Yesterday

by Fern Michaels

  “I’m sorry, I don’t have good news. She’s barely alive and in a deep coma. We’ve done all we can for now. Go home, Mr. Archer.”

  Wyn’s head snapped backward. “Callie’s alive!”

  7

  Bode parked his brand-new, leased BMW in a parking space that said in bold, black letters BOWDEY JESSUP. Hatch was going formal on him. He knew he was conforming, for the first time in his life. He wasn’t sure if he liked the feeling or not. Bicycles, scooters, and Harleys were unacceptable, Hatch had said firmly. Suits were required for court. A dress jacket and jeans were frowned on, which meant they, too, were unacceptable. The string ties could stay. So, here he was in a suit and a button-down shirt complete with pointed collar.

  His office was state of the art, complete with wide-screen television, VCR, and a CD system. A bar was snuggled underneath the breakfront that housed the sound system, and it was stocked with every drink imaginable. For clients. Grape soda for him. Snacks were in a separate cabinet—potato chips, something called squiggies, pretzels, and an assortment of chocolates and gumdrops, all his favorites. He certainly wasn’t going to starve.

  A huge, round table held the latest law periodicals and a monstrous bowl of fruit. He grinned when he saw a copy of People magazine. Hatch did love Hollywood gossip. A sofa and two deep, comfortable chairs flanked the round table. Bode tried them out, bouncing on each of them. Comfortable, but not so comfortable clients would want to stay beyond a reasonable length of time. At three hundred bucks an hour, why would they even want to sit down? He laughed.

  Bode was still smiling when he walked the length and breadth of the new office that had his name on the door. It was, according to the walk off, thirty feet by twenty-five. A monster room. He could probably raise a family here if he wanted to. He laughed again.

  He loved the rich paneling, the perfectly hung drapes, the matching fabric on the furniture that complemented the deep, chocolate carpet. The green plants added a human touch, as did the ornate and colorful fish tank in the corner. Hatch had deliberately put five fish in the tank. A tiny plaque glued to the side said: Mama Pearl, Callie, Brie, Sela, Bode. He stared at the fish swimming so gracefully in their tank. A reminder of his family, a reminder that they would move on with their life even though he wasn’t there to supervise it. At least, he told himself, that’s what he was getting out of the tank. He studied the fish for a full ten minutes before he was comfortable with the names of each one. Now, he could sit back in his brand-new swivel chair and talk to his new family. And the plants.

  The bookshelves were elegant and matched the burnished paneling. It all smelled so new. So unused. Well, he could create a mess with the best. By the end of the day he knew the office would look used and lived in. He leaned back in his brand-new chair, swiveled around, and yelled, “Yippeeeee!” He eyed the computer with hatred. The printer and optical scanner were right next to his desk. He viewed those with deep hatred. The telephone system looked to him like he might need an aerospace degree to master it. He punched buttons, listened to the beeps and whistles, and said, “Shit!” He said his favorite word again when he peered down at his desk. A calculator as big as a legal pad was under glass. He touched numbers and watched it light up. “Whoa,” was all he could think of to say. Great for billable hours, but Hatch said he didn’t have to worry about billable hours. “Hot damn.”

  The door carved into the paneling across the room beckoned him. He was like a kid when he stood before it, his hand on the brass knob. Inside was a bathroom so elegantly appointed he found himself sucking in his breath. A glass-enclosed shower, thick, thirsty-looking towels, a toilet raised off the floor. He bent over to peer under it. He sat down gingerly. Mama Pearl should see this. The vanity basin with its walled mirror would be the envy of any woman. He preened in front of it, running his fingers through his dark curls. He looked down then and saw the yellow wall-to-wall carpeting. Hatch did love yellow. Something about corn and Reservations.

