Let's Make It Legal

by Patricia Kay

  Heart in her throat, she snatched the receiver up. “Hello?”

  “Sydney? Hi. It’s John.”

  A sweet joy spiraled through her. “Hi.”

  “Is it too late to be calling?”

  “Oh, no. No, of course not.”

  “What were you doing?”

  “I, well...” She laughed self-consciously. “I’m in bed with a book.”

  He was silent for a moment, then he chuckled. His voice was low and intimate as he said, “I wish you were in bed with me.”

  A delicious shiver snaked through her. “I—I do, too.”

  “I thought about you all day.”

  Oh, John, John. “Me, too.” Sydney snuggled deeper into her pillows. She closed her eyes. She could almost feel him at the other end of the line. She could almost feel his hands, his breath, his kiss. A fierce desire flooded her, its intensity almost scary.

  “What did you do today?” he said.

  She told him about her day. “What did you do?”

  “First I took the kids to church, then we had brunch with my mother and sister and her husband.”

  “That sounds nice.”

  “That was just the beginning. After brunch, Emily wanted to go to a movie with a friend, so I drove them over to the Galleria and then I took Jeffrey to get some new athletic shoes. Do you have any idea how expensive designer athletic shoes are?”

  “I know how expensive mine are.”

  “Do you wear Air Jordans?”

  Sydney laughed. “Not in this lifetime.”

  “Believe me, his new shoes will probably bankrupt me.”

  “Why did you buy them, then?” Sydney said without thinking. As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she realized they must sound like a criticism. “I’m sorry,” she hurriedly added.

  “It’s okay. Before I had kids, I would’ve said the same thing.”

  “So after the shoe shopping, did you finally get to go home and rest?”

  “We came home, but the word rest isn’t in a single parent’s vocabulary,” John said wryly. “We tossed a football around for a while, then we came in and watched the Oilers game.”

  “Aha! So you did get to put your feet up.”

  “Yeah, eventually. Anyway, now the kids are finally in bed, so I called you.”

  “Is that the way your Sundays usually go?” Sydney wondered what it would be like to be part of a family unit like John’s.

  “Pretty much.”

  Sydney searched her mind for something to say. Some of her pleasure in his call had faded because he’d reminded her of the differences in their lives. In their worlds. In their futures.

  “I kept wishing you were with us today, though,” he said.

  “You did?” She smiled.

  “Maybe some Sunday, after your case is over, we can all spend the day together.”

  “I’d like that.” Sydney was thrilled. He wasn’t sorry about last night. He’d been thinking about her. He wanted her to spend time with him and his children.

  “Do you like the zoo?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. I-I’ve never been to the zoo.”

  “Never been to the zoo? Not even as a kid?”

  “No, not even as a kid.”

  “What kinds of things did you do when you were a kid?”

  “Well, my father took me hunting with him. And horseback riding.”

  John didn’t comment for a few seconds, and Sydney wondered what he was thinking. Finally, he said, “Well, I guess I’d better let you get some sleep. Big day tomorrow, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll call you tomorrow night, okay?”

  “Yes.”

  After she gently replaced the receiver, Sydney lay there for a long time and replayed the conversation over and over in her mind.

  And when she finally fell asleep, there was a smile on her face.

  * * *

  When Sydney returned to her office at five o’clock Monday afternoon, Norma gave her an odd, speculative sort of look.

  Sydney frowned. “What’s wrong?”

  “Oh, nothing,” Norma said, but she got up and followed Sydney into her office.

  Sydney stopped dead.

  A dozen delicate blush pink roses sat in a sparkling vase on top of her desk. Shock vaulted through her. John. She walked over to the desk and lifted the accompanying card from its holder. She tore open the little white envelope. It read:

  Good luck this week. I can’t wait to see you again.

  John

  It was the first time in her entire life that anyone had ever sent her flowers. The gift and the message on the card made her feel giddy with pleasure.

  Behind her, Norma cleared her throat.

