“Be seated,” the court clerk calls. The attorneys again follow the instruction.
Allerton peers down from the bench. “Someone want to tell me what this is about?”
Both David and the woodchuck are instantly on their feet like racehorses jockeying for position out of the gate. Allerton rolls his eyes. “Okay, children, let me hear from the movant first.”
The woodchuck begins a Dickensian tale of woe about his client’s repeated attempts to discover critical information from and about David’s key expert who is expected to testify at trial only a few short weeks away and about David’s delays and, finally, the coup de grâce, David’s failure to turn over a set of documents “absolutely essential” to the trial.
David jumps up to respond but Allerton shoots him down. “Not yet, Mr. Colden. Precisely how much delay was there, Mr. Jared?” Allerton questions David’s adversary.
“Excuse me, Your Honor?” Jared asks.
“You said that Mr. Colden delayed in getting you documents. Quantify that for me. Weeks? Months?”
“Well the exact time… I… ur… I don’t really think…” Jared’s colleague hands him a note and he quickly reads it. “Four days, Your Honor.”
“And at that time Mr. Colden had requested an extension, had he not?”
“I believe so, Your Honor, but—”
“You ‘believe so,’ Mr. Jared? ‘I believe’ is for the tooth fairy and Santa Claus. We’re here because of your sanctions motion. That’s a very serious motion. I think you’d better do a damn sight more than ‘I believe.’ Did he request an extension or not?”
“Yes, he did,” Jared answers. Jared clearly didn’t expect things to go this way, and he isn’t happy about it.
“And did Mr. Colden tell you why he wanted the extension?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Oh, you can do better than that, Mr. Jared. Do you know or not?” The word not echoes in the otherwise quiet courtroom.
Jared’s colleague hands him another note. Jared scans the note quickly. “I believe—”
“Pardon me?” Allerton snaps.
“I mean, yes, we know he stated that he needed more time because his wife had died… unfortunately.” Jared then turns to David. “My condolences, of course, for your loss.” The woodchuck’s offer of sympathy, made for the first time during a proceeding to sanction my husband, is almost comical.
Allerton apparently doesn’t see the humor. “You are correct in your facts, Mr. Jared. Mr. Colden’s wife died following a long and cruel illness. And so he asked you for a brief extension and you said what?”
“Mr. Colden is part of a very large firm, Your Honor. Surely there are other capable lawyers who could have—”
“I asked you about your response to him, sir. Did you understand my question?”
After several seconds of hesitation, Jared answers weakly, “We declined the request.”
“Why did you do that, sir?”
“The schedule was—”
“I see. And then there’s the matter of the documents you say Mr. Colden is withholding, correct?” Allerton asks as he picks up a document from the pile in front of him. “What document in particular was missing?”
Jared slides into a well-rehearsed response. “Mr. Colden’s office would be—”
“Are you aware of the existence of a specific document that has been improperly withheld or not?” The frustration is dangerously clear in Allerton’s voice.
“I think… Not a specific document, no,” Jared finally concedes.
“The reason why I ask, Mr. Jared, is because I have an affidavit here from a Ms. Jerome that includes her sworn statement that they have reviewed everything again and double-checked with the expert and—get this—there are no other documents. Period.” Allerton flips through the pages of Chris’s sworn statement. “Have you seen this affidavit, Mr. Jared?”
Jared looks at his younger colleague, who nods slightly. “Yes, we’ve seen it,” Jared admits.
“Well then, is Ms. Jerome just lying? Are you accusing her of perjury?”
“I believe she is mistaken,” Jared answers.
Allerton makes a show of looking through the papers on his desk. “Well then, where’s your answering affidavit? Where’s the document where you lay out your proofs why you believe she’s wrong—or worse, has committed perjury? I can assure you, if you have proof that Ms. Jerome has lied to this court, then I will not rest until she’s disbarred. I’ve done it before. I will not abide liars in my courtroom. Just give me the proof.”
