At the River’s Edge

by Mariah Stewart

  Ridiculous, she chastised herself. Jason and I have nothing in common except Logan. She turned her back, the hot little nugget in her gut still sizzling.

  “There you are.” Jesse, still dressed in a three-piece suit, motioned to her from about ten feet away. “I’ve been looking for you. I wanted to thank you again for going through those résumés. You did a great job. I’m going to ask Violet to call your number one and set up an appointment.”

  “I already did. She’ll be in on Friday morning. I cleared it with Violet. She said you were free.”

  “Thanks, Soph. I don’t know when I would have gotten to it.”

  “If you had a good paralegal, you might be able to have dinner with your fiancée one or two nights a week.”

  Jesse nodded. “Don’t think I’m happy about the way things are.”

  “Look, I’m sorry that I didn’t really believe you, about you being so jammed with work. I thought you were just trying to get me to move to St. Dennis.”

  “Well, there is that.”

  “You can hire another lawyer, Jess. I don’t know how you’re going to avoid it if the firm is going to maintain its reputation.”

  “I didn’t want to be the one to change the name of the firm from Enright and Enright to Enright and someone else.” Jessie’s expression said it all. “But I guess you’re right. The reputation is more important than the name of the firm. I guess I’ll talk to Pop, make sure he’s okay with it.”

  “I think he’d rather see the name change than to see you work yourself into a divorce before you’ve even had time to enjoy a little married life.”

  “Brooke’s a rock—don’t kid yourself. And she works a lot of long hours, too. Runs her business, raises her son …”

  “Yes, but you’re going to have to be more involved with that now, too. You’re going to be his father, Jess. You have to be there for something more than his sports teams on Saturdays.”

  Jesse nodded; it was clear to Sophie that he understood his responsibilities and wasn’t happy feeling that he wasn’t currently totally fulfilling them.

  “Would it be tossing salt into the wound to tell you that you need to hire another office manager–receptionist?”

  “Yeah, but go ahead,” Jesse groaned. “Pile it on.”

  “Sorry.”

  “No, it’s all right. It’s true. Violet needs to be able to retire for real this time. Though I don’t know if anything would keep her out of the office completely. I mean, that office is a big part of her life.”

  “I know, but if you hired a manager, Violet could just pick out the things she likes to do, and she could come in two or three times each week for a few hours here and a few hours there when she felt like it, do what she wanted to do, then go home.”

  “That’s what she was doing when I first started here, but she came back full time pretty much because she didn’t trust me.”

  Sophie nodded. Violet had admitted as much to her.

  “She stayed on because she wanted to,” he continued. “I think it makes her feel young, you know, like she did when Pop was just starting out and she came to work for him and his dad. I don’t know if she’d trust anyone else to step into her job.”

  “I think if you found the right person, she’d be okay about turning over the desk and her keys.”

  “Well, the desk, maybe, but I don’t see her giving up that key ring without a fight.”

  “So let her keep the keys for old times’ sake.”

  “That could work.” Jesse’s eyes were drawn to something over his sister’s shoulder. “Say, is that Pop? He said something about wanting to see Logan’s project, but I didn’t expect him to show.”

  Sophie turned in time to see Jason spot her grandfather at the same time she did. Turning away from the woman who was obviously trying to hold his attention, Jason greeted the old man with a pat on the back and a wide grin. The two men fell into what appeared to be an easy conversation. Funny, Sophie thought, that Jason seemed more interested in her grandfather than he had in the young woman, who was looking slightly miffed.

  “Nice of Pop to stop by.” Jesse raised a hand to get his grandfather’s attention, but Curtis, accompanied by Jason, was on his way to Logan’s table. “Let’s catch up with them.”

  “You go on,” Sophie told him. “I’ll be over in a minute.”

  Jesse made his way through the growing crowd while Curtis made slow progress in the same direction. Jason’s steady hand on the older man’s elbow guided him safely to his destination. Once there, Jason stood slightly behind Curtis as if guarding him. Several times, he extended his arm protectively across Curtis’s back. It didn’t take long for Sophie to realize that Jason was shielding him from being jostled by people going by. The small gesture went straight to her heart.

  She walked through the throng to Logan’s display.

  “Hey, Pop.” She greeted him with a kiss on the cheek.

  “Well, there’s my girl.” Curtis reached out for her hand. “Did you see Logan’s project? Brilliant, don’t you think?”

  “I do,” she agreed.

  “Pop, look,” a beaming Logan called to him.

  “What’s that you’ve got there, son?” Curtis stepped closer to the table.

  “I got an honorable mention.” Logan held up the ribbon.

  “Thanks for watching out for him,” Sophie whispered to Jason. “He should be using a walker—or at the very least, a cane in a crowd like this—but he’s too proud.”

  “He’s doing okay,” Jason assured her, leaning in a little closer. “We just need to keep an eye on him.”

  “I appreciate that you’ve been doing that.”

  Jason shrugged, as if his vigilance were of no consequence. “He’s a good man, your grandfather. I’ve been working with him for the last few months and I’ve grown very fond of him.”

  “It looked to me as if he’s equally fond of you.”

