Witness for the Defense

by Jonnie Jacobs

  “For all intents and purposes. There are a few legal hoops we have to toss papers through, but as far as you're concerned, it's a done deal.”

  “Do you have them with you?”

  I pulled the folder out of my briefcase, relieved that I would bring Terri the best baby present of all. Melissa took the pen I offered, scanned the page, and signed her name. Then wiped away a tear.

  “There,” she said, handing the packet back to me. “My baby-has a good home.”

  Hannah was in good hands, but it was clear Melissa wasn't. Whoever her friends were, they had not rallied to offer support.

  “You need any help getting settled, give me a call, okay? I'm great at lining shelves and toting boxes.”

  She smiled, and I realized it was the first time I'd seen her do so. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

  <><><>

  From the hospital, I went to see Hannah.

  The Harpers' San Francisco house wasn't as plush as their “weekend” place in the Napa Valley, but it was still large and imposing, situated near the crest of Pacific Heights. Another vignette of life among the rich and famous to share with Jared.

  I'd arrived about ten minutes early, but I doubted Terri was punching a time clock. I rang the bell. The door opened immediately.

  I blinked and stepped back. “Steven!” It was more an utterance of surprise than greeting.

  “Hello, Kali.” He looked as startled as I felt, but he recovered much more quickly. He actually managed a smile. “Good to see you again.”

  At first impression, Steven looked just as I'd remembered. The unruly buckskin brown hair that hung over one eye, the slightly asymmetrical features, the five o'clock shadow at midday. But he'd changed too. A little older, a little heavier. His face had more tension to it, his eyes weren't as lively. He had a worn look, I thought. Like faded denim.

  “I was just leaving,” Steven said.

  Probably because he knew I was scheduled to arrive soon. He couldn't have been any more anxious to run into me than I was him. Yet he'd referred Terri and Ted to me.

  I stepped back to allow him room to pass. “Thank you for giving Terri my name.”

  He nodded. “I heard you were back in town. And Terri needed a lawyer who was user-friendly, so to speak. I thought of you immediately.”

  User-friendly. Not the highest compliment among lawyers, who prefer to be known for their sharp minds and tongues, but among psychologists it probably amounted to praise. We stood awkwardly for a moment, then Steven nodded again, for no reason. “Well, I'd best get going.”

  Suddenly, I felt I had to say something. “Steven, I wish I—”

  He held up a hand. “I know, Kali. Believe me, I know. But beating yourself up over something that's done serves no purpose.” He paused, started to say something, then changed his mind and started down the stairs. “Go take a look at Hannah. She's a beauty.”

  I watched Steven's retreating form for a moment longer, then turned and let myself in, surprised to find that my legs were wobbly.

  In the marble-tiled entry, I paused to breathe deeply and steady myself. Then I called out to announce my arrival.

  Terri appeared at the top of the stairs. “Hi, Kali. Come on up. Did you see Steven? He was just here.”

  “He let me in.”

  The entry was large, with an antique chest and a Miro-like painting on the wall above it. My eyes made a quick sweep of the artist's signature at the bottom. The genuine article.

  Terri led me to the nursery. A sunny room done in shades of yellow and adorned with enough stuffed animals to fill an ark.

  “Here she is,” Terri said proudly.

  Hannah was indeed a beautiful baby. Bright blue eyes that shone with curiosity, clear skin, and a downy, golden blond fuzz that would grow into real hair with time. She was tucked into an infant seat, swaddled in a creamy white hand-crocheted blanket.

  I felt unexpected maternal stirrings somewhere behind my ribs and made a concerted effort to ignore them.

  My biological clock, ticking away right when I'd finally come to accept the fact that I was alone. Whether by fate or choice, I hadn't yet decided.

  I touched the top of Hannah's head with my fingers. Soft and warm. I could feel her tiny pulse beating just under the skin. “She's lovely,” I said.

  “She is,” Terri agreed. “In every way.”

