“I came to take a look around.” Rebecca meandered about. Against the far wall near the windows, Amalise had arranged a conference table instead of the sofa and chairs that Rebecca had chosen. But there was the same L-shaped bookcase and the same leather-bound deal books, and the same Lucite mementos.
Here, however, the wall behind the conference table was covered with pictures of Luke and Jude, and Amalise’s mother and father—Maraine and Judge Catoir—at their home in Marianus. And there was a picture of Amalise and Rebecca standing together on the steps of Tulane Law School in their gowns on graduation day six years ago.
“Nice.” Rebecca walked over to the conference table and picked up a small glass sculpture in the center of the table, turning it in her hands, feeling the smooth surface and sharp edges.
“It is nice. Fun to have so much space, isn’t it? And, you were right about not worrying about getting work—Preston’s just asked me to head up a transaction for one of his clients.” Amalise massaged the back of her neck as she looked at Rebecca. “As usual, we’ve got a short deadline. But at least I’ve got plenty to do now.”
Rebecca put the sculpture back down on the table and turned to Amalise. “Do you have a few minutes to talk?”
“Sure. I’ve got a meeting later on this afternoon, but I’ve got time right now. What’s on your mind?”
Rebecca crossed the room, closed the door, and took a seat in a chair before Amalise’s desk. Church bells from Jesuit’s down the street tolled eleven and the bells stirred something in her now. A melancholy feeling; the exuberance she’d felt after the Spin-it interview, and the excitement of the trip to Italy vanished as everything now came swooping back, bringing an acute sense of the dilemma she was facing. The thought of having a child terrified her, she suddenly realized. And those bells just made things worse, taunting her with comfort in a faith that she didn’t have, the comfort of knowing that an absolute truth existed, like Amalise believed.
Right now, she wanted a guide. She needed something like a menu with the choices labeled and stars placed near the favored dishes. She looked down, scratching at the fabric covering the armrest in an absent manner. “I’ve got a free weekend coming up, so Peter and I are taking off this afternoon. We’re going to Italy for a few days.”
“Oh, I love the way you two just take off like that. You’re like Scott and Zelda. It must be fun.” Amalise leaned back with a dreamy look in her eyes. “Sometimes I wish Jude and I could do things like that, just for a day or two.”
Rebecca was silent.
Amalise sat up straight and crossed her arms. “My idea of a weekend off these days is Audubon Park with Luke.” Then she added quickly, “Not that I really mind.”
“I imagine Luke could make a trip to the park unique,” Rebecca said. “Remember when I took him to see the meteorite a few years ago?” Local lore was that the large stone in the middle of a fairway in Audubon Park was a meteorite which had fallen from space long ago. Luke was fascinated with science, especially anything from outer space.
Amalise laughed. “He talks about that all the time. Now he’s begging to go to the NASA museum in Houston. He wants to see the moon rocks.” She rested her elbow on the chair armrest and her chin on her fist.
Luke was a curious child, blooming under Jude and Amalise’s constant love. He was inquisitive and dug into things until he found answers and understood them. Much like Amalise, she thought. Despite the depression, Rebecca smiled at the thought of Luke. He loved to read, and most of what he read was science and biology and physics, not the usual children’s stories.
Amalise brought her back. “But what did you want to talk about? Is something wrong?”
Glancing down at her skirt, Rebecca brushed a piece of lint from the fabric. Yes, she had a problem.
Amalise waited, clasping her hands before her on the desk. Outside the office typewriters clacked, phones rang, footsteps passed.
It took a moment to begin, but once Rebecca began the words spilled out. Amalise listened in silence. Rebecca was vaguely conscious that her voice had turned monotone, as if none of this was real, as if she was telling someone else’s story. She told Amalise of the visit to Dr. Matlock, and the news that she was pregnant.
Looking up, she caught the beginning of Amalise’s smile and held up both hands. With a start, Amalise’s smile died.
