For All She Knows

by Beck, Jamie

  I had no idea what John and Deshaun expected, or whether their parents would treat the situation seriously, but this sentence seemed fair. Rowan hadn’t been directly involved in the accident. Surely Grace would realize that eventually.

  Rowan hugged his dad goodbye at our car. “See you Friday.”

  “Bye, son.” Dirk then looked at me, gesturing with his head. “Mimi, can we talk for a sec?”

  My stomach hardened as I slipped my phone in my pocket. I’d known he was up to something.

  “Sure.” We took a few steps away from my car. “What’s with the cloak-and-dagger?”

  He scrubbed his palm over the back of his neck. “I talked to a lawyer about custody.”

  With the exception of my rising eyebrows, I remained absolutely still. How had I ever loved a guy who could kick me when I was already down? Who’d be so deluded about his own parenting that he’d think he could do better? Who’d be so insensitive to his own son’s need for stability that he’d threaten to upend everything? “Why?”

  “Up until now, I figured you’re his mom so you know best. But with the arrest and the drinking getting out of hand, I’m not so sure.” He shrugged almost apologetically. Lord, he was sincere—this wasn’t some act to jerk my chain. Sweat collected beneath my shirt, but I kept my cool.

  “I see.” My heart pumped its way up into my throat. “And what did this lawyer say?”

  “Not a lot yet. He’s looking over our custody agreement. But lawyers cost money, so in the meantime, how ’bout we save time and money by coming to our own agreement? Beats some snoop from CPS getting involved, right?”

  Child Protective Services. Would he really do that to Rowan? Nausea bubbled. Lawyers cost money, something I didn’t have much of. Neither did Dirk, which was why he wanted to scare me into cooperating. “Did you mention your irregular child support payments and how you cancel Rowan’s visits as often as you keep them to your lawyer? And let’s not forget your favorite hobby—barhopping.”

  Self-defense mode might not have been my best move. His gaze and demeanor swiftly hardened.

  Dirk gestured to the courthouse behind him. “You don’t really have the upper hand right now, so maybe rethink your snooty attitude.”

  I folded my arms beneath my breasts. “So what, exactly, do you want—full custody? That means ripping Rowan from his team, unless you’re planning to move back to Potomac Point.”

  “I’m thinking he stays with you on school nights, but on nonschool nights and vacations, he stays with me so I can make sure there isn’t more of this party nonsense. He can’t afford to lose his shot at a Division I school.”

  In a voice much calmer than I felt, I said, “It’s great that you want to get more involved, but hardly shocking you want me to deal with the hard stuff like school while you get all the free time. Rowan doesn’t need more upheaval right now, so instead of revising the schedule, how about we start with you finally living up to the one in place? Every Wednesday for dinner, and every other weekend.”

  “I see you want to do it the hard way.” He shook his head as if dealing with a tedious child.

  If I mentioned that I’d already tested the waters with Rowan, it might drive a wedge between them. Rowan also might change his tune if Dirk pressed him, which would level me. “Honestly, think about Rowan. He’s got to do community service and alcohol training and get a job all while keeping his grades reasonable. He doesn’t need us at war or more big changes to his homelife.”

  “Have it your way, but this isn’t over.” He waved dismissively and shuffled toward his car.

  “Bye,” I called in a sweetly sarcastic voice. When I got back to my car, I sank onto the front seat, hoping that final plea got through Dirk’s thick head.

  “What did Dad want?” Rowan pulled out his earbuds.

  “To make sure you’ve learned your lesson and won’t be hosting more drinking parties.” I forced a smile, hating myself a little for lying to my son. I told myself it was in his best interest, but that wasn’t the whole truth. Another of Uncle Tommy’s sayings drifted back to me. “Sometimes you’ll get away with lying to others, but you’ll never get away with lying to yourself.”

  Rowan glanced out the window toward his dad. “What’d you say?”

  “That it’s under control.” I turned in my seat. “Look at me, Rowan. We have it under control, right? No more drinking. No more parties. I know I was loosey-goosey before, but things have to change.”