  A second door in the bathroom led to a closet that was bigger than his whole apartment back in South Carolina. Everything was built in—shoe racks, drawers for everything imaginable, and it would have to be imaginable because he didn’t have much. A chair, table, and lamp and a small kitchen that was so perfectly camouflaged he did a double take. A hideout, for when he didn’t want to sit in his office or maybe wished to hide from Hatch. The guy had a wacky sense of humor. The same intricate phone system was on a long table with stacks and stacks of legal pads. Cups of pencils, pens, trays of paper clips and rubber bands were neatly lined up. But it was the picture on the wall, blown up to ten times its original size, that made him double over and roll all the way across the room. Laughing and gasping for breath he finally managed to get up and salute the picture in the elegant gold frame. “Here’s to you, Miss Priceless.”

  “So, you found it. Every office has one. I got them for nothing. So, did I do good or what?” Hatch rumbled with laughter.

  “How the hell do you explain this?” Bode demanded.

  “I don’t. These pictures are for partners only. Guess what, they didn’t even ask. None of them has one ounce of art sense. This is art, Bode, make no mistake.”

  “Jesus,” was all he could think of to say.

  “Is it okay, Bode, do you like it?”

  “God, Hatch, what’s not to like? Does this firm really take in that much money? Who the hell are your clients?”

  “I told you, most of them are high rollers from Nevada. They pay. They also give out bonuses. Don’t for one minute think this firm does anything illegal. I’ve got the best of the best and those guys pay for it. I love showy stuff. I told you I worship money. This building was in Architectural Digest. The architect is a client. Megaretainer. All retainers are of the megatype. We do pro bono work, too. You do that between seven and nine in the morning and from six to seven at night. Weekends are yours if you want to do more. I try to encourage the partners to do as much as they can. I have fifty cases right now of my own. When I can’t win them, I just give them the money and do a little razzle-dazzle with legal terms and they go away happy. You can do the same thing. We have a fund for . . . you know.”

  “Giveaways. I’m proud of you, Hatch.”

  “Yeah, sure. You did the same thing. And you were stupid enough to tell me. Where do you think I got the idea?”

  “Not from me. I got it from you way back when. You said you were going to do it someday if you were ever in a position to help the needy. What I did was hardly a spit in a bucket.”

  “It doesn’t matter, you did it. I’m doing it. Now, we’re doing it. All the promises we made to each other back in school are coming true now. Jesus, I’m glad you’re here.”

  “I don’t think you’ve forgotten anything except maybe a caseload. When am I going to see my first client?”

  “Ten o’clock. Your secretary will fill you in when she gets here. Her name’s Medusa—I swear to God. She makes the best coffee and she bakes ladyfingers for me. You’re gonna love her. Wanna go out to lunch?”

  “Well, sure.”

  “Great,” Hatch said, clapping his big hands together. “Do you need anything? Would you rather wait and start tomorrow and maybe do some shopping? We have some really great stores. I can have someone come to the office. Whatever you want, Bode.”

  “You know what I really want?”

  “Tell me and it’s yours,” the big man said happily.

  “I want a cup of coffee and I want to practice law. Get the hell out of my office so I can count my paper clips.”

  “You got it. Lunch is twelve-thirty. I insist everyone go out to lunch. We actually close the office from twelve-thirty till two. It’s a perk.”

  “GO!”

  Bode made his way to the chair behind the massive mahogany desk. He leaned back, his eyes on the phone. Maybe he should call Mama Pearl and tell her all about his new offices and ask her how the wedding went. He should do that. It was the decent thing to do, and Mama Pearl would want to know
he had arrived safely. He leaned over to study all the buttons on the phone. Maybe he could figure it out by four o’clock, if he was lucky. In the meantime he’d have to wait for someone to call him. Tomorrow was another day. He’d call tomorrow, he promised himself.

  She was beside his desk and he hadn’t seen her come in. She was as soundless as Hatch even when the big man was on a rampage. She wasn’t tiny, she was a miniature—of what, he didn’t know. Seventy-nine pounds tops. A tiny little lady with a smile as big as the world. Soft, brown eyes with gold flecks in them that matched the long, thick braid that hung down to her waist. A cluster of tiny little bells hung from her ears. They hung around her neck and wrist, too. So, if they tinkled, how come he hadn’t heard her come in? He was about to look down to see if she had them on her ankles when she said, “No, I don’t wear ankle bracelets.”