  “We get along,” Jason replied.

  She took a few steps back so as to not be overheard.

  “I think he’s slowed a bit since Christmas.” She waited for his response. “Have you noticed any changes in him over the past month or so?”

  “Maybe a few steps slower, but mentally, the man is as sharp as they come.”

  “I understand you’re designing some gardens for him.”

  “We’re working together on that. He wants to restore the formal garden that was behind the house at one time—probably a hundred years ago or so—and he wants to re-create his wife’s rose garden. We found the remnants of a wall near the carriage house, and he’d like that rebuilt and some beds there refurbished.” Jason looked down at her and smiled. His eyes held hers for a second or two.

  There it was again. That zing.

  “He’s the best kind of client,” Jason continued. “He knows what he wants, and he gets out of my way and lets me do it.”

  “Has he seemed … not sure how to say this … somewhat fatalistic to you lately?”

  Jason frowned. “I’m not sure what you’re asking me.”

  “Does he talk a lot about dying?” she blurted out.

  “Sometimes. I guess at his age, the thought does cross your mind from time to time. He doesn’t seem particularly concerned about it, though. If anything, he’s pretty blunt about looking forward to being with your grandmother again.”

  “To hear him tell it, they’re together all the time.” Sophie made a face. “According to him, she’s never left.”

  “Oh, right. The gardenia thing.”

  “You’ve smelled it? Gardenia?”

  “Sure. At least, I think I have. But do I know where the scent’s coming from?” Jason shook his head. “I thought I figured it out when he was showing me around his greenhouse. There’s a huge old gardenia plant in there, but it wasn’t in bloom. I even picked a leaf off and sniffed it to see if it gave off any fragrance, but it didn’t.”

  “He swears it’s her. My grandmother.”

  “Who’s to say it isn
’t? And why does it bother you so much?”

  “I’m a prosecutor. I deal strictly in facts. Are you telling me that you believe in ghosts? You believe she’s really there?”

  “It doesn’t matter what I believe, only what he believes. Whether she’s really there with him …” Jason shrugged.

  “So in other words, it doesn’t matter what I think, either.”

  “Not to sound rude, but no, actually, it doesn’t. Your grandfather isn’t a stupid man. He’s one of the smartest men I’ve ever met. If he believes she’s there, that they communicate with each other, that’s good enough for me.” Jason turned his attention for a moment to the man under discussion, watched his interaction with Logan.

  “How did he get here?” it occurred to Sophie to ask. “God, I hope he didn’t drive that big old Caddie of his …”

  “He said one of his neighbors gave him a ride. I told him I’d drive him home, though.”

  “That’s nice of you, but I can drive …” Her phone buzzed in her jacket pocket. She reached in and pulled it out, checked the number. Her office. “I should probably take this.”

  She answered the call, but the background noise in the auditorium was so loud, she couldn’t hear. She made her way through the crowd as quickly as she could, passing through the double doors into the hallway.

  “Hello?” she repeated when she reached the lobby.

  “Sophie … it’s Christopher.” He added hastily, “Don’t hang up, it’s about work. One of your cases.”

  “Which one?” Her jaw set squarely. The sound of his voice went straight to her gut and made her stomach turn.

  “State versus Liston, Essex, and Crowley.”

  “My rape case? What about it?” She frowned. Why would he be calling about that?

  “There was a hearing today, and …”

  “What hearing? There was no hearing scheduled.”

  “Defense counsel for Essex filed a motion on Tuesday morning …”

  “Why am I just hearing about this now?”

  “I’m trying to tell you. Just … just listen, okay?” His exasperated sigh was unmistakable. “Counsel filed a motion to dismiss the charges for lack of evidence, and …”

  “There were hairs from all three attackers on her clothing.” She pushed the door open and went down the steps and onto the sidewalk, where she began to pace. A stiff breeze blew across the parking lot, and she shivered inside her wool blazer. She wished she’d paid more attention to the weather reports.

  “They all admit to having been in her home on several occasions. They’re claiming the hairs could have been transferred somehow, like from the sofa where they all sat to watch TV.”

  “There was a witness who saw them drag the girl into the alley.”

  “Past tense.”

  “What do you mean, ‘past tense’?” Sophie’s heart dropped.

  “I’m saying there’s no witness.”

  “No, there is a witness. Gloria Davis. I’m set up to interview her next Wednesday.”

  “Is there a written statement from her that I don’t know about?”

  “Not yet. She told me she was at her father’s in Indiana but that she’d come back next week to give me a statement.”

  “Well, I’m afraid she’s already given her statement. To the defense. And it probably isn’t what you were looking for.”

  “Are you telling me that she’s changed her story?”

  “According to Davis, she met up with the three guys just after they’d left the vic a block from her house. Says she saw the girl walking alone. Says all three of the guys walked with her—with Davis—to a party on the other side of town. Lacking any other evidence against them, and given the other circumstances, Judge Winston dismissed the case. There was no DNA and they’re all maintaining their collective innocence.”

  “They’re lying and you know it. They raped that girl, Chris. You know it and I know it.”