Rebecca went on. She told Amalise about the agreement she’d wrung from Peter before they’d married—the promise, so far as she was concerned, that had been at the core of their marriage vows—a pledge of the heart each to the other that there would be no children in their marriage. Never. No children would ever come between them or distract from their careers.
No child would ever be harmed by her again. Like Elise. But that she kept to herself.
“It was our choice,” she said, conscious that her voice was growing thick with gathering tears. She swallowed.
“I understand. Like I said the other day, you had every right to make that choice, you and Peter.” Amalise gave her a knowing look. “Have you told him yet?”
“Not yet.”
Amalise leaned forward, arms on the desk. “Hmm. Well, how are you feeling, physically, I mean?”
Rebecca folded her arms and looked off through the window. “I’m in good health, the doctor says. There’s been a little nausea.” A second passed. “And I’m getting fat.”
“You’re not.” Amalise smiled and gave her a sideways look. “At least, not yet. But I’ll tell you if it happens.”
Rebecca swung her eyes back to her friend, and Amalise added, “And besides, your skin is positively glowing. I don’t know how I missed this.”
“It’s just hormones, Amalise.”
“So, when will you tell Peter?”
She squeezed her eyes shut for an instant. “I guess I’ll have to do that on this trip. But, Amalise, he’s not like Jude. Peter works into the night most evenings. His life is structured; every minute on his calendar is filled.” She hesitated, watching Amalise. “I don’t even know if he’ll be happy about this surprise. This will change our lives completely.”
Vehemently, Amalise shook her head. “I think you’re wrong. You’re underestimating Peter, Rebecca. He’s a good man. He’s—”
“Men have a right to their choices, too, you know.” She drew a long, deep breath. “I know my husband. The moment Peter understands that I’m pregnant, he’ll see me as a different woman. Over time our relationship will change.”
“The word is ‘we.’”
“What?”
“You’re both parents of this child. The operative word is ‘we.’”
“I’ll be the one with all the responsibility.”
Amalise brushed her hand over her eyes. “Oh Rebecca.” She leaned forward, fixing her eyes on Rebecca’s across the desk. “Look. You can do this. There’s a life growing in you, Rebecca. A baby, a gift from God. A special blessing.”
Rebecca ducked her head. “I don’t have your kind of faith, you know. I wish I did. I wish that I had a star to follow, like you.”
“Then look for it! Find it.”
“What?” She looked up.
“If anything should convince you there’s more than we can ever hope to understand, it’s that little spark of new life inside of you.” She held Rebecca’s eyes. “Medically, scientifically, a baby is a miracle. You’re a lawyer. Check out the facts.”
Rebecca leaned her head back against the chair, closing her eyes and remembering the pictures in that pamphlet that Dr. Matlock had given her, imagining the baby inside of her. Suddenly, with the force of lightning new images arose, submerging the beauty of the infant in a raging storm of emotions. She could see the pink bicycle mangled under the wheel of the car. She could hear someone screaming in the distance, she could hear the car horn blaring. And she could see that one little shoe near the curb.
&nb
sp; Her hands flew up to cover her ears; and the images disappeared.
Embarrassed, she looked up. From across the desk, Amalise stared. Amalise would never understand, she thought as she brushed back her hair, lifted it from her neck, and let it fall around her shoulders. No one could ever understand the desperate panic filling her, and the need for something solid to hold onto. Rebecca Downer Jacobs, a woman who’d always prided herself on overcoming emotions, found herself drowning in them now. Suddenly she realized that she had to leave.
Pushing back the chair, abruptly she rose. With a bright smile, she said to Amalise, “Listen, Peter will be here soon.”
Amalise stood, silent, still studying her face.
“Our flight leaves at four, so I’d better get back to my office. I’ve got a lot to do.” Heading for the door, she said over her shoulders, “You know how it is when you’re trying to get away, Amalise. Sydney’s got questions; Rose Marie has questions.”