  For years I'd attended friends' baby showers and christenings. I'd oohed and aahed like a pro, but it never seemed any different to me than looking at vacation slides of a trip to the Grand Canyon. Lately, though, I'd noticed a tug somewhere deeper. Hannah's newborn helplessness practically knocked me over.

  Terri adjusted the blanket even though it was fine as it was. “Can I get you some coffee or something?”

  “No thanks. I can't stay long.” I handed her the brightly wrapped gift. “For Hannah.”

  “You didn't need to do that.” But Terri had begun tearing into the paper before she finished speaking. “Look, Hannah, a doggie. And a book. The Runaway Bunny. This is one of Mommy's favorite stories, Hannah.” She turned to me, hugging the stuffed terrier to her chest. “This was so sweet of you. Thank you.”

  “It will be a while before Hannah is old enough to enjoy them, I guess.”

  “Not that long really. And we'll be sure to tell her how grateful we are for your help.”

  “Speaking of which, I have an even better present. Melissa signed the consent papers. The adoption is about as final as it can get without being totally official.”

  Terri threw her arms around me. “That's wonderful news. We should break out the champagne this minute.”

  “Better to save it for when Ted is home.”

  “Melissa called here last night,” Terri said. “She didn't mention anything about the consent, but she did ask to stay with us awhile.”

  “What? Absolutely not.”

  “That's what I say, but Ted thinks maybe we should let her. Just until she gets her strength back. The C-section and infection were more than she bargained for.”

  “It's not a good idea, Terri. In fact, it's a bad idea. No matter how open the adoption, Hannah is your daughter now. Having Melissa move in will only complicate things. For her as well as you all.”

  Terri nodded silently.

  “She has a place in Berkeley, doesn't she? Ted said you'd found it together.”

  “Right. We even paid the first couple of months' rent.”

  “You've done more than can be expected.”

  “I know, it's just so...” Hannah started to whimper and Terri picked her up to comfort her. “It's just that Melissa is, well, so needy.”

  “You're adopting Hannah, remember, not Melissa.” I'd been wondering how and when to bring up the Coles. This seemed as good a time as any. Now that Melissa had signed the final papers, they weren't a threat to the Harpers. But I thought Terri should know nonetheless.

  I started to explain but Terri interrupted. “Melissa was up front with us about that from the start.” Terri said. “The Coles are nice people, I'm sure. But they can't offer Hannah what we can. Melissa liked them because they are Catholic like she is, but she never felt comfortable with them.”

  Nor had they been able to offer her use of a car, rent, or temporary room and board in Pacific Heights. But it also helped explain why Ted and Terri were so solicitous of Melissa. She'd changed her mind once and they didn't want her to do so again.

  Fortunately, that was all behind them now.

  “Concentrate on being Hannah's mother,” I told Terri. “Melissa will figure out how to take care of herself.”

  <><><>

  I was in court all day Friday on a slip-and-fall case. From there, I went straight to the gym. I knew if I went home first, I'd find some excuse to keep me there. Or I'd putter around the house until it was too late, then curl up with a glass of wine and a book, and promise myself that tomorrow, for sure, I'd do a healthy workout.

  I started in the weight room, surrounded by grunting testoster
one and biceps as big as my waist—and I'm no Scarlett O'Hara. Finally, I moved on to the treadmill. Here at least, the women held their own, in numbers if not in intensity. And many of both sexes were in worse shape than me, which I found heartening.

  On the way home, I picked up a veggie burrito and held off eating it until I'd poured myself a glass of wine. Bea and Dotty were out for the evening—I couldn't remember whether Fridays were ballroom dancing or Italian cooking. I sorted through the mail and listened to my messages while I munched. I tried not to dwell on the fact that I was once again home alone on a Friday night.

  Jared had called asking me to phone him when I got in.

  I half suspected he wanted a rundown on the Harpers' Pacific Heights house and thought about putting off the return call. Prudence won out, however, and I picked up the phone.

  “Hey, boss,” Jared said. “We got a problem.”

  “It can't wait?”

  “I don't think so.”

