by John Decure
We came inside. The living room was nearest, and I thought about taking her over to the couch, but before I could even flip on a light, she kissed me. Then I kissed her back. Eventually, we made our way into the room.
I brushed a row of soft gold behind her ear. “I don’t even know why I’m here,” she said. “When I saw you in my father’s study, saw you stand up to him like that . . .” She nuzzled against my shoulder. “Knew I had to see you again.”
I remembered the night of Jackie’s impromptu bash. Had he stayed in Africa an extra couple of weeks, this was how my evening with Phoebe might have ended. But then, nothing else would have been the same. Without Jackie, I would not have found Dr. Weinstein’s nurse in time. I would never have taken the stand against Bill Davenport that had delivered his daughter to me now.
Yet so much more had happened in these early days of fall. Something fundamental about me had changed. This was our moment, yet it felt like the past.
Phoebe pulled back. “What’s wrong? You’re holding me like you’re somewhere else. What did . . .” She studied my face. “Have you met someone else?”
“Hey, wait, you broke up with me,” I said. “Remember?”
She let go of me. “That was unfair. I’m sorry. God, I’m such an idiot.”
“That’s not it anyway.” I let go of her and walked to the front window. Phoebe followed me. I stared through the glass at nothing. “I . . . don’t know.”
“I’m sorry about what I said that night at the party,” Phoebe said.
“No, you were right,” I said. “You had me pegged.”
She took my hand. “I want to be with you, J. I . . . need you.”
“Pheebs,” I said. “I don’t know. It’s just . . . I’m sorry.”
Phoebe started to cry, and I held her for a time, so tightly I almost wasn’t breathing. I knew that I loved her, but it was different somehow, not what I’d expected.
“I’ll miss you,” she said. “I know I will.”
“Then call me. I’m still your friend.”
Outside, Max let out a bark that let me know he didn’t appreciate going without his dinner tonight. “Oh Christ,” I said, “what time is it?”
Phoebe brightened. “You got a dog?” she said. “Can I meet him?”
I smiled and kissed her forehead. “Are you insured?”
When I called Rosemary Egan as my first witness the next morning, Gilbride had only to observe the looks of astonishment on Corwin and Kitty Danforth’s faces to know he had to do something, even risk being thrown out of Foley’s courtroom, to block her testimony.
“Uh, Your Honor,” he said, “I don’t mean to interrupt, but would it be possible to put this matter over until another day?”
Sure, I thought, to give him enough time to approach the witness and either buy her silence or scare her off.
“You see,” Gilbride said, “my clients have a commitment later this morning, a medical appointment for the baby, and—”
“The witness is ready to testify, Your Honor,” I said. “Mr. Gilbride has no business—”
“Calm down, Mr. Shepard.” Foley was looking at Gilbride. “No sir, you heard me yesterday, we will finish this trial now. And you will remain silent during the proceedings or you will really need to have your checkbook handy.” Gilbride shrank back onto his bench, shaking his head.
Rosemary Egan moved with the low center of gravity of a weightlifter. Her features were coarse, but her skin was fair and her blue eyes were inviting and kind. She wore a pea-green sweater over a yellow, high-necked blouse and a matching knee-length pleated skirt. Her shoes were flat-soled, the orthopedic kind that nurses wear, the patent leather polished white many times over, but dull just the same. She sported no makeup, her graying hair pulled back and braided into a bun. I guessed her to be around sixty. She could have passed for an off-duty Irish Catholic nun, I thought—very plain, but serious. When she stood to take her oath, her back was slightly stooped as if the years of hoisting invalids from their beds had taken a toll on her lower vertebrae.
I took a final glance at my notes from Kitty Danforth’s testimony. Sue Ellen smiled benignly. “God bless her,” she whispered.
“Let’s see what she can tell us,” I said. My stomach churned on cue. I pulled out my chair and stood again.
Foley sat up and nodded to me. “Proceed.”
I began with some simple questions to get my witness talking comfortably, which she did without hesitation. “How long have you been a nurse, Ms. Egan?” I asked at the end of the background questioning.
