Ties That Bind

by Marie Bostwick

  33

  Margot

  Arnie’s office was a mess. I counted no less than four abandoned cups of cold coffee sitting in different spots around the room, not including the one he held clutched between his knees as he used both hands to riffle through a drawer in the gray metal filing cabinet. His desk was covered with papers, file folders, manila envelopes, pens, unopened mail, a section of a newspaper, and several photographs of the accident scene.

  While Arnie continued his search, I quietly slid one of the manila envelopes over the pictures. I didn’t need to see them—the skid marks on the road, the mangled guardrail, my sister’s car lying on its side shrouded in snow and half-hidden by the branches of the fallen tree that had stopped it from sliding even farther down the embankment—all those images were burned in my mind. I didn’t need pictures to remind me.

  Arnie jerked his head up. “Don’t touch anything! I have a system. I know where everything is.”

  Considering that he’d spent the better part of ten minutes searching for one file, I sort of doubted that, but I didn’t say anything. Arnie gets a little crazed before a court date—partly because he’s not nearly as organized as he thinks he is, but mostly because he cares so much. Olivia’s impending discharge from the hospital has moved our court date higher on the docket and kicked Arnie into high gear. Until he is as prepared as he can possibly be, eating, sleeping, and putting on clean clothes will take a backseat to work. That’s why he’s such a good lawyer, a much better lawyer than he was a boyfriend. But, our unpleasant personal history aside, I’m glad to have Arnie on the case.

  A stale, half-eaten sandwich with wilted lettuce and cheese so old it was starting to sweat and curl sat on top of one of the stacks of paper. I picked it up with two fingers and held it aloft. “Are you done with this?”

  Arnie looked up distractedly, taking a moment to focus his gaze. “Um. Yeah. Throw it in the trash,” he said and immediately returned to his task.

  After another minute of silent searching, he pulled a sheet of paper out of a blue file folder and waved it over his head like a flag. “Ha! I knew it was in there!”

  He closed the drawer with a triumphant slam and pushed his feet against the cabinet, propelling his rolling chair back to his desk. I took a seat in one of the chairs opposite.

  “Is that the same shirt you were wearing when I was here yesterday?”

  “Could be,” he said absently, pulling his nose as he read.

  “Didn’t you go home last night?”

  Eyes still fixed to the document, he held up his hand to stop my question. “Okay, here’s the part I was looking for. Margot,” he said, glancing up, “do you take antidepressants?”

  “No,” I said. “Never. Why do you ask?”

  “You’re sure? Because your parents say you do. Or at least that you did.”

  I frowned, wondering what in the world this could be about. “Wait a minute. A long time ago, at least ten years, I told my doctor that I wanted to lose some weight and he wrote me a prescription for Prozac. He said there had been studies showing it might help with weight loss and that it might be worth a try.”

  Arnie reached to the far side of his desk, grabbed a pen and legal pad, and made a few notes. “And you filled the prescription?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I only took it for about two weeks. It didn’t help me lose weight and it made me feel kind of funny, so I stopped.”

  “And you never refilled the prescription?” I shook my head. Arnie made another note. “We’re going to need to get a copy of those medical records. Hopefully, the doc took good notes.”

  I sunk back in my chair. Suddenly I felt very tired. “This is crazy. My parents are trying to make the judge think I suffer from depression? How could they do something like that?”

  Arnie raised his head and stared at me. “Because they want to win. Margot, things get crazy in custody cases. Family law is one of the toughest areas of the law because you’re not just dealing with contracts, or money, or facts; you’re dealing with feelings and resentments, dashed hopes. All the emotional baggage that people drag through life comes to the fore in a custody battle. For what it’s worth, this probably isn’t about you, not in the way you’re thinking. It’s more about your parents’ relationship with your sister. I don’t think they want to hurt you, but for whatever reason, they’ve convinced themselves that they, and only they, are fit to raise Olivia and they are willing to do whatever it takes to make that happen.”

