But I digress from James. He knows, more than anything else, that he's the man I chose--while there was the opportunity to have a choice--to spend the rest of my life with. He knows there were times I wavered, but I always came home to him, even when I loved my husband who was no longer my husband. Mark's parents participate in all of our girls' lives as well as the life of James Mark.
That's right, we did have another child. He's a happy, healthy, bouncy boy who climbed on top of the refrigerator at fifteen months and scooped out most of a chocolate cake for himself. We have a lot more teaching moments with James Mark about the physical world than we did with all the girls combined. Which is something I've learned about men: they are born to hold things, touch things, taste things, and disassemble things and then leave them in pieces for someone else to enjoy. This seems to be the story of their interaction with the physical world, as near as I can tell, and I love them for it. My little girls went inward--feelings, family, mothering, loving--while my little boy goes ever outward: like I said, hold, touch, taste, disassemble, move on. I am so glad we had another. I wouldn't have missed James Mark for anything. Here's the really crazy part about him: he is James' spitting image, as they say. But there are parts of his personality that are Mark all over again: the derring-do, the willingness to saw off the branch he's sitting on just to see what happens, the fearlessness of all things mechanical. But I know, these personality traits aren't derived from Mark, or are they? Maybe some part of me was so deeply touched by this man that I absorbed his genetics and now pass some of him on to my own son. Of course, that's impossible. Until science proves otherwise--which is where my money's riding.
My mothering of Lisa didn't change Lisa nearly so much as it changed me. I went from being a somewhat shy, socially inept person with a giant creative brain that translated well into producing hugely popular TV shows, to being a shy, socially inept person who would kill a man to save my grandchild's life. Do I regret that at all, that I killed Javier? Not for a minute. Not even for a second. I'm the woman in the courtroom who would jump over the rail and claw the eyes out of the man who raped my daughter. Or cut his throat with a jagged seashell and lie back thanking God while he bled to death in the sand next to me. Maybe I always was that person and just hadn't been challenged. Maybe we're all like that. I think mothers are, probably fathers too.
The other day I was waiting outside the freshman Sciences building of the University of Chicago Medical School where Lisa spends her days. It turned out she has a brain capable of absorbing and utilizing massive amounts of information, especially in the sciences and mathematics. She did college in three years at Loyola, maintaining a four-point GPA all the way through. UC Med School bent over backward trying to get her signature on their letter of intent. She says that she's going to become a trauma surgeon. Why? "Because," she says with a laugh, "My middle name is trauma."
She came out of the building at 4:05 p.m., carrying her briefcase and her unopened umbrella. Her raincoat was unbuttoned, and the light rain was quickly matting her blond hair to her head. I watched her through the wash of my windshield wipers as she strolled casually toward our car. She opened the door.
"Why didn't you use your umbrella?" I asked her. "You're soaked."
"Because of poor Mr. Durant."
"Who might that be?"
"He's the patient we lost this afternoon. I'm feeling the rain for him."
We then drove straight home. Elena was waiting for us at the kitchen door like she always does. When her mother entered the door first, the little girl's squeals were loud and long. She was so so happy to have her mom home with her again.
"Was she always with you in Mexico?" I asked Lisa later.
"No, there would be days when I would be with some man. Iggy passed me around. I would then come home to her, but I'd be too exhausted and too brain-dead to be any good for her. Thank God for Juanita, who was always there for her. She's another one who should be rescued."
I had no answer for that.
Our family has moved on from the horror. But there’s one thing close friends continue to ask me. They whisper to me at parties and family gatherings, "Are you safe? Is the cartel done trying to hurt you?"
I cannot tell anyone the truth about what I paid XFBI to do for my family. It was very expensive. It involved their agents in Argentina taking immediate action to locate and confront certain people. Was it successful?
We're at five years and counting now.
Let me tell you why I think we'll make six years.
When a man comes home at night after a long day at work, he wants a hot meal and expressions of gratitude from his family for a job well done. It's never this clear cut, never this obvious, but if the signs and indicators are there, he will keep on coming home to that house at night, and he will stay loyal to the family living there.