“Oh, let’s see, forty, forty-one years.”
“A long time,” I said. “And how long have you been with Dr. Weinstein?”
“Ten years, give or take a month.”
“So you were in his full-time employ the last several years?” She agreed. I turned and faced the gallery. “Do you recognize the woman in the front row of the spectator gallery, Ms. Egan?”
“Yes, yes I do,” she said slowly. “Kitty Danforth. That’s her husband, next to her.” She studied Gilbride momentarily. “And that man, next to Mr. Danforth, I’ve seen him too. Can’t quite place him, though.” Gilbride must have looked insulted, because Egan visibly tried harder to place him. “I know!” she said. “No . . . hmm,” she muttered, doubtful again. “Are you the man who came to the children’s ward last Christmas dressed as Santa?” she said to Gilbride.
Those in the gallery laughed. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” Rosemary Egan said, realizing she’d goofed.
Gilbride stared at the floor, arms crossed. “Go on, Mr. Shepard,” Foley said.
“Were you the nurse who attended the birth of Kitty Danforth’s child, Andrew, about two years ago?”
“Objection, relevance,” Lily Elmore said.
Foley raised his eyebrows as if impressed that Lily could posit a viable legal objection. “Overruled.”
“Yes, yes I was,” nurse Egan said. “So sad. Poor baby Andy.”
“What do you remember?”
“I’ll never forget that day. We were equally concerned about mother and child. Poor Andy was stillborn. So sad.” She shook her head.
Behind me, Kitty Danforth blew her nose into a hankie.
“Did Mrs. Danforth suffer certain complications?” I asked.
“Objec—” Gilbride started to say, then caught himself.
“Mr. Gilbride, I’m warning you!” Foley said.
“I’ll object, Your Honor,” Belinda said. “This is doctor-patient privileged information.” She was right, and Foley sustained the objection.
“Let’s talk about the birth of Sue Ellen Randall’s child, Nathan,” I said. “You attended that childbirth too, May sixth, correct?” Rosemary Egan agreed. “Tell me, were there any complications attendant to that childbirth?”
“Same objection,” Belinda said. “This is privileged information. It’s unethical for this witness to come in here and divulge personal, medical secrets in this way. It’s wrong.”
“Your Honor,” I said, “the doctor-patient privilege in the birth of Nathan Randall is between my client and the doctor. It has nothing to do with Mrs. Danforth. The Evidence Code says the holder of the doctor-patient privilege is the patient. That’s my client.” I looked at Sue Ellen. “On my client’s behalf, I waive that privilege.”
This time I was right.
“Overruled,” Foley said. “You may answer the question, Ms. Egan.”
“There were complications.”
“What, in your estimation, brought on those complications?”
“Objection!” Belinda was up again. “The question calls for an expert opinion and this witness is not an expert.”
“Forty-one years as a nurse, Your Honor.” I held out my palms. “I’m only asking her what she observed.”
“Then ask it that way!” Foley said. He turned to the witness. “What did you observe when you attended Nathan’s birth, madam?”
“Well,” she said, “Mrs. Randall had her labor induced
on the sixth of May. It seemed to cause a reaction in her.”
“What kind of reaction?” I asked.
“She didn’t dilate right away. When the contractions started, she screamed. I don’t remember her exact words, just that it hurt, it hurt terribly. She was beside herself.”
“Did you have any idea what was wrong?”
“No.” Egan looked to be deep in reflection. “Sue Ellen was so upset the whole day. She was certain her due date was a week later, around the middle of May. Mrs. Danforth and Dr. Weinstein worked on her a lot that morning, insisting she was wrong. I could tell she wasn’t convinced.”
“Why was Mrs. Danforth so adamant about Sue Ellen giving birth on the sixth of May?”
“She told me—”
“Objection, hearsay,” Belinda cried.
“No,” Foley said, “this is proper rebuttal of Mrs. Danforth’s testimony. And I want to hear it. Overruled.”