  “Even if it means destroying our relationship?”

  “Apparently,” Arnie mused, scanning another section of the document. He sighed wearily. “Margot, I know this is a ridiculous question, but I have to ask it: Have you ever been arrested?”

  “Yes.”

  Arnie looked at me as if he’d never seen me before. “You have? When? For what?”

  “During my sophomore year of college. I think the charge was unlawful assembly and disturbing the peace. There were protests on campus because the college had money invested with corporations that were doing business with South Africa, back before apartheid had been abolished. About eight hundred students gathered in front of the administration building to demand that the college divest itself of those investments. We didn’t have a permit, so the university called the police. When they arrived, a lot of the kids ran off, but I sat down on the steps and wouldn’t budge so they picked me up, put me in a squad car, and hauled me off to jail.”

  Arnie smiled and scratched the side of his face, which was looking a bit stubbly. Had he remembered to shave that morning?

  “Huh. Were you scared?”

  I laughed. “Petrified. Which is pretty silly, since I was only in there about three hours. The judge fined everybody twenty dollars or something and let us go.”

  “What did your parents say about it?”

  “Oh, Dad was furious,” I said. “He drove down to school so he could chew me out in person. Said he hadn’t spent his whole life unclogging toilets and replacing pipe to give me the education he’d never had just so I could go to college and spend my time protesting. He said he’d sent me to college so I could get a husband, an education, and a job, in that order, and that I should quit worrying about things that were none of my business. He also said if I wanted to worry about investments, I should worry about the investment he’d made in me, which, at the moment, was looking like a bad one.”

  Arnie frowned. “He actually said that?”

  “Word for word. I remember the conversation vividly. It was the only time I ever really talked back to my father. I told him that justice was everybody’s business, that I didn’t see how he could call himself a man of God and not be concerned about the oppressed and unfortunate of the world, and that if he thought I was such a bad investment then he could just keep his money, that I’d get a part-time job and figure out how to pay for college myself.”

  “Really? You said all that? To your father?” Arnie rested his elbows on his desk and clasped his hands together, interlacing his fingers. “This does not sound like the Margot I know.”

  I blushed. “Well. Maybe it was a little out of character for me. I really shouldn’t have spoken to my father that way. That was rude and disrespectful. But,” I said, lifting my chin, “I’m not sorry I took part in that protest. I’d do it again if I had the chance. After the protests, the college did divest itself of those investments. And a couple of years later, the government of South Africa ended apartheid, partly as a result of pressure from the international community. I’m not saying that our protest was the straw that broke the camel’s back, but I’m sure it helped. I’m sure it was the right thing to do.”

  “It was,” Arnie said. “I’m proud of you.”

  He picked up the document and added it to a stack of others, part of his own mysterious filing system. “Listen, don’t worry about this. It’s not going to cause you any troubles. If anything, it’ll help. Your dad was foolish to raise the issue. It makes you look moral and him look vindicti
ve. But we are going to have to get your medical records. Can you take care of that?”

  “Sure,” I answered, rising from my chair. “I’ll fax a request to the doctor’s office. Is there anything else you need me to do?”

  Absorbed in scribbling more notes, Arnie didn’t say anything, just shook his head.

  “Well, let me know if you change your mind.” I moved toward the door, picking up a couple of abandoned coffee cups along the way. Cleaning up a little was the least I could do. “Don’t work too hard, all right? I know you need to be prepared for the hearing, but I’m worried about you. I bet you haven’t had a decent meal in days.”

  Arnie stopped scribbling. “Not really. In fact … I was wondering … do you want to have dinner?”

  “With you?” The question was pretty straightforward, but the way he delivered it, clearing his throat before getting the words out and shifting his eyes nervously when he finally did, confused me. He sounded a lot like a man who was asking for a date.

  “Yes …” More throat clearing. “With me. If you want to. I mean, if you’re not seeing anyone else.”

  If I wasn’t seeing anyone else? He was asking for a date. Now I was really confused.

