He thrust out his arm and shoved the heel of his hand hard against Arnie’s shoulder. Then he did it again. Arnie, his ears now the same shade as a boiled lobster, shoved him back.
I pulled myself out of the chair and spread out my arms with my hands flat, like a cop stopping traffic in two directions. “Enough!” I shouted.
Both of them jerked, startled by the noise. Their heads swiveled and they stared as if, once again, they’d only just remembered that I was in the room with them.
“Enough,” I repeated, but more quietly. “This isn’t getting us anywhere. And anyway, if we’re going to point fingers, I have to point at myself, at least a little.”
“That’s crazy. What are you talking about?”
“No, you don’t. Bench was totally out of line—”
I held up my hand again, damming up their protests. “Believe me, I’m not making excuses for him. And even though I wasn’t sending out the slightest hint of a signal that I had any romantic or,” I stammered, turning a little pink myself, “physical interest in him—he completely misinterpreted that—I was trying to make him like me. I was. Not because I actually did like him but because I wanted him to write a recommendation that would favor me. I was trying to manipulate Geoff Bench and the legal system.”
Paul started to speak, but I shook my head, warning him not to.
“I know. Maybe I wasn’t completely aware of what I was doing, but I should have been. And probably Arnie shouldn’t have urged me to be nice to Bench, but I’m a big girl. I should have realized that what I was doing was wrong. Maybe I did, at least a little.”
Paul frowned. “No, I don’t think so. And even if you did do anything wrong, you weren’t doing it for yourself, you were doing it for Olivia. And for Mari.”
“Paul’s right,” Arnie said, sounding slightly surprised to find himself agreeing with Paul on anything. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. Your motives were pure.”
“Two wrongs don’t make a right, and pure motives or not, I was wrong.”
“Okay,” Arnie said with a conciliatory shrug of his shoulders, “let’s say that you were—just for argument’s sake. But Geoff Bench was more in the wrong. You’ve got to let me talk to the judge. If we tell him …”
“No, Arnie! No. I’ve absolutely made up my mind. There’s no use trying to talk me out of it.”
He did try to talk me out of it, so did Paul, but finally they realized that I was not going to budge and they let the matter drop. Arnie went back to work preparing for the hearing and I had to go to the quilt shop. It was my turn to open. Paul asked if he could walk me to work.
It was nine-fifteen, forty-five minutes before the downtown shops would open, so we strolled rather than walked to the shop, taking our time, enjoying the sunny morning.
I love New Bern like this, when the day is fine and the streets all but empty, when the flowerboxes in front of the merchants’ windows are filled with blooming daffodils, when there is no sound in the air but the chirp of birds perched in the branches of trees on the Green and the steady, soft slap of shoe leather on sidewalk. There was so much bad going on in my life, but for some reason, just at that moment, walking down Commerce Street at Paul’s side, I felt good. I wanted to loop my arm through his and let it hang there like a bangle on a bracelet but, of course, I didn’t.
Claudia Simon was unlocking the door of the art gallery and glanced up. “Morning, Margot. Morning, Paul.”
“Morning, Claudia.”
As we passed, Claudia looked at me with raised brows and a curious expression that quickly became a smile, topped off by a knowing wink. Embarrassing. Thankfully, Paul didn’t see her. He looked straight ahead as he walked and said nothing until just before we reached the alley that leads to Cobbled Court.
“Nice day.”
“Uh-huh.”
Paul stopped, touched me lightly on the shoulder, and peered into my eyes. “Hey, are you okay? You’re not worried, are you? Everything is going to turn out fine.”
I nodded. “I know. I’m not sure it’s all going to turn out the way I’m wishing it would but, no matter what, I’m sure it will be for the best. Maybe that sounds a little naïve, but I believe it.”
He smiled and we resumed walking, taking a right turn into the cobblestone alley. “You have an extraordinary faith, Margot. That’s one of the things I admire about you.”
I didn’t quite know what to say to that, so I changed the subject. “I wish the judge had assigned you as the guardian instead of Geoff Bench.”