“We just received the affidavit last night. We have not had time—”
“According to the fax stamp on the document, you got the affidavit yesterday at three twenty-two PM. That’s not night.”
“I was out of the office at another engagement when it came in and I didn’t see—”
“But you’re part of a very large firm, Mr. Jared,” Allerton answers. “Surely there are other capable lawyers who could have drafted some response.” Even Jared knows enough at this point to keep his mouth shut. “Now, I also have before me Mr. Colden’s application to adjourn the trial date in this matter.”
“We oppose that application because—”
That’s as far as Jared gets before Allerton snarls, “I think I’ve heard enough from you today, sir.” Jared sits down reluctantly. “It seems to me, Mr. Jared, that with all of your ‘I believes’ and ‘I thinks’ you might be well served with some additional time to learn the ins and outs of your case. I wouldn’t want to deprive you of the opportunity to present every learned argument to the court.”
The woodchuck pops up again, and I’m reminded of the arcade game Whac-A-Mole. “But Your Honor, the trial date is set. We have witnesses flying in from all over the world. My client expects—”
Allerton shoots Jared a chilling smile. “I understand,” he says. And then—whack! “Perhaps you’d like to bring your client into my courtroom, Mr. Jared. I’d be more than happy to explain to him the rationale for my ruling and the role your conduct played in it. Shall we adjourn until noon then, so you can get your client?”
Jared’s face could not be any redder. “That won’t be necessary, Your Honor. I’m sure my client will understand that the court has a very busy calendar.”
“I had thought so. I’m putting the trial over for three months. My clerk will issue a revised scheduling order. Good day to you all.”
The clerk calls, “All rise,” and then Allerton is gone. Jared and his colleague race out of the courtroom—either to share the bad news with their client or to avoid having to face David in his victory. Chris, David, and Daniel watch them scurry out. “Like big rats, don’t you think?” Chris asks.
“Not like rats,” David answers. “Once you get past the tail thing, rats are actually okay.”
David gives congratulatory handshakes to his team, but in light of the win he just obtained, his mood seems subdued. Although David’s work life just got a whole lot better, I’m not at all certain he really wanted the luxury of empty time. The pressure of a trial would have been just the thing to perpetuate the fantasy that it was all business as usual. Now there would be more freedom from which David would need to escape.
Chris must sense the same reserve. “That was priceless. You can smile now.”
“Let me buy you guys lunch at Rizzo’s,” David offers. “Go on ahead and order appetizers. I need to make a few calls first.”
Chris searches David’s face with concern and then shrugs. “Don’t be too long.” Chris and Daniel quickly pack their materials and leave. As they walk out, I can hear Dan enthusiastically recapping the blow-by-blow of the proceeding to Chris as if she hadn’t just seen the whole thing.
David, now alone in the courtroom, collapses into his chair—partly in relief, partly in exhaustion, and partly in sadness. He just sits there, his eyes moving from the judge’s bench, to the jury box, to the now vacant opposing counsel table, and then to his wedding band. It’s like he’s trying to connect dots t
hat refuse his desire for order and symmetry.
In a few minutes, Judge Allerton, this time dressed in just a suit, returns alone to the courtroom. David instantly jumps to his feet and starts collecting his papers. “I’m sorry, Judge. I’ll be out of here in a moment.”
“No need to get up, Mr. Colden. I’m just getting a few pleadings,” Allerton says as he moves toward the bench and starts shuffling some pages.
David remains standing. “I want to thank you for… you know… being understanding of my situation.”
Allerton looks up from what he’s doing. “Please don’t thank me for treating you like a human being. I would’ve hoped that our profession had not sunk so low that common courtesy is actually shocking.”
“Perhaps not shocking, but certainly appreciated.”
Judge Allerton nods in understanding. “August 12, 1997, ten thirty-seven PM.”
“Excuse me?”
“August 12, 1997, ten thirty-seven PM. The exact time my wife died.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.”