  Flustered, Bode said, “I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “You didn’t hear me come in because I didn’t make any noise. I’m Medusa, Mr. Jessup. Should I call you Mr. Jessup or would you prefer me to call you sir?”

  “How about Bode? It’s my name.”

  “I know all about you, Bode. Hatch, as you call him, filled me in. His mother and I were friends. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. He used to talk about you all the time; he still does. I’m very proud of him.”

  This lady was Hatch’s Pearl, he was sure of it. Maybe not from his early years, but certainly later, after his parents’ death.

  “These,” Medusa said, placing a stack of folders on his desk, “are your pro bono cases. I believe there are twenty-three. Some of them are very interesting. Your first client is due in ten minutes, and your coffee is now ready. Is there anything else I can do for you, Bode?”

  “Explain to me how this . . . this phone works.”

  “You do this, this and this . . . then you press nine. Nine is an outside line. You’re number four. That means when four lights up you press it, but first you have to press zero. I’ll type up a little sheet and tape it to the desk for easy reference.”

  “What if I just want you?”

  “Shout”—the little woman smiled—“or press zero and one.”

  “What, no smoke signals?”

  “We do that at high noon, just look out the window,” Medusa said. “You have a luncheon engagement with Hatch. I’ll remind you fifteen minutes ahead of time so you can wash your hands.”

  “You sound like Mama Pearl,” Bode grumbled.

  “I’m flattered,” Medusa said, closing the door behind her.

  Bode opened his battered briefcase, his first present from Brie. His first real present. Although she’d given him a traveling case when he left for college. He still had that, too. A smile played around the corners of his mouth as he watched Medusa set a steamy cup of coffee next to him. “You have five minutes to drink that coffee. Your first client is waiting in the outer office. Five minutes.”

  “Fine, send him in and bring him some coffee.” Medusa frowned but nodded, the tiny bells silent.

  “Mr. Jessup, this is Maxwell Thornton,” Medusa said, ushering in a tall, distinguished-looking man in his sixties. She quietly withdrew, the door closing softly behind her.

  Bode walked around the side of the desk, his hand extended. Thornton’s handshake was firm and hard. “Please sit down. Coffee?”

  “I’ve had my caffeine fix for the day. Go ahead and drink yours.”

  “It will wait. What can I do for you, Mr. Thornton?” He leaned back in his chair, his fingers making a steeple as he prepared to listen.

  Thornton cleared his throat. “No matter how I say this, it’s going to come out sounding . . . terrible. I guess I should just go ahead and try for some kind of chronological order.”

  Bode nodded. “Take your time,” he said quietly.

  “Twenty-five years ago, my wife and I adopted a child. It wasn’t done through an agency; it was private. Then, two years later we adopted another child the same way. Connor is thirty now and Madeline twenty-eight. A week after we brought Madeline home, my wife Caroline found out she was pregnant. She gave birth to twin girls seven months later, Amy and Andy.”

  “It sounds like you have a wonderful family, Mr. Thornton.”

  “It is. We’ve always done everything together. The children work in my business. Connor pretty much runs the company. He has a good head for business. Madeline is the comptroller. Amy and Andy run the offices. My firm manufactures cardboard cartons. It’s very profitable. I’m the second largest firm in the country. Containers are . . . profitable.”

  Bode leaned forward. He knew what was coming next. His guts started to churn as he waited, feeling Thornton’s embarrassment.

  “I’m seventy-two years old. Caroline is seventy. My heart isn’t what it should be. My wife isn’t well either. I set up trusts years ago, bought tons of life insurance. Everything is taken care of, except that now, my wife has decided she wants our estate to be left to our natural children, with bequests to the adopted children. Sizable bequests,” he added swiftly, shifting position in the chair, his eyes everywhere but on the attorney facing him.

  “And your feeling is . . . ?”

  “I don’t think it’s right, but my wife . . . it’s very important to her that we do this. She’s already spoken to Andy and Amy, and as much as I hate to say this, I think they’re encouraging her to put pressure on me.”

