoped everyone would be on time today. There was so much to be done.

  She wondered how Kara Montgomery was feeling this morning. The McKinseys were bringing Kara to the office about nine, and they would all go over to the court together.

  Sydney hoped she’d thought of everything. She had a mental list of things for both Gerri and Norma to take care of today. Norma had promised to come in an hour early.

  Norma arrived promptly at seven, flustered and a bit disheveled. Sydney knew the early hour had meant a hardship for her secretary, who was a single mother with two small children, but it couldn’t be helped.

  At eight, Gerri called. Norma put her through to Sydney.

  “Gerri,” Sydney said, picking up the phone, “what’s wrong? Are you still sick?”

  “No, I’m not exactly sick. I, uh, well, I’m pregnant.”

  Sydney’s heart sank. She didn’t need this right now.

  “And, well, the trouble is, my doctor has confined me to bed, at least for the first three months. I’m sorry, Sydney. I know I should give you notice, but I can’t help it. I don’t want to take any chances with this pregnancy.”