But Amalise had reached her. Rebecca turned and was swept into a hug. Tears rose and she blinked them back as she rested her head on Amalise’s shoulder for an instant. Just for one moment.
“I’m always here, you know,” Amalise whispered in her ear.
“I know.” Rebecca nodded as she pulled away.
But Amalise pressed both hands on Rebecca’s shoulders, gripping them, holding her eyes. “Talk to Peter while you’re on this trip. Give him some credit, Rebecca. I know you’ll make the right decision. And the moment you feel that baby move, your life will change,” she said.
Rebecca turned away. “That’s just what I’m afraid of.”
11
Peter spent the morning in several hearings, but was able to reschedule most for the following week when he’d be back from the trip. Anything active and moving toward the head of the line he sent on to some of the junior ADAs to handle in the interim.
He was reviewing files, closing the ones to be sent to archives, when Mac showed up. He stood in the doorway, looking at Peter. “Will I be able to get in touch with you over the weekend if anything comes up in the Chasson case?”
“Molly has phone and fax numbers for the hotel. Any luck finding that second nurse?” He set down the file he’d been reading. “The one Glory Lynn says she saw in the delivery room after the baby was born?”
“Clara Sonsten. She’s quit, no longer employed. Got another job. There’s a talkative little receptionist at the clinic though.” He stuck his hands in his pants pockets. “Girl named Melanie Wright. Says she doesn’t know where Clara might have gone and wouldn’t give out her address. But I’ll find her.”
“Wonder what happened there.”
“Could be interesting. At least this might make it easier for her to talk. And get this, Eileen Broussard and Charles Vicari are married, so the receptionist says. I didn’t even think to check those records, but that means we just lost one witness who was in the room.”
“Sure. She’ll hide behind the privilege. Let’s think about that. She could be an accessory; maybe we could work out a deal.” Peter rolled his lips together, thinking this over
“What’s the receptionist say about her?”
Mac tilted his head. “That bird sounds a little strange. She’s a cold one, Melanie says. Came down from Chicago about six months ago, same time Charles Vicari arrived. They both worked at New Hope Hospital up there. New Hope’s a private hospital. She thinks they haven’t been married all that long. Thinks they only got hitched a few months ago.”
“Bad luck. Did you call the hospital?”
“Talked to a couple people up there. But you know how that goes. You have to have a source in a hospital; they’re tighter than clams with employee and health information.”
Mac shrugged and strolled into the office. Stood at the window, arms hooked behind his back, looking out for a moment. He turned, facing Peter. “I’m gonna have to go up there to get anything done. Spent the morning on the phone while they switched me from one office to another. They’ll give you the dates of employment, but not much else.”
“You think the receptionist, this Melanie Wright, knows anything?”
“She might. She’s a talker, too.”
“Good.”
Peter leaned on his elbows and massaged his temples and forehead. “This case is keeping me awake at night.” He wouldn’t have confided this to anyone but Mac. “That photo of the baby in the towel in a freezer. I can’t shake it.”
He dropped his hand on the desk before him and straightened. “It’s hard to imagine what could have happened. Glory Lynn Chasson says she hears that infant cry, and then it disappears. The next time anyone sees it is in a freezer.” He clamped his hands behind his head and looked off, past Mac and through the window. A thin layer of dust coated the glass, making the day and the scene on the river look slightly hazy.
Mac shook his head. “You sure you want this case on your back, Counselor? It’s not too late to get it into the system.”
Peter’s eyes flicked back to Mac. “You bet I want this case. I’m going to find out what happened here. I want to know if the baby was alive, and if it was, whether that doctor, Charles Vicari, intentionally let it die.”
“And why,” Mac added in a laconic tone.
Peter nodded. “And why.”