  “Once adopted, children of that adoption have as many legal rights as biological children. You’re right, Mr. Thornton, what your wife is proposing isn’t right, morally or ethically—in my eyes and yours, too, it would appear. What exactly is it you think you want me to do?”

  “To tell me it can’t be done, I guess. Everything in life can be undone if you have the time, the patience, and the stamina. Isn’t that right, Mr. Jessup?” Bode noticed beads of perspiration dotting the man’s brow.

  “That’s often the case, but I need to know why. The courts are going to want to know why, too. I would suspect that Connor and Madeline will want to know why, also.”

  “I love them both like they’re my own.”

  “They are, Mr. Thornton. It doesn’t sound fair to me. Why don’t you think it through some more and come back when you’ve finally decided. I have the feeling you want me to make your decision, and I cannot and will not do that. If you feel that way, how does your wife feel?”

  “Once our own children were born she changed. She said I couldn’t possibly understand since I wasn’t a mother. As I said, the bequests are sizable. They were my wife’s idea.”

  “What do you consider sizable, Mr. Thornton?” Bode asked with an edge to his voice.

  “My wife feels half a million each is more than enough. Andy and Amy say that’s too much. I myself don’t feel it’s enough, and I really don’t want to do this. I came here hoping you’d talk me out of it or tell me I can’t do it.”

  “You can do anything you want, Mr. Thornton. It’s your money. Would Connor and Madeline contest the will?”

  “No, they aren’t like that.”

  “They sound like fine children, people to be proud of. What do they call you?”

  “Call me?”

  “Yes. How do they address you?” The edge was still in Bode’s voice, his eyes narrowed as he stared at his first client across the desk.

  “Connor calls me Dad, and so does Madeline. Amy and Andy do, too. Why?”

  “Are you Dad? Do you deserve to be called Dad? How did you feel the first time they called you that? I’m asking you for personal reasons so don’t feel you have to answer me. You see, I never had a father. A very kind, generous man took me into his home, but while he provided for me, we never really had any personal interaction. In my secret thoughts I called him Dad, thought of him as Dad, but the word Dad never, ever passed my lips. I wish it had. You have no idea how much I wish that. I don’t think I’m the person to help you, Mr. Thornton. My own background is too cloudy for me to deal with you on a legal level. I can arrange for you to wor
k with one of the other attorneys. Are you agreeable to that?”

  “Hell, no, I’m not. Mr. Littletree said you were the best. I need the best. It sounds to me like you’re just the man to help me if you can relate to what I’m telling you. I don’t want another attorney,” Thornton said adamantly. “Just tell me how I can divide my estate equally. To answer your question earlier, it felt great, wonderful actually, when the kids called me Dad. Jesus, I went out and bought footballs, baseballs, bats. I had a basketball hoop put up in the driveway. I went the whole nine yards. I was Connor’s dad from day one.”

  “Then act like it,” Bode snapped. I didn’t say that, somebody else said that. “Maybe you need to give some thought to sizable bequests to your wife and natural children. It would certainly give them something to think about.” Jesus, this guy is going to take me before the bar and have my license.

  “My wife, their mother . . .” A second later he was up off the chair, wringing his hands and pacing the large office, his eyes full of misery.

  “Let me tell you what a mother is. Sit down.” It was a command full of iron and steel. The older man blinked, but did as he was told. Bode’s voice rang with love and emotion when he spoke of Pearl and the girls. When he finally wound down he felt like smoke was coming out of his ears. He stood up, the palms of his hands braced on his desk. He leaned over, his eyes shooting sparks. He spoke slowly, enunciating each word carefully and slowly. “Don’t think, even for a minute, that Connor and Madeline don’t know what’s going on. Do not allow yourself that luxury. In their eyes it must be unconscionable; my eyes, too. When you commit, you commit one hundred percent where children are concerned. Anything less is totally unacceptable. Now, please leave my office and when you’re ready, if you’re ever ready, to act like a man, a father, you can come back.” And there goes my law career. Sorry, Hatch. He started to pack up his briefcase. “You can leave now, Mr. Thornton.” He was angrier than he’d ever been before. So angry he wanted to smash something, to use his fists, something he’d never done in the whole of his adult life.