  He paused, then nodded. “I get it.”

  “Good.” My heart rate resumed its normal pace. Ten minutes later we drove up to the high school’s entrance and my son lugged himself out of my car. “I already called the attendance office to explain your tardiness, but check in there first. Have a good day.”

  He ambled inside, but before pulling away from the curb, I checked my phone to see if Grace had replied. Nothing. I couldn’t tell if she’d read it or not; her privacy settings were maxed out. Dirk’s threats still had me rattled. I wished I could ask Grace for advice, but that door was closing on me, too. My shaming her hadn’t helped. Wrinkling my nose, I fired off a second note.

  P.S. Rowan says Carter’s doing lots of leg work this week. I hope that means he’ll be on his feet soon. And Grace, I’m sorry about what I said before leaving the cafeteria. Totally uncalled for. I know you’re only trying to protect your son.

  My thumb hovered over the “Send” button for three seconds before hitting it. My apology might not make a difference to her, but my breathing came a little easier now. Lately, that was the most I could hope for. Then again, Anne and Keri appreciated my way of handling this whole mess, so maybe I wasn’t doing everything wrong.

  When I got to my shop, Vicki was highlighting Celeste Winslow’s hair. I had only three appointments this afternoon. Rather than panic or whine, I’d use the free time to brainstorm ideas for driving new business. The student discount had netted a handful of young clients, but I couldn’t count on them to be regulars.

  I clicked through a few online articles for ideas but kept getting distracted constantly checking my phone. By five o’clock, Grace still hadn’t replied.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  GRACE

  Friday, January 29

  Law Offices of Bergen & Hardwell

  While I thumbed through a Time magazine, Sam glanced at the contemporary wall clock in the glass-and-chrome waiting room of the law firm we’d retained. It read 11:43. He had to get back to work by one, not that he even wanted to be here. “Premature,” he’d said, but at least he’d come, even if only to “understand the landscape and our options.” With the others already protecting their interests, I preferred to act rather than sit in a chronic state of limbo. Rowan’s sentence had been reasonable, but John’s and Deshaun’s parents’ high-priced lawyers were gunning for cushy plea deals. I’d bowed to Carter’s wishes and not contacted the ADA, which hadn’t been easy.

  My thoughts swam like the fish circulating around the massive built-in tank. Neither of us had any personal experience with lawsuits, so my empty stomach burned.

  “What time does Carter finish his rehab session?” Sam asked.

  “Around one.” I flattened the magazine on my thighs.

  Sam’s refusal to discuss the school budget with Hayden still hurt me on principle. The fact that my own husband didn’t understand how much I needed a win added to the tension between us.

  Then there was Mimi’s latest attempt to make peace. Considering how we’d left things at the rehab center, I’d hardly expected her to set up a GoFundMe page for lab equipment. Carrie insinuated that Mimi had done it for selfish reasons—like it might make me back away from filing a lawsuit. That wasn’t Mimi’s style, though. More likely she’d felt bad about the swipe she’d taken at me, and about Carter’s needs. No matter what else was going on between us, I didn’t doubt her love for my kids.

  Sam hadn’t mentioned the fundraiser, but he had to know about it and probably thought I owed Mimi a thank-you note.
For all I knew, he’d already texted her one himself.

  He wasn’t wrong, of course. Not that it mattered.

  I didn’t know how to react, honestly. The fundraiser would never raise enough money to update the labs, but that wasn’t the point. I’d never needed proof of Mimi’s goodwill—that was a given—but her efforts didn’t undo the damage caused or pay the medical and therapy bills, nor could they patch together our friendship so soon. This lawsuit had to go forward, and that meant that my family remained on the opposite side of everyone involved at that party.

  Interesting, though, that her latest move had won Mimi new admirers, unlike Roni and Jordan, who kept trying to distance themselves from what had happened. I didn’t begrudge Mimi any respect. It made me happy that others finally saw what I’d always recognized in her—a truly good person. But you could love a lot about a person—like with Mimi and Sam—and still suffer a rift when something like Carter’s injury tore through your life. The limbo and consequent longing were suffocating.