“I can tell you that it does get better. Not a day goes by when I don’t think of her, but it does get better.”
David’s lips begin to tremble. Judge Allerton looks away and quickly pulls together his papers. “Good luck to you, Mr. Colden. And do try to settle this case. I’m sure you now have better ways to spend your time.”
“Thank you, Judge,” David whispers back as Allerton exits through the door behind the dais.
At about the same time that David leaves the courthouse, Sally enters Joshua’s examination room carrying Skippy under her arm.
“This is a nice surprise,” he says. “Everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine.”
“How’s it working out with David?”
“I take back every horrible thing I’ve ever said about you.”
“I wasn’t aware of any, but that’s good to know.”
“I owe you a big one.”
Joshua shakes his head. “You deserve to have something work out for you for once.”
“I will give you an ‘amen’ to that.”
“So, what can I do for you?”
“I was wondering what you can tell me about this guy,” Sally says as she gently places Skippy on the exam table.
Joshua takes Skippy and playfully lifts him into the air. Skippy seems to enjoy this. “You know about his condition, right?”
“I know it’s an issue with his heart, but David was a little fuzzy on details.”
Joshua nods. “I was there the day Helena found him and worked him up.” Joshua takes the stethoscope from around his neck and listens to Skippy’s heart. Skippy sits patiently through this; he’s been examined by Joshua many times. “His left ventricle is about half the normal size.”
“Is there maybe something more I could be doing? Clifford’s getting very attached to him.”
Joshua returns the stethoscope to his neck and checks the color of Skippy’s gums as he talks. “It’s structural. He’s doing the best with what the Lord gave him. I’m sorry, Sally.”
“And so, as he gets older…”
Joshua’s examination moves on to Skippy’s ears and eyes. “Yes, his heart will get weaker. It’s already enlarged—trying to do the work it can’t do. He’ll eventually go into heart failure. We’ll be able to up his Lasix and increase his digitalis for a while at that point, but it’s a losing battle.”
“No surgical option?”
“No, not even if he were human. Too much damage. He’d never survive.”
“Of course Cliff would’ve had to pick a dying dog,” Sally mutters.
“I’m not surprised. There was always something a little bit special about him,” Joshua says as he rubs Skippy’s lush black fur. Joshua accidentally touches Sally’s hand and he quickly moves it away. “Helena said he was the perfect little husband.”
“It’s his eyes,” Sally offers. “There’s an intelligence there that’s hard to ignore, don’t you think?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“How long do we have with him?”
“He keeps surprising me. Today he looks pretty good, but I guess he can turn quickly. In the end, it will be a quality-of-life decision,” Joshua says, unable to keep the sadness from his voice. I know Joshua dreads the thought of having to make that decision yet again. “I only hope Skippy will make it clear when it’s time.”
Sally lifts Skippy off the table onto the floor, where he sits at Sally’s feet, watching the conversation. “I’m so damn tired of having to say good-bye.”
“I understand.” At this moment Joshua must be thinking of his own good-byes—to his marriage, to me, to his little boy.
Sally searches Joshua’s face and settles on his eyes before he turns away again in embarrassment. “Yes,” she says, “I believe you do.”
“For whatever small consolation it’s worth, I don’t think Skippy shares our conception of his disease. I bet he feels today pretty much like he felt yesterday and the day before. He gets up, eats, plays, maybe chases a chipmunk or two. That’s his day. He’s living. He’s not waiting.”
Just then a giant Newfoundland blasts through the door and bounds into the exam room with a harried Eve close behind.
“I’m so sorry, Dr. J,” Eve says breathlessly. “He just got away from me.”
The Newfie jumps on Joshua and they are nearly face-to-face. The dog lets out a deep “woof” and then licks Joshua’s nose. He giggles like a little boy and his entire face opens up. Sally laughs, too. Skippy, though, is not amused at the intrusion, and he growls.