“Me too,” Paul replied. “But even if he had, I would have been forced to withdraw from the case.”
“Why?”
“Because it would be a conflict of interest for me to serve as guardian in a custody case when I have a romantic interest in one of the involved parties.”
I stopped. Paul went on for a couple more steps, then turned around, realizing I was behind him.
“I’m sorry,” I said, certain that he could not have said what I just thought he said and that, once again, wishful thinking was getting the better of my good sense. “Could you repeat that?”
“I said I couldn’t serve as Olivia’s guardian because of my romantic interest in you.” He cleared his throat, looking a little embarrassed. “I realize my feelings aren’t reciprocated, but it’s still a conflict.”
“A romantic interest. In me? I thought …”
He tipped his head to one side and frowned. “Well … yes, you. Who else? You didn’t …” He smiled and lifted one eyebrow, as if something comical had just occurred to him. He laughed. “Oh my gosh, you haven’t been listening to those crazy rumors about me and Philippa, have you?”
“Well, um. No. I mean …” I could feel the color rising in my cheeks. “That is to say … I knew you liked her. I knew the two of you were close friends and all.” I was beet red, blathering, and once again, on the verge of tears. I laid my hand on my chest.
“Me? You’re sure you mean me?”
A slow smile, homey and unhurried and sweet, like syrup over pancakes on a Sunday morning, spread across his face. He opened his arms.
“Come here.”
I walked toward him and he met me halfway, our lips meeting at the same time and in the same way as our bodies did, fully and sweetly. It felt like home to be in his embrace, familiar and safe, but at the same time it was exciting and new, the discovery of a strange and exotic land, a place I wanted to explore completely and know intimately.
His lips were so soft, so very soft on mine and his hands were in my hair, cradling my head. I tilted my chin up and opened my lips, just a little, a shy invitation. Taking his time, his tongue gently outlined the curve of my lips, tasting me, letting me taste him. Instinctively, my mouth opened wider, wanting more of him, thrilled to learn he wanted more of me as well.
For a moment, less than an instant, my mind flashed to the memory of Geoff Bench doing the same thing. No. Not the same thing. There was no comparison. No kiss had ever been like this. No kiss ever would be.
There was no time when I was in Paul’s arms, no thought of what came before or what would happen after, so I don’t know how much of it had passed when he shuddered and pulled away gasping. “I have to stop.”
“But I don’t want you to stop. Why should you?”
His eyes smiling, he took in a deep breath and blew it out as if he were recovering from a race. “Well, aside from the probability of you not respecting me in the morning, there’s the fact that you’re supposed to open the shop in,” he pulled up his sleeve so he could see his watch, “twelve minutes.”
Twelve minutes?
“I don’t care,” I said and reached for him, wanting nothing in the world as much as I wanted to feel his lips on mine. I kissed him again for a minute or five, I don’t know how long, only stopping when I pressed myself close against him and felt that stirring that had repelled me when coming from Geoff Bench but that coming from Paul flooded me with a tide of longing so powerful, so irresistible t
hat it very nearly swept me away.
When he had stormed out of my house, Bench had called me a name I never have and never will say, preceded by an ugly adjective—“frigid.” I knew he’d said it to wound me and soothe his vanity and that I should think nothing more of it. But that was easier to say than do. I had kissed men before, Arnie for one, and several others during college and my years living in New York. Occasionally, I had let things progress further than kisses. The kisses and caresses of those others, excluding Bench, had often been pleasant, sometimes sweet, never more than that. I’d had no difficulty in putting on the brakes with Arnie and men of his ilk, not ever. And so when Geoff Bench called me frigid, I couldn’t help but wonder if it might be true.
Now I had my answer.
“You’re right,” I gasped, pulling myself away from Paul and clamping my arms around my chest, hugging myself as tightly as possible to keep from grabbing him again. “We have to stop.”
“We do. We should,” Paul said in a voice that didn’t sound entirely convinced. “But I have to tell you, Margot. Wow. I don’t want to. I really don’t.”