With Latin American and South American families it's somewhat different than what North Americans might know. In those Latin cultures, there is an additional place at the table. That additional place many times will be the mother of the man of the house. In America, we put those women into nursing homes at the age where they have reached a particular disutility that we might think of as uselessness. Not so in Buenos Aires, Argentina, where Ishmael Montague hailed from.
In Buenos Aires, the custom is the man's mother at the table. She is revered by the man and sometimes by his wife--though not always--but she is second only to Mary, the Mother of our Lord in the man's pecking order. She is sacrosanct.
Imagine, then, Montague opening my Captain's Club bag and finding inside the one million dollars he had agreed to accept for leaving us alone. Now imagine how the bargain was sealed with that universal currency all men crave: a happy, healthy mother. A happy, healthy woman who represents the first love of any man's life. Imagine how Montague's heart jumped with joy when he saw his mother's picture in the bag.
Now imagine how he felt when he saw a loaded, cocked gun held against her head.
There's the empty place at the table no man wants to see.
THE END
ALSO BY JOHN ELLSWORTH
THADDEUS MURFEE SERIES
THADDEUS MURFEE
THE DEFENDANTS
BEYOND A REASONABLE DEATH
ATTORNEY AT LARGE
CHASE, THE BAD BABY
DEFENDING TURQUOISE
THE MENTAL CASE
UNSPEAKABLE PRAYERS
THE GIRL WHO WROTE THE NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER
THE TRIAL LAWYER (A SMALL DEATH)
THE NEAR DEATH EXPERIENCE
* THADDEUS APPEARS AGAIN IN THE JUSTICE SERIES, BELOW
SISTERS IN LAW SERIES
FRAT PARTY: SISTERS IN LAW
HELLFIRE: SISTERS IN LAW
MICHAEL GRESHAM SERIES
THE LAWYER
SECRETS GIRLS KEEP
THE LAW PARTNERS
CARLOS THE ANT
SAKHAROV THE BEAR
PSYCHOLOGICAL THRILLERS
JANE DOE 235
THE EMPTY PLACE AT THE TABLE
THE JUSTICE SERIES
THE CRIME
EMAIL SIGNUP
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ABOUT JOHN ELLSWORTH
John Ellsworth 2016
USA TODAY Bestselling Author John Ellsworth practiced law while based in Chicago. As a criminal defense attorney John saw up close the devastation families of kidnap victims go through. Some of that experience and knowledge led to his writing this book, The Empty Place at the Table, which deals with the most terrifying challenges faced by a woman whose daughter is abducted.
Since 2014 John has been writing legal, crime, and psychological thrillers with huge success. He has been a Kindle All-Star (Amazon’s selection) many times and he has made the USA TODAY bestsellers’ list.
Reception to John’
s books has been phenomenal; more than 1,000,000 have been downloaded in 40 months. All are Amazon best-sellers.
John lives in Southern California where he makes his way around his small beach town on a yellow Vespa motorscooter and where he writes music and novels for fun.
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ABOUT JODE JURGENSEN
Jode Jurgensen received her undergraduate and master's degrees from San Diego State University and she taught English to college freshmen and seniors for thirty years before taking retirement with her husband and heading south of the border.
Before beginning her writing career, Jode and Ross traveled North America in their Dodge Ram and fifth wheel, developing an interest in lighthouses and serving as lighthouse keepers up and down the east and west coasts of the North American Continent.
Jode began writing in her teens and has written primarily poetry and professional papers on the life and writings of Emily Dickinson. She began writing fiction after retiring.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Copyright © 2017 by John Ellsworth. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Cover design by Nathan Wampler.
Published by Subjudica Press, San Diego.
Amazon ASIN: B06XP4PS95
First edition
Ellsworth, John. The Empty Place at the Table. Subjudica House. Kindle Edition.
AFTERWORD
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Table of Contents
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Also by John Ellsworth
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Afterword
The Empty Place at the Table Page 22