In Defense of Guilt

by Benjamin Berkley

  “Look at me!” Lauren demanded, her voice rising. “Well, that’s real nice. I seem to recall taking the time to push you out of my body, and don’t think it was easy.”

  Any feeling of remorse for what she had done was now replaced with defiance as Constance rolled her eyes. Here it comes. That same tired, worn-out “I gave birth to you” line. Isn’t childbirth natural?

  If Lauren didn’t want a child, why did she have one? Constance didn’t ask to be brought into the world, and since she was here, her mother had the moral obligation to not only take care of and nurture her but to take the time to be interested and invested in her life. It didn’t seem too much to ask to spend a few hours a week with her.

  It was no use. She wasn’t making any headway. Her mother was wrapped up in herself. Constance did what all teenagers do; she tuned her out.

  “Twenty-three hours’ worth of not easy,” Lauren was shouting now. “I really don’t know why you insisted on staying in there, anyway. But do you honestly understand what it is I do all day?” It was a rhetorical question: Lauren was on a roll. “There’s one powerful group of people using every trick in the book to take powerless people’s lives away. And I, I stand in the way of them just doing what they want to do. That requires a great deal of time, concentration, and commitment. Do you understand me?”

  “Yeah, but what do you get for it?” Constance retorted.

  “I get compensated very well so that I’m able to provide us with a roof over our heads and clothes on our backs.”

  Dead silence for a long moment as Lauren took a deep breath and Constance stared into the distance.

  Lauren saw the faraway expression on her daughter’s face. “Why do you hate me so?”

  “I don’t,” Constance answered.

  “It says so, right there.” Lauren tapped on the notebook.

  In true lawyer’s daughter’s fashion, Constance replied, “I could ask you the same thing.”

  Stunned, Lauren paused. She lowered her voice. “Honey, I don’t hate you. I never said that.”

  She leaned over to hug her daughter. But Constance turned away; her mother’s actions of late spoke louder than words, and Constance wanted a real commitment, nothing insincere.

  The cold shoulder was more than Lauren could handle. She pounded her fist hard against the steering wheel, fuming. Giving up for the time being, she threw up a hand and started the engine while Constance simmered in hurt feelings. Lauren made a U-turn and pulled back into traffic. Constance’s emotions boiled over; she wasn’t done yet.

  “You’re right. You’re too busy to even bother caring enough to hate me,” she accused.

  “Is that what this is all about, preteen angst?”

  “Shows how little you do know me. I’m fourteen now. That makes me a teenager.”

  “Oh, and you are fourteen. I am so impressed. And if you were to depart today, what a footprint you would have left on this planet. But how would I know? You and your father. You make such a nice pair. He is so great, I suppose. The always cheery, unread author. What a joke.”

  “Well, at least he doesn’t cheat on you like you do on him,” Constance blurted out.

  Mortified, Lauren slammed the brakes at a yellow light turning to red. “What did you just say?”

  “He knows. He’s not stupid.”

  So he does know, she thought. Fine. All the better.

  But it was an insincere thought. Lauren had prided herself on being crafty. She had thought she had covered all the bases. How could Dennis have found out? Putting that aside for the moment, she turned to Constance.

  “This is an inappropriate conversation, and I’m certainly not going to discuss my personal business with you.”

  Constance didn’t know whether her mother believed her or not. In reality, she was more suspicious of Lauren’s activities than her forgiving father was. Either way, she was outmaneuvered and outmatched. Her mother had too many years and too much experience on her. However, she had started a chain reaction. She had stuck her neck out and was more than willing to stand by her convictions. Her pain flowed.

  “Daddy still loves you, but you don’t love him! You don’t love either of us! Why didn’t you just abort me if you didn’t want me? Was I an oops, a mistake? Did you marry my father just so it wouldn’t look bad being an unwed mother and you’d have someone to take care of me?”

  The light turned green, but Lauren’s foot remained firmly upon the brake.

  Constance folded her arms across her chest. “Light’s green.”

  Lauren just glared at her daughter.

  A cacophony of car horns sounded as angry drivers were held up behind them. Lauren turned on her hazard lights in response.

  Thinking maybe she had gone too far, Constance began biting her nails. Still, she believed what she said in frustration was truth. It needed to be said, and if her father wasn’t going to address the subject, someone sure had to.

  Cars began to maneuver around them. Angry drivers shouted unheard obscenities through their side windows at her. Lauren blocked them out. Her eyes were locked on Constance, and her foot was locked on the brake.

  “Now you listen to me, young lady. I had you because I wanted you. I didn’t have a doctor stick a vacuum cleaner up my vagina and suck you to oblivion. You remember that! Everything I do is so you can have the life you want, but that certainly doesn’t include giving you the right to mouth off to me. Now, stop your damned whining about not being loved. You wanna know what not being loved is? What if I threw you out of this car, out of the house for that matter, and told you to go it alone? How long do you think those nice, designer clothes would last, being the only stitch of fabric you have with you?”

  The light turned green, again, and still, she remained fixed.

  “You think you’ve got it so bad,” she continued, “You feel you need more love and affection, do you? You’re fourteen, now. I breastfed you, changed your diapers, took you to the doctor’s when you were sick. Fourteen! I guess that’s old enough to understand the universal truth about life, kiddo. Nothing—nothing—is free. Got it? Every breath of air costs something. And that pop culture, pink paint—love and affection—isn’t gonna get you through the world or pay the bills, sweetcakes.”