  “Can you handle it yourself?” For a guy who saw himself as the Perry Mason of the new millennium, Jared was sometimes maddeningly unwilling to step up to the plate.

  “Bram Weaver was here, boss.”

  “Weaver? The talk show host?”

  “Yep. The man women love to hate.”

  Not all women. There were a surprising number who ate up his sermonizing about a woman's role. “What did he want?”

  Jared paused. “His daughter.”

  “His—”

  “He claims he's the father of Melissa Burke's baby.”

  CHAPTER 5

  What do you mean she's not here?” I stared in disbelief at the exhausted-looking woman seated behind the hospital reception desk. “She's been here all week.”

  “She checked out about four hours ago.”

  “Monday,” I protested. “Melissa was supposed to be discharged on Monday. Not today.”

  After the call from Jared, I'd headed straight for the hospital to talk to Melissa. No telephone calls, no passing Go, no collecting anything, even my wits. And I was still too late.

  The woman sighed, clearly exasperated by a long day of dealing with people like me. “You might try one of the nurses. Third floor. Take the elevator to your right.”

  The third-floor nurse, crisp and efficient, could tell me nothing beyond fact that Melissa Burke had left that afternoon, without waiting for the doctor's release. “It's against policy,” she said, “but we aren't a jail. We can't force people to stay if they don't want to.”

  “What made her decide to leave?”

  The nurse shrugged and went back to the sorting of files I'd interrupted. A moon-faced black woman, a patient rather than nurse, addressed me. “You asking about Melissa, that young girl had a C-section?”

  “Right.”

  “Was her father. He come here today ready to whup her ass.”

  “Her father?”

  “What she says. Acted like a father, too. All mean and nasty.”

  “Her father?” I asked again, puzzled. She'd said her parents didn't even know she was pregnant.

  “Didn't hardly seem old enough to be her daddy,” the woman added. “Must'a knocked up her mama when he was still a kid his-self.”

  Her father or birth father? “What did he look like?” I asked.

  “Pointy nose, thin lips. Light complexion. Wasn't no toad, but not a prince neither.”

  “Did she leave with him?”

  “Nah. She didn't want nothing to do with him. But once he was gone, so was she. Outta here fast as a rabbit on speed.”

  I'd seen Bram Weaver's picture only once, when one of the national magazines did a feature on him, but the description fit. And his visit lent credence to his paternity claim.

  “Any idea where Melissa went?” I asked the black woman.

  She shook her head.

  “Thanks for your help.” I addressed the comment to both women, but the nurse didn't even raise her eyes.

  <><><>

  Ten o'clock on a Friday night and I was wound up tighter than a coiled spring. I thought about hitting the gym for a second time that day, then decided I preferred wine. My unfinished glass of Merlot was still sitting on the counter where I'd left it before heading off in search of Melissa. I picked it up and took a swallow on my way to the phone.

  There weren't many people I felt comfortable phoning at that hour, but my sister Sabrina and I had a long history of ignoring the trappings of comfort.

  “Hey, Kali.” Sabrina sounded understandably wary. “Why are you calling?”

  “I want to scream, is why.” After a childhood spent at odds, Sabrina and I had worked out the parameters of a more or less peaceful coexistence. That I would turn to her in my frustration said a lot about how far we'd come.

  She laughed. “Well, I'm the right person for that. Only you'll have to get in line. I seem to be a magnet for anger these days.”

  I reached for the wine bottle and refilled my glass. “How are you doing?”

  “Cut the Hallmark stuff and tell me what's got you pissed.”

  I told her about Terri and Ted, and Hannah and Melissa, without using last names. But since Bram Weaver wasn't a client, I didn't feel the same constraint.

  “The guru of public morality?” Sabrina asked, incredulous.

  “Wannabe guru is more like it. Have you ever listened to him?”

  “All the time.” She paused and I heard the clink of ice cubes. Sabrina prefers the hard stuff to wine. “I know he's controversial,” she continued, “but if you put aside his arrogance, some of what he says is pretty sound.”

