He scrutinized her. “How’s the girl?” he asked. “The victim. Is she all right?”
“I talked to her on the phone as soon as the verdict came down.” Jenny’s voice faltered slightly, and she lowered her eyes. “Needless to say, she’s devastated. I promised I’d drop by her house this evening and talk to her. I know you and I are supposed to have dinner, but—”
“This is more important,” he said. “We’ll eat later, or—whatever. You’ll go and see her right after work.”
She sent him a look of gratitude. “I was hoping you’d understand.”
Something in her expression—the defiant tilt of her chin, the metallic glint in her multicolored eyes—puzzled him. Her words implied that, although justifiably disappointed, she had come to terms with her loss. Yet he sensed a strain of resistance in her, something below the surface, contradicting her superficially calm acceptance of the courtroom defeat. “What are you thinking?” he asked.
She met his steady gaze and one corner of her mouth lifted in a wry half-smile. “Do you know why I lost the case? I’ll tell you: because these things happen. The same reason I was raped: these things happen. It’s not my fault, Luke. It wasn’t my fault seven years ago, and it’s not my fault now. It’s this society we’re living in. The jurors were candid about it. They thought Sullivan was a dick, but hey, that’s men for you. Two of the jurors came over to me after court adjourned and spelled it out. They said, ‘What he did was wrong, but that’s what men do. That’s how they operate. They’ve been that way since the beginning of time. You can’t criminalize the male instinct. These things happen.’”
Luke absorbed her words. He couldn’t refute the truth in them, even though he wanted to. “These things shouldn’t happen,” he muttered.
“But they do. And there isn’t a hell of a lot I can do about it—except keep on fighting.”
Keep on fighting. His soul filled with a profound exhilaration at her quiet pledge. It really was simple, after all. What a person could do was keep on fighting.
One loss couldn’t destroy Jenny, not anymore. She was already gearing up for the next battle. She was no longer willing to run away. She was too angry, too spirited, too principled to give up.
This was the Jenny Luke had fallen in love with so long ago—strong, self-righteous, noble and fearless. She was back, in full flower.
“Do you know how much I love you?” he murmured, crossing the room and gathering her into his arms.
“It better be a lot,” she said as she nestled her face against his shoulder. “You got me through this, Luke. You got me through the verdict, through the press conference, through the whole thing. I ducked into the bathroom for a minute because I thought I might want to cry—but I didn’t. The urge vanished. I just thought about you, and I felt better.”
As thrilled as he was by her words, he didn’t see what he could have done to help her through this frustrating defeat. “How did I help?”
“You didn’t give up on me. You kept on fighting.” She leaned back and looked squarely at him. “When we believe in something, that’s what we have to do. I used to know that, and then I forgot. And you taught me, all over again. You’re a very good teacher.” She rose on tiptoe and kissed him. “I’ve always believed in you, Luke, but you taught me to believe in myself. It was something I needed to learn.”
They kissed again, a deeper, fuller kiss. If Willy hadn’t entered the cubicle and cleared his throat loudly, they might have continued kissing forever. When Jenny broke from Luke, he felt mildly embarrassed, but she didn’t look the least bit abashed. “Knock next time,” she scolded her colleague.
He gave Luke a thorough inspection. “This is your gentleman caller, I take it.”
“This,” Jenny declared, sliding her arm around Luke and holding him tight, “is my gentle man.”
My gentle man. Luke decided that sounded right—not just the “gentle man” part but the possessive pronoun. Especially that.
Epilogue
* * *
HIS MOTHER STOOD amid the confusion of the kitchen, sipping Evian from a highball glass. “Help me out, Luke,” she said, brushing a wisp of ash-blond hair back from her brow and gazing around her. “I know Aida put the cranberry sauce somewhere, but I can’t seem to find it.”