  “Knowing and proving are two different things. You have a victim who was drunk and doesn’t even remember the actual rape, so she can’t identify her rapists …”

  “They literally poured liquor down her throat, Chris. She was not a willing participant.”

  “So she says.”

  “Don’t,” she growled. “Don’t even say that. That girl was innocent. She’s a victim—she does not deserve this.”

  When he made no response, she asked, “Is it done?”

  “It’s done. At least for now. Maybe some evidence, some other witness will pop up at some point, but for now, it’s over.” He hesitated before adding, “I’m sorry. I know how you feel about this case. How passionate you are about the victim. I understand, Sophie. I really do.” Another pause. “I miss that, you know? Your passion for finding the truth, for protecting the innocents. I miss you, Sophie. Look, I know I screwed up and I’m more sorry than I can say. If I could just go back to that day … it never would have happened.”

  He was on the verge of pleading. If she’d ever had a thought about getting back together—of giving Chris another chance—this was her opportunity.

  Her mind replayed the moment when he’d opened the back door of the BMW and stepped out with his zipper in his hands, of the flash of pain that had shot through her, of the pain that had stayed with her.

  Just then, the lobby door opened and a figure emerged and paused on the top step. Backlit, the figure was in shadow, but there was no mistaking the form. Through the space that separated them, Sophie felt his gaze lock on hers, and the thought occurred to her that there were men who would cheat, and men who would not. The man on the phone had already proven which kind of man he was.

  “Well, see, Chris, here’s the thing about the past. There’s no undoing it.”

  “Sophie …”

  “Are you still seeing Anita?”

  His silence spoke for him.

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “It’s you I really want. If I could only make you see …”

  He was starting to sound desperate. Funny how his desperation seemed to ease the pain she’d been feeling up until that moment. Funny how she was able to see him as he really was, once that veil of pain began to lift.

  “I saw enough. In the parking garage.”

  “I said I was sorry. It never should have happened.”

  “Like I said, there’s no undoing it.” She blew out a long breath. Time to cut this conversation off before it went any further. “Anything else I should know about? In regards to the case?”

  The pause was just a few beats too long.

  “What? What else?”

  “Joe reassigned the case.”

  “What? What? Reassigned it? Why? Who?”

  There was an awkward silence.

  “Why. And who,” she demanded.

  “Well, Joe thought it shouldn’t be switched back and forth, so he decided that going forward, the case should stay with the ADA who handled the matter today.”

  “You? You took my case? Knowing how I feel about this case, you allowed him to take it from me and you took it yourself?” Her voice lowered to a growl. “You bastard.”

  “Ahhh, no.” He cleared his throat. “No, it wasn’t reassigned to me.”

  “Then why are you …”

  All of a sudden, she got it.

  “Who, Chris? Say it.”

  “Well … Anita didn’t have a case on the docket this week, so …”

  “Thanks for the call.”

  Sophie punched end call and stared helplessly at the ground. She’d lived and breathed this case for the past two months. The thirteen-year-old girl’s story had broken her heart. She was a good kid living in a bad situation: divorced parents, her mother remarried, a seventeen-year-old stepbrother whose unsavory friends had been quick to notice the pretty, shy, studious eighth grader.

  Sophie had been adamant that the victim pursue the criminal case, and to have it fall apart now felt to her that the girl was being assaulted all over again.

  To have it fa
ll apart in Anita Hayes’s hands made the intolerable all the worse.

  Her breath came in short, angry spurts, and she wondered why she didn’t feel like screaming. Instead, she felt cold inside, helpless, sad, and stunned. She barely noticed the hot tears that ran down her face.

  “Damn,” she whispered to the cool night air, still in shock, not quite sure if she was damning Christopher, Anita Hayes, the three rapists, the DA, Judge Winston—or herself, for having left town when she did. “Damn …”

  Jason had watched the door, wondering where Sophie had gotten to and if she was coming back. He’d been just about to ask her to meet him for a drink after he dropped off her grandfather when she disappeared, her phone in her hand, a solemn look on her face. He’d waited several minutes before following her into the lobby, but Sophie was nowhere to be seen. He was about to go back into the auditorium when he saw her on the sidewalk in front of the school. She stood ramrod straight, her arms crossed over her chest, staring at the night sky. He stepped outside and paused for a moment on the steps.

  “Let me guess,” he said as he began to close the distance between them. “Counting falling stars.”

  She turned to him, her expression unreadable.

  “Hey, is something wrong?” He was close enough to see the tears that slid down her cheeks.

  Uh-oh, he thought. Guy trouble, if he had to guess. Figures. All the really great women seem to have a guy in the background somewhere. Did he really think that a woman like Sophie would be unattached?

  “I … yes, fine.” She nodded, even though it was apparent to anyone with eyes that she wasn’t fine at all. “I just needed some air. It’s stuffy and crowded in there.”

  “Stuffy and crowded go with the territory,” he agreed.

  They stood in silence for a moment. It was obvious that she wanted to be alone—she’d come out here to be alone, and here he was, intruding on whatever it was she was wanting to be alone about. He felt awkward and uncertain of what to say or how to remove himself without sounding even more lame than he already felt.