Alice Jean Hamilton, Dr. Matlock’s nurse, had had a long day. She slipped off her shoes, leaving them in the usual place near the front door of the living room, and walked in stocking feet into the kitchen. Finally, Thursday afternoon had arrived. With a sigh of relief, she filled the teapot with water, set it on the burner and turned on the fire underneath. Then she retrieved the china cup and saucer from the shelf—a delicate flowered pattern, she’d found the set on Magazine Street—and she took the tea bag from the box in the cupboard and set them both down on the counter.
She heaved a sigh as she pulled out a chair at the kitchen table in the corner, and prepared to wait for the water to boil. What a day. Her feet hurt. You’d think a doctor’s office would be easier than working in a hospital. Well, perhaps it was, but the work was boring in comparison, and she was still on her feet all day. Here she merely trudged up and down one short hallway all day long behind the doctor, instead of hustling up and down those long corridors at New Hope where something was always going on.
And the files that Matlock kept. Is this what she’d come to after thirty-seven years of nursing? All in all she’d rather be in hospital pediatrics with the newborns, but . . . that part of her life was over. Done. And just as well. Stretching her legs, she wiggled her toes under the table, glad to be finally off her feet.
Behind her the phone on the wall began to ring. For a moment she considered not answering. Friends from the early years here were long gone by the time she’d moved back. And she had cut all ties but one with people in Chicago and at New Hope. But the phone kept on ringing, so, with an air of resignation and irritated at the interruption, she stood and walked over there.
“Hello?” She leaned one shoulder against the wall.
“Alice?”
Instantly she recognized the voice and tensed, ducking her head to speak directly into the mouthpiece, as if someone else might hear. “Is something wrong?”
“I said I’d call if anyone was asking.”
“Oh no.” Gripping the receiver, she pushed off the wall, pressing the telephone close to her ear. She pressed her hand against her forehead, looking at the floor.
The voice on the other end said nothing.
Seconds passed and then Alice said, “I’d hoped . . . Well all right then, tell me.”
“Listen, calm down, it’s not that bad. I was on desk duty this afternoon and took a call. I think it was the police down there, Alice. He said he was a detective something or other with the Jefferson Parish Sheriff’s department. Down there near New Orleans.”
“Did he ask for me by name?”
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“No. Let me finish. He wasn’t looking for you. He wanted to know about Dr. Vicari. And Eileen.”
Alice was silent, struggling to put the pieces together in her thoughts. What did Charles Vicari have to do with New Orleans? The last she’d seen of him was in Chicago, at New Hope Hospital.
“Are you there?”
“Yes. Yes, I’m here.” The room seemed to sway as she dealt with the idea of Charles Vicari in the vicinity. Leaning back against the wall, another worry took seed. Dr. Matlock. What would happen to her job if he knew? Those doctors all stuck together, she knew. She’d lose her job if he found out, of course. Nobody wants to be involved with trouble. She wondered if he’d go after her license, too.
She took a deep breath. “You say he didn’t ask for me. Do you know why he called?”
“Like I said, he wanted information on the doctor, and Eileen Broussard, too. How long they were here, things like that. I told him I couldn’t give out any information. Told him to call personnel. Say, did you know those two got married?”
Alice said nothing.
The voice turned soothing. “Look. Whatever’s going on, he didn’t ask a thing about you. There’s no way anyone could know, so just stay calm. I’m just letting you know someone called about Vicari, like you asked—like I said I would.”
Alice nodded. Then remembering her manners, she said, “I appreciate it.”
Slowly her lungs filled again with air. Her grip on the phone relaxed. “Thanks for letting me know. And you’ll call if anyone asks again? About either of them, or if anyone mentions me, or if you find out what’s going on?”
“Sure. You know I will.”
“Okay. Thanks again.” She hesitated. “Really, thank you, sweetie.”
“You’re welcome.”
She hung up the phone, and stood looking across the room at the tea pot on the stove. Just then it began to whistle. Just in time—she could really use a hot cup of tea right now.
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