“It’s okay, Eve. I’ve got him,” Joshua manages to say as he struggles to get the big dog’s paws off his shoulders.
“It looks to me like the other way around,” Sally says, still laughing.
“Let me introduce you to Newfie Pete. Another of Jimmy’s rescues.”
“Is he looking for a home, too?”
“No way,” Joshua says as the dog gives his face a good coating of drool. “You’re never leaving me, right, buddy?” Joshua hugs the dog’s huge head.
Moments later, calm is restored and Joshua escorts Sally and Skippy out of his exam room. They pass the “holding room”—a wall of cages filled with cats and dogs in various states of injury or distress. The kittens that Jimmy had found are huddled together in a few cages.
“Tiny Pete?” she asks.
“You even remembered his name?”
“It’s been tough to get that one out of my mind.”
“He’s doing pretty well.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“And what about the hard sell. How he needs a home, how he shouldn’t have to spend any more time in a cage. You know the routine.”
“I wouldn’t do that with you. I figure if you’re not taking him, then there’s a good reason.”
Sally walks with Joshua and Skippy to the front entrance of the hospital in silence. Her face is a mask. She may be thinking of other cats and dogs she has known and buried over her life, or her husband, or Clifford, or she may simply be thinking about lunch. I just can’t tell. I get the sense that, somewhere along the way, Sally has become truly expert at hiding what is most important to her just in case someone may be watching from the shadows.
At the front door, Sally turns her focus again on Joshua and gives him a knowing smile. “Oh, you are good, Joshua Marks. I’ll give you that. Oh, yes, you’re very good. The ‘no-sell’ sell. Almost had me, too.”
“Apparently not good enough, though,” Joshua says with a mischievous grin and a suggestion of hope in his voice.
“We’ll see.” Sally waves good-bye and walks with Skippy to her car.
Joshua watches her go. “Happy Thanksgiving,” he calls after her, but Sally is already in the car and doesn’t turn back.
10
Thanksgiving. I completely forgot about it.
Thanksgiving for us had always been something of an odd holiday. My father died in my last
semester of vet school, and my mother joined him during the second year of our marriage. David’s parents were long gone by the time I’d met him. With no children of our own and no parents, David and I couldn’t even pretend we had a “family” in the “Hallmark Thanksgiving” sense.
There was never a roast turkey at our table because I was a vegetarian and David, out of respect for me, did not eat meat in the house. During the first few Thanksgivings of our relationship, I tried every type of fake turkey, even going so far one year as molding fermented tofu and mashed potatoes into the form of the giant bird. The reality, however, is that meat tastes like meat and nothing else does, so eventually I gave up. Instead, Thanksgiving dinner at our house was all about carbohydrates—mashed potatoes, stuffing, yams, bread—a vegetable or two, and very good wine.
Depending on their plans in any given year, we would force this carb-fest on Joshua, Liza and whoever she happened to be with at the time, Chris and her husband, Martha and her husband, and any single junior associate on David’s team who had no place to go. These were humor-filled gatherings that made us feel like our house was full of life. It was that feeling of life that made us thankful.
Eventually on Thanksgiving night, once all the guests had left, we would clear the table and do the dishes together, giving the dogs, cats, and Collette whatever remained of the food. Exhausted and wine-buzzed, we would settle into the den with the dogs and watch Homeward Bound—that sappy movie about two dogs and a cat who get separated from their family and must overcome perils and obstacles to find their way home.
Homeward Bound was our It’s a Wonderful Life, our It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown. We knew all the dialogue by heart and could repeat every scene. No matter how late it was, no matter how tired we were, regardless of whether David had to be at work the next day or I was on call, we would sit through all eighty-four minutes of the movie surrounded by our creatures. For this, too, we were thankful.
Seeing David enter our house now, looking weary and preoccupied, I’m certain that he also has been thinking about Thanksgiving. My husband, though, faces the Thanksgivings of his widowed future while I dwell on the Thanksgivings of our married past.
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