  They say to err is human, to forgive divine, but apparently I was not godlike. I’d read about families who forgave their children’s murderers—something I could not wrap my head around. They swore forgiveness sets you free from grief, but they never told you how to do it. I’d yet to figure that out. I wished I could so I could shed the phantom ache of Carter’s pain and fears. No matter how much easier my life would be if I could let go of mistakes and trust that others (or myself) wouldn’t make another catastrophic or careless error in judgment, I could not.

  A shame, too, because having no one understand my feelings isolated me as much as I’d been when hiding in my room, drowning out my father’s screaming.

  “Grace?” Sam appeared to be waiting for an answer to a question I hadn’t heard.

  Now he’d think I didn’t care about what he had to say. “Hmm?”

  “I asked if you were going to see Carter after this?”

  “Of course. I’d like to spend at least an hour with him.”

  “Who’ll get Kim after school?” He frowned, glancing into space. “I thought Judy couldn’t come today.”

  “My mother said she’d come down, remember?” It was unlike him to forget little details, let alone big ones. A rare sign that his stress levels might match mine.

  He scratched his jaw. “I wish my parents lived closer so they could help.”

  I liked his parents but didn’t need company right now. “Let’s invite them to come once Carter is back at home.”

  Sam nodded. “Okay.”

  An outsider would think nothing of that exchange, missing everything it lacked. Normally, he would’ve ended that conversation by patting my hand or kissing my cheek. His warm touch had always settled me, which made its absence more painful. But the most frightening thing was that he was getting used to not touching me.

  I went to reach for his hand but stopped myself. It would seem stilted, and it would hurt me if he withdrew. So instead I sat there, trying not to cry.

  Our marriage might require therapy to get on track, and who had time for that? Not Sam, who had to split his focus between work and our family. Not me, who barely managed to get through the day without wishing I could curl up and sleep for ten years.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Phillips?” a young woman in a gorgeous garnet wool dress asked.

  “Yes,” we answered simultaneously as we stood.

  She stepped forward to shake our hands. “I’m Callie Ridgeway, the associate who’ll be working with Mr. Bergen on your cases. If you’re all set, you can come with me to the conference room.”

  “Thank you.” Sam and I fell in behind her, strolling past several offices before being led into a glass-walled conference room with a gleaming burled-wood conference table. On the wall behind it hung a striking modern impressionist painting of the Baltimore harbor.

  “Can I get you any water or coffee?” Ms. Ridgeway asked, pointing toward the credenza where a carafe of ice water, a silver coffee urn, creamer, sugar cubes, and cups had been set out.

  “No, thank you,” we both replied, taking seats. I unbuttoned my cardigan and tried to get comfortable in the stiff leather chair.

  “Let me grab Peter so we can get started.” She smiled before ducking out to hunt down her boss.

  Sam didn’t look at me or say anything soothing. Instead, he opened his briefcase and removed the copies of medical bills and other papers we’d accumulated in less than a month, stacking them on the table and neatening the edges of the pile.

  I inhaled slowly to settle my nerves. Papers hardly told the whole story. Surgical and therapy descriptions and dollars didn’t convey Carter’s pain and tears, or the hours of time wasted in my car, or my daughter’s confusion and frustration. And they certainly didn’t reveal the subtle but steady tearing apart of a marriage, or of a friendship.

  In no time at all, Ms. Ridgeway returned with Mr. Bergen, who looked nothing like I expected a prominent trial attorney to look. His tie hung loosely around his neck. He’d left his suit jacket in his office, I imagined. From the look of his hair, he must’ve run his hands through it more than once today. But his vivid blue eyes shone with intelligence, which put my mind at ease.

  He reached across the table to shake Sam’s and my hands. “Mr. and Mrs. Phillips, thanks for coming in. I’m very sorry about your son’s situation, but rest assured, we’re here to make sure he’s compensated.”