  “I’m not seeing anyone, Arnie, but I don’t think that would be a very good idea, not right now.” Actually, I didn’t think it would be a good idea ever—we’d already been down that road—but I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. “You know, since we’re working together on the case and everything. But can I drop off some dinner for you later? I made a meat loaf and scalloped potatoes yesterday, the kind you like, with the smoked cheddar. Why don’t I bring you a plate?”

  Arnie waved his hand dismissively and lowered his head, once again appearing to be absorbed in paperwork. “No, that’s all right. Charlie called this morning, wondering why I wasn’t at poker night. I told him I was busy with your case and he offered to send dinner over from the Grill. I’ll give him a call later.”

  “Are you sure?” I bit my lip, feeling guilty. But what did he expect after all this time?

  “Yeah, sure. Not a problem. It was just a whim, thought you might be hungry. You probably already have plans anyway, with Paul or something ….”

  “Paul? Paul Collier? I didn’t know you two knew each other. Why would you think I’d have plans with Paul?”

  Arnie shrugged innocently. “No reason. I just saw him at the Bean the other day. I know you’re friends, so I thought you might be having dinner with him. Or Philippa. She was there too.”

  “We are friends,” I said, hefting the handle of my purse onto my shoulder. “Not that it is anyone’s business, but that’s all there is to it. Anyway, I do have plans. I’m going to spend some time getting my house ready for Geoff’s home visit—assuming it ever happens.”

  “I was starting to wonder about that myself,” Arnie said, his tone more relaxed now that the conversation had returned to safer ground.

  “Do you know how many times he’s canceled on me?” I held up three fingers. “But he’ll have to do it soon. He’s got to have his report filed with the judge before the hearing. I’ll be so happy to have this over with and Geoff Bench out of my life.”

  “Maybe that’s why he’s been putting it off,” Arnie said in a playfully knowing tone, “because he knows that once the report is filed and the case is closed, he won’t have a reason to see you anymore. Maybe he has a crush on you; did you ever think of that?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Yes, that’s it. Because men up and down the eastern seaboard are pining with love for me. Married men especially.”

  He grinned and held up one hand, pinching a spare inch of air between his thumb and forefinger. “A crush,” he said. “A little one. It could happen.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Arnie.” I turned the knob and opened the door. “Anyway, I’m spending my evening checking items off the list of things Philippa said I should do prior to Geoff’s home visit next weekend. My first stop is the drugstore, to buy the biggest first aid kit I can find, then the hardware store to get a fire extinguisher. Then I’ll head home to install child locks on medicine cabinets and the cupboard where I store the cleaning supplies. Sound like fun?” I quipped.

  “Weird that he’s making his home visit on a weekend.”

  “It’s the only time he had open. He’s got three cases coming up.”

  Arnie frowned. “Mmm,” he said, nodding slowly, “I guess that makes sense. Although you’d think sometime in the last three months he could have found time to make one home visit.” He started digging through a stack of papers and mumbled, “Some people are just disorganized, I guess.”

  I ducked my head to keep from laughing. “Hey,” I said before leaving, “are you sure you don’t want me to bring you some dinner?”

  “No. Thank you. I’m going to call the Grill. I’m in the mood for duck confit. But it’s nice of you to ask, Margot. You’ve always been a good friend to me.”

  “Why wouldn’t I be? That’s how we started out. Right?”

  He smiled. “Right.”

  34

  Margot

  When I was halfway out the door, Arnie remembered that he needed to drop some papers off with Judge Treadlaw’s clerk. I said I’d do it for him and met Paul coming up the courthouse steps as I was going down.

  “Hey!” Paul exclaimed when he saw me. “I didn’t know you were in court today.”

  “I’m not. Just dropping off some papers. Have you got a trial?”

  “In about ten minutes.” He looked at his watch and frowned. “Actually, more like seven. In front of Judge Treadlaw.”