“Neither do I! Isn’t it great?” I laughed, not a nervous giggle or a self-conscious chuckle, but full-throated and joyous laughter. I couldn’t help myself.
“What’s so funny?”
“Nothing,” I said and linked my arm with his, joined at last, as we left the narrow alley and walked into the wide and sunny cobblestone courtyard, past the brick planter stuffed with daffodils in bloom, and the bowfront display window stacked with pink, green, and yellow bolts of cotton, our salute to spring, stopping in front of the brightly painted red front door, and I kissed him again, lightly this time, on the lips.
“Nothing important. I was just remembering something silly someone said.”
53
Margot
The next five days passed with a strange mixture of elation and anxiety. Paul picked me up from work almost every night that week and the three of us—Paul, James, and I—had dinner together. Paul cooked twice and I cooked twice.
It was a good thing that we had James along as unwitting chaperone for those dinners; every time I saw Paul it was all I could do to keep from grabbing him, but I enjoyed James for his own sake too. He’s a very sweet kid (though I’m convinced he cheats at Rummikub; nothing else could explain my dismal score). I love seeing how he and Paul interact.
Evenings with Paul and James, followed by a too-brief moonlight stroll when Paul walked me from his doorstep to mine, too much of a gentleman to come inside though I often wished he would, and kisses good night that only became sweeter as the days passed, these were the hours of elation, the things that bore me up through the anxious hours until the hearing.
I spent at least an hour at the hospital every day, longer if my work schedule allowed. On Tuesday I picked up a pizza after work and took it to the hospital to share with Olivia. I wished Paul and James could have joined us, but so close to the hearing I couldn’t risk it. If my parents found out and raised a fuss, I knew Geoff Bench wouldn’t lift a finger to help me.
I didn’t tell Olivia anything about the upcoming hearing, only that she would be getting out of the hospital soon. That seemed to satisfy her. She was more interested in our current project, layering die-cut fabric butterflies of different sizes together and gluing them to the front of blue note cards, invitations for Mari’s memorial service, than in asking questions. I hoped I wasn’t setting her up for another loss. The memorial was important to Olivia, but if my parents were granted custody, I knew they would put a stop to it.
Dad couldn’t seem to grasp that few of Olivia’s memories of Mari were sad. If he stopped to think it through, he might have come to the same conclusion. We’d had hard days as a family, maybe more than our share, but we’d had good ones too. Could he have forgotten?
On Thursday, after Paul walked me home, I got ready for bed, said my prayers, turned out the light, and … nothing. Sleep would not come.
I kept thinking about the hearing, the judge, my parents, Olivia’s trusting eyes and Geoff Bench’s deceitful ones. My thoughts were circular, tumbling one over the other like water rushing down a rapid; there wasn’t any controlling or stopping them. I tried thinking about Paul, his face, his voice, his kisses, but even that didn’t help.
Finally, I gave up and got up. After putting on my robe and making a pot of tea, I sat at the kitchen table while the dark world slept, a mug of steaming chamomile at the ready, holding my worn Bible unopened in my hands. I didn’t have to open the pages to read; the verses I had always counted on in times of trouble flooded my mind and soothed my soul. And I prayed like I had never prayed before. The words were nothing, there was no eloquence or loftiness to them, but they poured from me in groans, like the moans of a mother laboring to bring a child into the world.
Thy will be done. Grant me wisdom to recognize it, courage to bear it, whatever it may be. Nothing less than Your will because I need nothing more.
54
Margot
Evelyn told me to take all of Friday off, but I went to the shop and worked until lunch. Better to have someplace to go and something to do than spend the morning pacing back and forth across my living room carpet.
At noon, Evelyn put a sign on the front door reading CLOSED FOR THE DAY. Everyone—Evelyn, Virginia, Ivy, and Dana—went to the courthouse with me. Abigail, Tessa, Madelyn, and Philippa were there when we arrived. Sitting in the gallery, my friends made quite a cheering section. Paul wanted to come, but I convinced him not to. Besides it being a workday, considering what he knew about Geoff Bench and that they worked at the same firm, it wouldn’t have been a good idea.