  “Women barefoot and pregnant. No such thing as date rape.”

  “So he's a little extreme. But you have to agree that the radical feminists are too. They've given women a bad name.”

  That Sabrina sometimes lumped me with the radical feminists seemed to have slipped her mind, but I wasn't in the mood to argue. “Anyway,” I continued, “if he's really the baby's father, the whole adoption will be thrown out. My clients will be heartbroken.”

  “Can you imagine being Bram Weaver's daughter?” She giggled, a sure sign that the ice cubes weren't cooling a glass of ginger ale.

  “Her name is Hannah. Although I guess it might not be for long. Weaver's bound to choose something different.”

  “You think a judge would choose Weaver over your clients?” Her tone suggested the idea was inane, despite her professed admiration for Weaver.

  “It's not a matter of choosing.”

  “But your clients are a married couple. Stable, probably well off, right?”

  “Doesn't matter. You can't terminate parental rights simply because there are better options.” In fact, fathers' rights was one of Weaver's rallying cries.

  Another clink of ice against glass. “You sure pick 'em, Kali.”

  “Don't I.” The vision of Hannah and her bright blue eyes haunted me.

  “How'd you end up with this one, anyway?”

  “Terri is Steven Cross's sister. Half-sister, actually. He gave her my name.”

  “Steven?” There was a moment of silence. “God, Kali, what were you thinking?”

  “It didn't seem like any big deal at the time.” Liar, I told myself.

  “Liar,” she said.

  In a moment of wine-induced honesty not long after the accident, I'd confided in my sister. She was the only one who knew the whole story, and as much as I later regretted having told her, I found it also something of a relief. Secrets are a terrible burden to bear alone.

  “It was supposed to be a simple adoption,” I said. “Besides, what's wrong with taking his half-sister on as a client?”

  “Weren't you the one who insisted it would be best if you and Steven never crossed paths again?”

  I could think of a dozen snappy retorts, but the bottom line was, she was right. Six degrees of separation between you and the rest of the world. If you wanted to keep your distance from someone, you didn't cultivate ties that might bring you closer.

  �
�Right now,” I said, “my bigger concern is Bram Weaver.”

  “If anyone can find a way to make it right, Kali, you can.”

  I appreciated her confidence, though I couldn't help but think it was misplaced.

  <><><>

  My doorbell rang the next morning a little after nine. I was up, but barely. My head hurt from too much wine and my muscles were tired from a restless night's tossing and turning. I waited for Bea or Dotty to get the door, but when the buzzer sounded again, I realized they must have gone out.

  I trudged upstairs myself and opened the door. Then blinked in surprise.

  “I need to talk to you,” Melissa said, shoving her hands into her jacket pockets.

  “Damn right you do.”

  She looked up. A host of emotions played across her face. “You've talked to him then,” she said warily.

  “Not directly, no.” I stood back, inviting her in.

  She stayed put. “Are you mad?”

  “Of course I'm mad. I'm furious. But not half as mad, or hurt, as Ted and Terri will be.”

  “Do they know?”

  “Not from me. Yet.” I waved her in. “Come inside, I promise not to bite. You want some coffee?”

  “Tea?” She followed me into the kitchen, moving gingerly, like an old woman.

  “How are you feeling?”

  She groaned. “If I'm ever again tempted to sleep with some guy, I'm going to remember what it's like to have your belly cut open and stapled shut.”

  At least her sense of humor was intact.

  Melissa eased herself into one of the kitchen chairs, wincing as she bent forward. “If I hadn't had to stay in the hospital so long, he'd never have found me.”

  “Maybe, maybe not.” I put the kettle on to boil and took a bag of Constant Comment from the cupboard. “What's your relationship with Bram Weaver? Besides the obvious.”

  Her eyes welled with tears. She shook her head, waved her arm through the air in a gesture of helplessness.

  “If you have any doubts about paternity, a blood test can settle the question once and for all.” I was ready to grasp at whatever hope there was.