  He raised his eyebrows slightly, just enough so I knew he had no more affection for the judge than I did.

  “Listen,” he said. “I was meaning to call you. I’m going to start playing with a jazz combo over at the Rooster Tail Tavern in Warren on Thursdays. We start this week so I …I was wondering if maybe you might want to come.”

  Paul cleared his throat. His eyes shifted from my face to a point near my left shoulder and then back. He looked nervous. It almost sounded as if he was asking me out on a date. Was I really being asked out twice in one day? And by two different men?

  My pulse started to speed up, but I told myself to calm down. It wasn’t possible. Probably he was asking everybody he knew to come hear him play. That’s the deal in these local spots. The owners expect the band to bring in their own audience. Any band that doesn’t won’t keep the gig for very long. But it might be fun. Other than Fridays with the quilt circle, I hadn’t been out in weeks.

  “What time?” I asked, thinking about Thursday night. I always went to see Olivia after work, and Warren was at least a half hour drive.

  “Seven to ten. I know it’s a little out of the way,” Paul said, “but it’s a pretty drive. And you’ve never ridden in my car. Just got her out of the body shop; the new paint job looks great. I need to get there early to set up. Can I pick you up at five-thirty?”

  Pick me up? He was asking me on a date! But what about Olivia? She still wasn’t talking to me, but I knew she counted on seeing me every night. I had the sense that she was on the verge of opening up to me. I didn’t want to risk losing ground with her. But I didn’t want to risk losing out on an evening with Paul either.

  My mind flashed back to that night outside the church, watching his car turn the corner, feeling like I wanted to run after him and tell him to stop.

  “It sounds like fun. I’d like to come, but …” Paul’s mouth, which had curved up into a smile when I started to speak, flattened to a line when he heard the beginning of my caveat. “I’ve got to go to the hospital first to see Olivia. I can drive myself, but I might not be there right at seven. Is that all right?”

  “Sure! Absolutely!” he said, smiling again. He opened his mouth to say something else, but stopped short and looked at his watch again. “Argh. I’m late. Treadlaw is going to lecture me again. Sorry, but I’ve got to run.”

  “Go. I know what Judge Treadlaw is li
ke when he’s ‘displeased.’ See you Thursday.”

  “See you Thursday.”

  Paul bounded up the stairs two at a time. Pausing at the top step, he turned around and called down to me. “I’ll leave your name with the hostess, so don’t worry about the cover. I’m really glad you’re coming,” he said, then hurried inside.

  He had planned on picking me up? And now he was leaving my name with the hostess?

  No one was around to hear, but I covered my mouth with my hand to keep from squealing. I was going on a date with Paul Collier!

  35

  Margot

  I felt silly pulling on pantyhose while perched on a toilet in the bathroom stall, but changing at the hospital would save me time. When I was dressed, I looked myself over in the mirror. The little black dress with the deep V-neckline and figure-forgiving ruching clung to my curves, and I wondered if I wasn’t a little overdressed. After all, I was meeting Paul at the Rooster Tail Tavern, not the Oak Room at the Plaza.

  I turned to see how the dress looked from the back, trying to decide if the heels were a mistake. The extra three inches made my legs look slimmer, and even with them on I’d still be shorter than Paul, but still … Maybe I should run home and change into something a little less … everything. I grabbed a paper towel from the dispenser, blotted my lipstick, and practically ran out the door, heels echoing on the ceramic tile, almost running into Michael Barzini and his respiratory therapy cart.

  “Whoa!” he yelled, holding up his hands as if to ward off a blow. And then, lowering his arms, he looked me up and down. He said it again, “Whoa!” but in a completely different tone and with a totally different meaning.

  “Margot! You’re completely hot! Look at you. You’ve got a shape! Who knew?”

  I blushed, partly from embarrassment, partly from pleasure, and partly from irritation that Michael had not noticed I had a shape before now. But Michael is a nice guy, and married to a nice woman, so I ventured to ask, “Do I look all right? It isn’t too much?”