Aida was Luke’s parents’ housekeeper. She had been given the day off for Thanksgiving, but she’d spent the past several days helping to prepare the feast Luke’s mother was about to serve. Aida had cleaned and dressed the turkey, boiled and mashed the turnips, prepared the sweet-potato casserole, chilled the wines, cut the greens for a salad and baked the bread. Luke’s mother had managed to assemble most of the meal, which had all been cooked according to Aida’s instructions and was now spread out on the kitchen’s various counters, waiting to be carried into the dining room.
Luke opened the refrigerator door and located a cut-crystal bowl brimming with home-made cranberry sauce at the back of one of the shelves. “Here you go,” he said, pulling it out and presenting it to his mother with a theatrical flourish.
From the dining room came the shrill sound of Elliott’s daughter explaining the seating arrangement to her oblivious younger brother. From somewhere near the foot of the stairs, Elliott was hollering to his wife to bring him the diaper bag.
Luke’s mother took another swig of mineral water and laughed. “Every year it’s a zoo,” she muttered. “I suppose I should be grateful you all still want to come.”
“You know we wouldn’t go anywhere else.”
“Not even to Jenny’s parents?” she asked, giving Luke a canny look. “I’ll bet they’re are a lot easier to take than we are.”
“We’ll visit her folks for Christmas,” Luke said. “They understood that we couldn’t manage such a long trip twice in two months. It’s hard enough on us that we’re shuttling back and forth between Long Island and Boston every weekend.”
“Speaking of which, how’s the job search coming?” his mother asked as she untied the apron she’d been wearing over her silk slacks ensemble.
“I’ve already gotten an offer from the Billerica school district,” Luke told her. “I’m still waiting to hear from Newton and Belmont. One way or another, Jenny and I are going to have the same address next year.”
“And then you can start making babies,” his mother advised.
He knew she was teasing, and he gave her the appropriate response—a groan and a grimace.
His mother scanned the kitchen one last time. “I’ll start bringing this stuff to the table. You go lure the lion from his lair.”
With another groan, Luke departed from the kitchen to fetch his father from the study where he holed himself up every Thanksgiving, avoiding all contact with his family.
James Benning hadn’t even acknowledged Luke and Jenny’s arrival at the house an hour ago. In fact, Luke hadn’t seen his father in months. The old man had refused to attend the wedding—a small civil service ceremony performed by one of Jenny’s friends on the Massachusetts bench—and he’d made no bones about his displeasure that Luke had gone and married that gullible, mouthy little snip of a girl from Washington, D.C. “That was just a mindless infatuation,” his father had snorted when Luke had informed him, over the phone, that he and Jenny were engaged to get married. “I know she went to a good college, but—what’s her background? What on earth can she bring to a marriage?”
Everything, Luke had nearly answered. Joy and purpose, faith and trust. “I’m not marrying her for her dowry,” he’d muttered. “And I’m sure as hell not marrying her to earn a pat on the back from you.”
“Well, you sure as hell won’t get one,” his father had snapped back before passing the phone to his wife.
That conversation three months ago was the last time Luke had spoken to his father. They’d been estranged for so long, James Benning’s reaction to the marriage didn’t faze Luke. At least his mother had come to witness the wedding, along with Elliott and his family, Jenny’s parents, Taylor and
Suzanne and a few of Jenny’s friends from the D.A.’s office.
Given his father’s cold reaction, Luke would not have been surprised if Jenny refused to go to the Benning home for Thanksgiving. But when he’d mentioned his mother’s invitation, she had urged him to accept. “Sooner or later, your father and I are going to have to confront each other,” she’d said.
Now the time of confrontation was upon them. Jenny and James were going to have to sit at the dinner table together. Even if James tried to ignore her, she would never ignore him.
Resigning himself to the inevitable unpleasantness of their meeting, Luke headed down the hall to his father’s retreat at the rear of the house. To his astonishment, he noticed that the door to the study had been left ajar. Several feet from the doorway, he heard Jenny’s distinctive voice floating out of the room.