Rosemary Egan nodded to acknowledge Foley’s wishes. “She told me they’d been invited to the White House, to a big party of some kind. No, a ball, she said it was a ball. They were invited by the president of the United States. ‘Of the United States,’ she told me, as if I didn’t know what ‘president’ she was talking about.” Egan tried for a little eye contact with Foley, but he resisted.
“She went out of her way to make a point with you about that?” I asked.
“Oh yes.” Egan looked at the gallery and the Danforths. “She said it like it was nothing, just another lovely evening for people who were used to lovely evenings. But I could tell she was very proud.”
“Was Sue Ellen present when Kitty Danforth said these things about the White House ball?”
She shook her head adamantly. “Oh, no. Mrs. Danforth even told me not to say a word to the girl.”
“Why not?”
“Well, she didn’t want to upset her, of course.”
“Of course,” I said. “Did she say why they were invited?”
“Her husband”—she nodded at Kip Danforth. “He was some kind of mucky-muck with the Republicans. Gave a lot of money to the right people during the last election.” She paused and eyed the Danforths.
“Did she say anything else?”
Rosemary Egan’s face was wrought with concentration. “She said they’d earned their spot on the dance floor, and no stupid country girl was going to stop the music.”
I picked up her cue. “So she got Sue Ellen to believe the baby was late and should be delivered on the sixth.”
“Yes,” Egan said.
“Even though the party wasn’t until Saturday, the eleventh?”
“She said her dress cost eight thousand dollars, but it needed fitting and tailoring. That was going to take at least a day, maybe two.” She blinked back her disbelief. “Eight thousand dollars for a dress that didn’t even fit.”
“What else?” I said.
“Her shoes weren’t the right ones. Husband’s tuxedo had problems of some kind, I don’t know what. And she wanted to go a few days early to see the sights. I’m originally from Baltimore. We talked about the cherry blossoms in spring, the time of year.”
I waited a few seconds to let the testimony register with Foley. “So,” I said, “she couldn’t be tied up at the hospital if she was going to make this wonderful party?”
Egan smiled. “You can’t be two places at once.”
“Regarding the terrible pain Sue Ellen experienced the day she gave birth, how did Mrs. Danforth respond?”
“I told you Sue Ellen was upset,” she said, “and she was very upset about the pain, too. She wanted medication. Begged for it. In my experience, an epidural would’ve done the trick.”
“Why didn’t she get one?”
Egan looked at the gallery. “Mrs. Danforth wouldn’t allow it.”
“You mean she wouldn’t pay for it?”
“She said the girl was being ‘dramatic.’ Said Sue Ellen had spent enough of their money already. Talked to Dr. Weinstein about it, too. He directed us to discuss the advantages of natural childbirth without medication if Sue Ellen asked again. Which she did, about every ten minutes, she was in such agony. I finally called the anesthesiologist myself and gave the order.” Choking back the emotion. “Didn’t care if they fired me.”
“Did it help?” I asked.
She rolled her eyes. “She never got it in time. Had Nathan while we were waiting. Screamed for twenty minutes solid. I still get the chills thinking about it.”
I let those last words sink in slowly on Foley before I spoke. “Kitty Danforth didn’t like Sue Ellen Randall, did she?” I said.
“Objection,” Belinda said. “Irrelevant. Calls for speculation.”
“I’m just asking for Ms. Egan’s impressions based on her perceptions,” I told the judge.
“Overruled. You may answer,” Foley instructed the witness.
“It was like this,” Egan said, “she liked her, but she didn’t like her. She liked Sue Ellen fine to her face, but behind her back she could hardly stand the girl.”
“Are you saying she deliberately created false impressions in Sue Ellen to get her to give up her baby?”
Egan folded her hands in front of her as if she was tired of stating the obvious. “How would you feel if the new mother of the child you were bringing into the world—your child—cared more about a party than she did about you?”
“Thank you. No further questions.”
Belinda stood and straightened the hem of her tailored suit. “Ms. Egan, you weren’t privy to the terms of the adoption agreement between the Danforths and the Randalls, were you?”
“No, no I wasn’t,” Egan admitted.