  Without turning, Sydney said, “Did you want something, Norma?” She was amazed that her voice sounded so normal when she felt anything but.

  “Here are some messages for you,” Norma said.

  Sydney finally turned, hoping her face would not betray her inner elation. She took the messages from Norma’s outstretched hand.

  Norma smiled, her green eyes bright. “The flowers are beautiful,” she said.

  Sydney nodded. “Yes, they are nice, aren’t they?”

  “Is it a special occasion?”

  Sydney gave her secretary a look meant to quell—if not her curiosity—at least her questions. “Not that I know of.”

  Norma’s mouth twitched.

  Sydney wondered if the woman had X-ray eyes. No, that was ridiculous. How could she have any idea what the flowers meant or who they were from?

  After Norma left the room, Sydney lifted the vase and buried her face in the fragrant blossoms. Tenderness and warmth flooded her. It was incredibly sweet of him to send her the flowers. She allowed herself a little while longer to savor the pleasure of the moment, then sighed and replaced the vase on her desk.

  She still had a lot of work to do before she could call it a day. Remembering the messages Norma had given her, she rifled through them.

  Then, for the second time that day, she froze.

  The last message said: John Appleton called at four-thirty. He wondered if his flowers had arrived. I told him they had. Then there was a drawing of a smiley face, followed by Norma’s name.

  * * *

  John decided he wanted to hear Sydney give her final argument on the Montgomery case. He talked to her on Tuesday night, and during the conversation she said she expected to give it the following day. He decided then and there that he would go.

  Early Wednesday morning he called Pete Winsen, the bailiff for Judge Andrews’s court. Pete was an old friend from John’s law school days when John had worked as an unpaid assistant in Judge Macklin’s court, which was across the hall from Judge Andrews’s.

  “Pete, this is John Appleton.”

  “Hey, John, how’s it goin’?”

  They talked for a few minutes, then John said, “I want to hear the final arguments in the Montgomery case. I understand it’s standing-room-only. Can you get me in?”

  “Yeah, sure I can. Lemme think. Whyn’t you wait outside the judge’s chambers at noon, and as soon as Judge Andrews goes to lunch, I’ll let you in the back door. How’s that sound?”

  “Great. Thanks, Pete.”

  At eleven minutes past twelve, the door leading directly into Judge Andrews chambers opened, and the judge walked out. He nodded to John, and John nodded back. A few minutes later, the door opened again, and Pete, a burly ex-cop who’d had to quit the force because of a leg injury, beckoned him inside with a conspiratorial grin.

  “I oughtta sell these seats,” he said. “This is the most popular case on the dockets right now.”

  “I owe you one,” John said.

  John followed Pete through chambers and into the now-empty courtroom.

  “What’s your interest?” Pete said.

  “The plaintiff’s attorney is a friend of mine.”

  “Really? Sydney the Shark?” Pete made a face. “I didn’t think s
he had any friends.”

  John resisted the impulse to jump to Sydney’s defense. Better not to get into a discussion of Sydney.

  “Thanks again,” he said as he took a seat in the back row. He didn’t want Sydney to know he was there. Although he had no delusions about making her nervous, he didn’t want to distract her in any way.

  At one twenty-five, the double doors leading into the courtroom opened, and a crowd of people hurried in, scrambling to get seats. John noticed dozens of press badges and cameras. Yeah, it was a three-ring circus, all right, just as he’d imagined. When even the walls were lined with people, Pete turned away the spectators pushing for entry at the doorway.

  A tall man with a pockmarked face protested. “Why’d he get in and not me?”

  “Them’s the breaks,” Pete said, firmly closing the doors in the man’s face.

  John watched as first the jury, then the legal teams of each side filed in. He felt an unfamiliar stirring of proprietary pride as Sydney, looking preoccupied, entered. She wore a dark gray suit and white blouse and looked every inch the competent attorney. She didn’t look around the courtroom, so John needn’t have worried about her spotting him. She did turn around and speak to a blond woman sitting directly behind the plaintiff’s table, and John wondered who the woman was.