  “Thank you,” I said, grateful for an ally for the first time since finding Carter on Mimi’s basement floor.

  Sam remained silent, wearing a businesslike expression, avoiding making eye contact with me. Message received: he was here under protest. He slid his stack of papers across the table. “Here are all the bills and other medical papers to date that you requested. Obviously, this is only the beginning, though. His care will go on for months . . . maybe longer.”

  “Thank you.” Mr. Bergen handed them to Ms. Ridgeway, who sat beside him with a fresh notepad and pen. “As I explained to you over the phone, you’ll file the suit on your son’s behalf because he’s not legally old enough to file on his own. We’ve got a complicated set of facts but foresee negligence suits against the homeowner and her son, and possibly gross negligence suits against the two boys in the physical altercation.”

  “Can you explain why we’re filing claims against children?” Sam frowned. “That doesn’t feel right to me.”

  “The teens caused the injuries.” Mr. Bergen glanced at Sam. “We’ll file one suit and name all the defendants. They’ll be jointly and severally liable, meaning that a judgment can be shared equally by all or collected from one, who then would have to go after the others for their share. Our goal is to cover your son’s expenses plus compensation for pain and suffering.”

  I smiled, feeling vindicated until my husband leaned forward, unpersuaded. “I understand that, but our son isn’t eager to sue fellow students.”

  “With all due respect, your son is a minor with a serious injury. You and your wife understand what’s needed to protect him and offset the costs of his care. What he wants is not as important as what he needs, is it?” Mr. Bergen paused.

  “It’s not,” I said before thinking about how Sam would take it. A sideways glance proved he didn’t appreciate my tone, which may have been a little smug. I prayed that Mr. Bergen’s walking us through this case would convince Sam of its necessity so he’d stop being mad at me for initiating it.

  Mr. Bergen continued, “We’ll be conferring with medical experts, but my experience with similar matters suggests the hospital and rehab bills will reach seven figures. Your share of that number could involve a significant sum. Your medical insurer will probably want to exercise its rights of subrogation to recoup what it can, too. Not to diminish your son’s concerns about his classmates, but you can see now that this is bigger than that.”

  I nodded, doing a mental cartwheel to celebrate being validated. “Those boys got light criminal charges because of the lack of specific intent, but we don’
t need that for a negligence suit, right?”

  Sam turned on me directly, tapping the table between us, his voice almost curt. “What about our negligence in giving Carter permission to go to the party?”

  I groaned, tightening my fists at the reminder of being talked into that. “We didn’t know Mimi wouldn’t be home.”

  “We didn’t check, either,” Sam snapped. We stared at each other like two boxers squaring off.

  Mr. Bergen held up his hands. “Folks, if the defendants raise that, sadly, in Maryland, we’re dealing with pure contributory negligence law.” He rocked back in his chair when confronted by our confused expressions. “Basically that means that if the plaintiff is even one percent responsible, then he cannot collect damages.”

  When I gasped, Mr. Bergen made a calm-down motion with one hand. “These facts are murky. I don’t think what you two decided is as relevant as what your son chose to do is. Yes, he went to a party, but he didn’t drink. The question of whether attending an underage drinking party is, on its face, negligent would be up to a jury. But that doesn’t mean we don’t bring the suit. That said, preparing for trial is a lengthy and costly endeavor. We’ll balance that against the idea of a negotiated settlement. All that is a long way of saying that the contributory negligence law affects the value of your case. Your son is a good kid, and his injuries pose the threat of a very substantial verdict. But that open question about his own negligence puts pressure on us to settle before a jury can weigh in.”

  I frowned. “Settle for less than he could win at trial?”

  “Could being the critical point,” Mr. Bergen said before exchanging a look with Ms. Ridgeway.

  Reading between the lines, what I heard was that Mr. Bergen didn’t want to spend a lot of money up front preparing for a trial that could net zero income, especially since plaintiffs’ attorneys work on contingency fees. Alone in my sorrow, I couldn’t turn to Sam to confer privately. Meanwhile, my husband’s relieved expression deflated me further.