It wasn’t proper to spy on one’s own wife, but Luke couldn’t resist. He hovered in the hallway, eavesdropping.
“You’re wrong, Mr. Benning,” she declared.
“I’ve lived a lot longer than you, child,” his father argued. “And I’ve learned a lot about the way things are done in this world. People use the law to get what they want. Period.”
“Maybe the real issue is that different people want different things. Some people may want money and power, and they use the law to get it. But some of us use the law to illuminate society and bring about justice.”
“Still the idealist, aren’t you,” James retorted. “When are you going to grow up, young lady?”
“If growing up means becoming a cynic...” Luke heard the unexpected sound of Jenny’s laughter. “I’ll tell you, Mr. Benning, I’ve been there and it wasn’t so hot.”
“I’ll grant you this, Jenny,” James muttered. “You do have what it takes to be a good lawyer—a quick wit and a sharp tongue. And a lot of nerve.”
“It doesn’t take so much nerve to have a friendly debate with your father-in-law,” Jenny claimed, still chuckling.
“Friendly?” his father countered—and then started to laugh, too. “If this is your idea of friendly, your grip on reality is even weaker than I thought.”
“Actually, I’m so hungry I’m beginning to lose consciousness. I wish they’d call us for dinner already.”
“You could use some fattening up,” James noted. “Are you and Luke planning to have children?”
Jenny dissolved in fresh laughter.
While she was clearly quite capable of defending her professional views to Luke’s father, Luke didn’t think she should have to put up with grandparent-style meddling from the old man. Hurrying to the door, he tapped on it and edged it wider. “Hello, Dad,” he said, hoping his face didn’t betray his shock at seeing his father and Jenny seated side by side on the puckered leather sofa, convulsed in laughter.
James glanced up and reflexively scowled. “Your wife is giving me a hard time.”
“You’re giving her a hard time, too.”
“I’m trying, but she isn’t letting me,” his father complained. “A few minutes alone with her, and I’m almost looking forward to discussing laundry detergents with Elliott. I hope you came to tell us dinner’s ready, because if it isn’t I’m going to the club.”
“It’s ready,” Luke announced, moving to the sofa and offering Jenny his hand. “And the club is closed on Thanksgiving.”
“Don’t remind me,” James harrumphed. He heaved himself to his feet and stalked out of the room.
Luke helped Jenny up and kissed her cheek. “You didn’t have to socialize with him.”
“I chose to,” she said. “See how fearless I’m becoming?”
“Well, here I am to rescue you,” Luke said gallantly. “Not that you needed any rescuing.”
“He’s not so bad,” she remarked.
Luke tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. “He’s awful,” he argued with a grin.
She disputed him with a shake of her head. “Not only is he not so bad,” she said, “but I think he actually likes me.”
Luke gazed down at her. She looked vibrant, blooming with health and spirit. Her eyes sparkled, her lips curved in a generous smile, and her cheeks were marginally rounder than they used to be, thanks to her concerted effort to gain weight. But the source of her beauty wasn’t her glowing complexion, her striking coloring or her alluring figure. Jenny’s beauty came from confidence and optimism.
“Of course he likes you,” Luke agreed, speaking for himself as much as his father. “He can’t help himself.” Abruptly, he pulled her to a halt and touched his lips to hers.
She wrapped her arms around him and deepened the kiss, sharing with him the inner beauty of her soul, the deep, quiet, infinitely loving beauty of a woman who had conquered fear.
“Let’s go give thanks,” she whispered once the kiss ended.
Smiling, he slid his arm around her shoulders and walked with her into the dining room.
-The End-
For more information about Judith Arnold’s books, visit her web site book store: http://www.juditharnold.com/book-store/
One Good Turn
Copyright © 1991 Barbara Keiler
Cover Credit: Barbara Keiler
All rights reserved. No part of this may be reproduced in any manner whatsoever without permission except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the authors’ imaginations or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to appropriate site and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of these authors.
One Good Turn Page 22