  When Judge Andrews entered the courtroom a few minutes later, the rumble of conversation stopped almost immediately, which didn’t surprise John. Welton Andrews had a reputation for being crotchety, at least where spectators were concerned, and he’d been known to throw everyone out if they disrupted the proceedings in any way.

  Ten minutes later, the afternoon session began. After the judge’s instructions to the jury, he turned to Sydney and said, “Miss Wells? Are you ready to present your argument?”

  “Yes, Your Honor, I am.” Sydney stood, and John noticed she held nothing in her hands. That didn’t surprise him, either. Even knowing her the short time he’d known her, he’d realized Sydney was not the kind of attorney who would need notes. Her arguments would be memorized and presented with no hesitation and no need for reminders.

  She walked slowly toward the jury, her movements measured and controlled. She stood looking at the twelve men and women, letting her gaze go from one end of the jury box to the other.

  The courtroom was very still, as if the crowd held its collective breath, knowing the show that was coming would be a good one.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Sydney began, her voice deceptively soft, “for the past week and a half, we’ve listened to doctors and psychiatrists, social workers and friends of both the McKinseys, Kara Montgomery’s foster parents, and Shanna Montgomery, her birth mother. We’ve also heard Kara herself tell us how she feels about her life and the way she wants to live it. We’ve heard hours of testimony, a lot of it wrenching and emotional. We’ve seen Shanna Montgomery cry and we’ve heard her torment as she begged for the chance to raise her daughter. We’ve also seen the goodness and caring in the McKinseys and the way Kara loves them, and the way they love her. We’ve seen the bonding between them, and the trust.”

  She paused, looking at them intently. “Our emotions have been on a roller coaster, haven’t they? Even I, who represent Kara and her bid to stay with the only real parents she’s ever known, have felt sympathy for Shanna Montgomery. Who wouldn’t feel sympathy for Shanna Montgomery when she so eloquently told us how empty she feels without her daughter? Who wouldn’t feel her agony and her desperation as she described the frustration of not being able to give Kara the kind of home she deserves? Who wouldn’t wonder if maybe Kara should be with her birth mother, especially after Shanna’s last plea was for all of us to understand that no matter what Kara thinks she wants, she belongs to Shanna?”

  Here she paused again, and John knew the crucial moment was coming. Just as a symphony built to a crescendo, or a book built to its resolution, so a good attorney built to the climax of his or her argument.

  Sydney faced the jury squarely. Her voice rang out with conviction. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I thought about that last statement of Shanna Montgomery’s, when she said Kara belonged to her. I thought about it and thought about it, and I’m here to tell you today that that statement is the most revealing thing Shanna Montgomery said to us. If Shanna Montgomery really loved Kara the way she claims to, if she really had Kara’s best interests at heart, she would never have said Kara belonged to her. Because, ladies and gentlemen, no one belongs to anyone else. Kara Montgomery is a person, not a piece of property. For too long, our society has treated children as if they were chattel instead of people with rights.

  “Kara is an intelligent ten-year-old girl who has just as many rights as you or I do. She knows how she feels, and she knows with whom she wants to live. She is not a piece of property to be bartered over or sold. Shanna Montgomery has always treated Kara as her possession, and I’m afraid she always will. When it was inconvenient to keep her, she tossed her away, and now that her circumstances have changed, she wants Kara back.

  “I say Shanna forfeited the right to her child years ago. I say Kara’s rights supersede any that Shanna might still have. I say that in your hearts you must know this, too. Be brave, ladies and gentlemen. The easy choice would be to deny Kara her petition. To force her to return to her mother. The right decision is harder. But I have confidence in you. I think you’ll make that hard decision. I think you’ll show the world that you agree with me, that our children must be accorded the same rights as the adults in this country enjoy.

  “Please, ladies and gentlemen, do it. Do what you know is right in your heart. Show Kara that you respect her as a person. Show her that she has more value than a television set or a piece of land. Let her divorce her birth mother, and allow her to remain with the parents she loves.”