“So, you have no idea of how much financial support the Danforths had already given to Sue Ellen Randall before Nathan was born, do you?”
“No.”
“You don’t know whether Sue Ellen had taken unfair advantage of the Danforth’s generosity, before then?”
Rosemary Egan lowered her gaze. “No, I don’t.”
“Now let’s say for argument’s sake that Sue Ellen did take advantage of the Danforths, money-wise. Let’s say the Danforths and their lawyer were worried that Sue Ellen was using them for their money, with no intention of actually consenting to the adoption. Under these circumstances, do you think it would be fair for Mrs. Danforth to be suspicious when Sue Ellen began demanding an expensive pain medication?”
“The girl was truly suffering, Miss. I was there.”
“But if Kitty Danforth had reason to believe Sue Ellen was a fraud . . .”
“I follow your meaning,” Egan said. “If that were the case, I could see why they’d look at the need for one. But that doesn’t mean the girl didn’t need—”
“Thank you, Ms. Egan, you’ve answered my question,” Belinda said. “Now, you testified about what happened May the sixth, about Mrs. Danforth and the doctor’s insistence on inducing Sue Ellen Randall’s labor. Ms. Egan, if Dr. Weinstein was wrong about Sue Ellen’s due date, wouldn’t there be some risk to the child’s health, if labor was induced early?”
“Most certainly. Any number of—”
“Thank you, Ms. Egan. Now, you were there, a trained nurse who’d seen thousands of childbirths. Tell us, Ms. Egan, wasn’t Nathan born perfectly healthy and happy?”
“Well, yes, but his mother—”
“He wasn’t underweight?” Rosemary Egan shook her head no. “Had no breathing problems? Vital signs were good?”
“That’s right,” Egan said, “but I don’t think the doctor was right to induce labor and risk—”
“You’re not a doctor are you, Ms. Egan?” Belinda said.
“Objection, argumentative,” I said.
“Overruled.”
“No, I’m not a doctor,” Egan said slowly.
“And yet, here you are, contradicting the opinion of the doctor you worked for, even though the child was born in perfect health.” Belinda frowned. “Does Dr. Weinstein even know you’re here?”
>
“Objection, what’s the relevance?” I asked Foley.
“Sustained.”
Belinda paused to look at some notes on the table. “How long did you say you’d worked for Dr. Weinstein?”
“Ten years. No, ten and a half. Until this July.”
“What happened in July?”
“I retired,” Egan said, looking straight at Foley.
“Retired, huh?” Belinda paced behind counsel table. “You’re sure the doctor didn’t fire you?” Rosemary Egan blushed.
“Objection!” I shouted.
“Withdrawn,” Belinda said, gliding back to her seat. “I have nothing more for this witness.”
The witness was excused. The bailiff stretched and arched his back in his swivel chair, clawing at the ceiling. Shelly Chilcott propped her chin on a foot-high stack of tomorrow’s files on her desk. I saw Jimmy Nicholsen grin secretively among his cohorts as if he were pleased with Belinda’s expedient work on cross. Foley’s jaded countenance seemed set in stone.
“What’s next?” Sue Ellen whispered to me.
I nodded in the direction of the empty witness stand.
Twenty
Sue Ellen Randall told her story well on direct, having obsessed for months, by now, over the many mishandled details of the adoption. What the Danforths, Lois Nettleson and the social worker had seen as a cold calculation on Sue Ellen’s part began, instead, to present as a deep reluctance to give up Nathan in the very first place. Following the county’s case, her words brought the adoption breakdown their witnesses described into much sharper focus. As I listened, a shift occurred inside me. I began to believe in her.
“So why did you even enter into the adoption, if you didn’t want to give up Nathan?” I asked.
Sue Ellen brushed her hair behind her ear. “We were so poor, Mr. Shepard. Still are. Ty was out of work. His prospects weren’t lookin’ so great. I knew the adoption would help us at least make ends meet.”
“Who’s idea was it to give up the baby?”
“It was ours.” She regarded Ty with forgiving eyes. “My husband mighta brought it up first, but the truth is, we both made the decision.”