Bench was sitting in the first row behind the railing. With his arm draped over the chair next to him and his legs crossed languidly, he tracked my progress as I entered the courtroom and took my seat next to Arnie. He had an appraising, slightly contemptuous look on his face, as though he were sitting at a café table in some beachfront town, watching the girls go by. My parents were already seated at the table opposite us.
The routine was familiar by now; Judge Treadlaw came in, we stood up, he sat down and glared at us as if we’d all barged into his house uninvited. After putting on his reading glasses and scratching his nose, the judge opened a file folder and started riffling through papers.
“Mr. Bench, where is your recommendation? I don’t see it in the file.”
I twisted in my chair so I could see him better. Bench got to his feet and smoothed the lapels of his jacket. “Yes, Your Honor. I’m aware of that.”
His eyes shifted briefly in my direction and I felt the bottom drop out of my stomach. He was about to pull something under-handed; I just knew it.
“Your Honor, I could not submit a recommendation for custody because, ethically, I am forced to withdraw from the case. I’m afraid that I… that a … a personal relationship has developed between Miss Matthews and myself, the nature of which …” He cleared his throat, feigning embarrassment, implying the worst without saying anything specific, “makes it impossible for me to continue as guardian ad litem for the minor child.”
My mother gasped. My father shook his head. So did Judge Treadlaw.
“This is a very disturbing admission, Mr. Bench, especially at this stage of the proceedings. You and I will have a talk in my chambers later, sir.”
Geoff’s shoulders drooped with pretended shame, but as he resumed his seat I could see the flicker of triumph in his eyes. He knew Judge Treadwell, and he was confident nothing more would come of this besides a stern lecture given in private—the “slap on the wrist” he had mentioned.
“Miss Matthews,” the judge continued, peering at me over the top of his glasses. “I cannot pretend that this reflects well on your petition for custody.”
Arnie was instantly on his feet. “Your Honor, my client resents and denies Mr. Bench’s implication. He has no proof to support this. And to allow yourself to be unfairly prejudiced against my client simply o
n the basis of—”
The judge held up his hand and glowered at Arnie. “Counselor, I would never allow myself to be unfairly prejudiced against anyone who appears in my courtroom.” He pointed his gavel straight at Arnie as if it were a scolding finger. “Do not presume to instruct me in my duties, Mr. Kinsella. Do not presume.”
Arnie adjusted his tie and sank into his chair.
“Mr. Bench’s assertions, while disturbing, are, at the moment, immaterial. However, without a recommendation for custody, I have no choice but to assign another guardian ad litem, one not personally involved with anyone in the case, and begin the process again. In the meantime, because the child’s medical condition has improved, it’s clear she can no longer stay in the hospital. Therefore, I am granting temporary custody of the minor child to the state. She will be placed in foster care until the new guardian can submit a recommendation.”
I clutched at Arnie’s arm. “No! She can’t go to a foster home!” I hissed. “He can’t—”
Arnie shook his head quickly, warning me to keep silent.
“I don’t wish to delay, but given the circumstances,” the judge said as he slid his glasses down his nose again, giving me another admonishing look, a look that said he had already made up his mind about me, “I want to give the new guardian ad litem time for a thorough investigation. And since I’m scheduled to be in Florida for three weeks in May, we’ll reschedule the hearing for permanent custody to a date approximately four months hence.”
“Four months!” I turned to grab Arnie’s arm and caught a glimpse of Geoff Bench’s smirking face.
He planned this whole thing, keeping to the letter of our agreement, not making a negative recommendation about me but knowing full well that withdrawing from the case because of a supposed “personal relationship” with me would have the same effect. He knew that seeing Olivia placed in foster care was one of my worst fears and that his unverifiable accusation would make Judge Treadlaw question my moral fitness to serve as Olivia’s permanent guardian. What kind of man would do such a thing? And all to soothe his wounded pride? He was a horrible, evil person. I should have followed my instincts about him, but it was too late for that.
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