  John could almost hear Sydney’s sigh before she ended with, “Thank you,” and walked briskly back to her seat.

  There was a rustle and buzz in the courtroom before the judge rapped his gavel smartly and said, “Quiet!”

  The buzz subsided.

  “Mr. Randall?” the judge said.

  Rick Randall, the attorney representing Shanna Montgomery, stood. John knew Rick Randall slightly and knew that he was commonly referred to as Slick Rick because he so often managed to win difficult cases. He was a talented speaker with considerable acting skills, a real asset in the courtroom. He also had an all-American look, and John knew juries liked him. Today he wore a gray suit and light blue shirt with a dark blue tie.

  He paced in front of the jury box, smiling at each juror as he did. John looked at Sydney. She was listening to something her assistant was saying to her.

  Rick Randall cleared his throat. “Ladies and gentlemen, despite what my esteemed colleague has said to you, the fact remains that Shanna Montgomery is Kara Montgomery’s mother. Lottie McKinsey is not. And George McKinsey is not Kara’s father.”

  He shrugged. “Those are the facts. Another fact is that the McKinseys made a promise. A sworn, written promise when they became foster parents. A promise they want you to conveniently forget. That promise was that they would never attempt to keep, on any kind of permanent basis, any of the children they contracted to care for. That they fully understood that these children were only in their custody temporarily. They signed that statement, ladies and gentlemen, before witnesses. They took a solemn oath, just as you all did when you became jurors, and now... now.. .they want to pretend that oath was never made.

  “And why?” Rick Randall turned around and pointed his index finger directly at the McKinseys. “I’ll tell you why! Because Lottie and George McKinsey have changed their minds. That’s why. They’ve changed their minds, and they want to renege on their promise.” He turned again to face the jury.

  “Because we all know, ladies and gentlemen, that the plaintiff’s attorney can say this suit was brought about solely because Kara Montgomery wants it, but I maintain—and I know you all would agree with me—that a ten-year-old girl wo
uld never come up with the idea of divorcing her mother unless that idea was planted in her head.

  “Do we really want to allow the McKinseys to adopt Kara? A couple who would swear to one thing and do another? Do we really want to penalize a mother who, through no fault of her own, had to give her child over to other people’s care temporarily? Is that the message we want to send the world? That if a woman does the right thing, gives her child over to the temporary custody of the state, that when the time comes when she can care for her daughter, she will be denied?

  “Do we want the world to believe that the state of Texas rewards liars and punishes those who are truthful? My esteemed colleague would have us believe that Kara Montgomery has certain rights. I agree. She, like all other children, has the right to security, food, a place to live, someone to watch over her and freedom from abuse and cruelty. Her mother made sure those rights were taken care of. I don’t think, however, that Kara Montgomery, or any other ten-year-old child, has the right to make decisions like this one. There’s a reason children aren’t allowed to vote or serve in armies or work in factories. The reason is, they are children. They do not have either the physical or emotional maturity to make their own decisions.

  “Why, if we allowed our children to make all their own decisions, we know exactly what they would be, don’t we? They would decide they didn’t want to go to school, they didn’t want to eat their green beans, and—when crossed—that they didn’t want to live with their parents anymore.”

  Rick Randall made a scoffing sound, and his meaning was clear to everyone in the courtroom, John was sure. “This is ridiculous, ladies and gentlemen. Neither Kara Montgomery nor any other child under the age of eighteen should be allowed to decide how and where they want to live.

  “There is only one right decision in this case. I know it, and you know it. Return Kara Montgomery to her rightful place—with her mother, Shanna.”

  He smiled at the jurors. “Thank you. You’ve been a wonderful jury.”

  A bravura performance, John thought. But he thought Sydney had done an excellent job, as well. Now the jury would decide.

  Although John had planned to leave without talking to Sydney, as he moved toward the exit along with the other spectators, Sydney looked in his direction, and their gazes met.