  “Yeah, don’t I know it. But it sure would be nice,” Constance pouted.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Lauren’s face was aglow in the bright beam of a singular desk lamp. It was exceedingly late, but she was about ready to call it a night. She was putting the finishing touches on closing arguments. As per her norm, Lauren glanced up at the grandfather clock—twelve-thirty. Oddly enough, amid the towers of files and law books, the family Bible, which had been collecting years of dust unopened, was spread open on a bookstand before her. Had someone else put it there? Had He been here? Lauren tried to remain focused on her work, but she found herself, more and more, glancing up and reading out of Proverbs.

  The door to her den was also open, but not nearly as widely as the Good Book. There were three gentle knocks that she didn’t acknowledge. Quietly, her husband, Dennis, pushed open the door and entered, holding in his hand a steaming cup of white tea—Lauren’s favorite. Setting it down in front of her, he bent down and gently kissed his wife’s forehead and stood patiently by her side.

  Dennis Hill was a slender, intellectual type, complete with round, wire-rimmed glasses. He had a quiet serenity one might see in elderly, churchgoing women. Dennis hated confrontation of any kind. In fact, he would go out of his way to avoid it. Usually, he would blink his powder-blue eyes, profusely apologize, and walk away from anyone having even a minor conflict with him. It wasn’t worth it to get angry. It accomplished little.

  Because of his mild-mannered qualities, many people had decided that he was weak, a nerd missing only his pocket protectors. Dennis didn’t see himself as macho, but in his own way, he was comfortable in his masculinity. He just believed it to be much better to walk away from confrontation than say or do something he woul
d later regret.

  Although she had once found those traits charming, over time Lauren grew to loathe the behavior in Dennis. She saw him as spineless, a jellyfish without the penetrating sting. Lauren felt she no longer wanted or needed a man who waited on her hand and foot and was good to her. She wanted a rugged man’s man, a muscular individual who wasn’t afraid to take chances and grab life by the balls.

  “Here you go,” Dennis said quietly, as he set the mug down.

  It seemed to him, at first, that she was so deeply involved in her work that Lauren hadn’t heard him. In point of fact, however, Lauren was purposely ignoring him. She liked being alone. Why must he constantly bother the hell out of me? she thought. Lauren raised her eyes above the computer screen and stared vacantly into the steam rising in wispy swirls, dissipating in the air-conditioned room.

  Lauren could not concentrate if she wasn’t comfortable. And she wasn’t. Her husband’s shadow loomed over her, and she could hear his breathing over the soothing swing of the pendulum in the clock. It was pissing her off. She sighed heavily. Seeing he wasn’t taking the hint and going away, Lauren took off her reading glasses and looked up at him.

  “Tea,” he said.

  Did he have to talk? Lauren produced a fake smile and sarcastically told him she could see it was the kind she liked. Then, as an afterthought, she managed a short “Thanks.”

  Dennis knew their marriage was unraveling but felt powerless to salvage it. It took two to want to work things out, and it was clear to him she wanted no part of it on her end. She was only going through the motions. However, for all of the rudeness and bitter sarcasm, he couldn’t help but feel the need to be close to her. He hopelessly loved her. It pained him to think she despised him, that no matter what he did, it wasn’t good enough. She wouldn’t speak to him. He realized she found him unattractive in many ways and no longer wanted the intimacy between a husband and wife, but he couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that she loathed him to the point of not wanting even to speak civilly. Still, he tried.

  “Closing arguments? Must always feel good to come to the end. When I’m writing—”

  “Dennis, please,” she interrupted.

  “Sorry. I see you’re using the Good Book.”

  Lauren looked up at him in confusion. Dennis pointed to the Bible.

  “It’s just there. Just open,” she shrugged.

  He leaned over, read a few lines. “Proverbs. Where the seven deadly sins are found. What’s the name of that movie with Brad Pitt and Morgan Freeman? Seven?”

  “Now how would I know?”

  Shrugging off the sarcastic remark, Dennis carried on. “Yeah, I think that’s it.”

  Lauren dismissed his words at first, then zoomed in on one. “Wait a minute, what’s so deadly about ‘em, huh?”

  “I don’t know, actually. Do I look like God?”

  He didn’t sound like God, but still. Lauren spun her chair around, studying him intently, waiting to see if it were some sort of weird communiqué and Dennis was going to shift into The Almighty. After a tense moment, she was convinced her husband was simply her dweeb husband, so she said, “No. Certainly not. A little short.”

  Dennis was amused and a little confused by the line. He didn’t know exactly how to respond to it, and he decided just to move on.

  “So, how’s the case? See you on TV practically every day. You look great. Everyone’s saying he had to do it, but I’m not sure if the evidence is there. How do you feel about Maze’s chances?”

  “It’s not a sport.”

  Dennis waved the white flag, throwing his hands up in an act of surrender. Done trying to communicate, he started walking toward the door. He was getting better. It had only taken him three minutes to realize he had overstayed his welcome. He was thinking he should have known he wasn’t welcome the moment he set foot inside.

  Suddenly, Lauren said something that stopped him in his tracks.

  “Your daughter hates me.”

  Dennis turned to her, thinking, If only her mother would come home earlier in the day and interact with her more often, maybe she wouldn’t have that problem.

  “Our daughter, you mean.”

  “I believe that she would not agree to that.”

  “No. Not true. She did inform me you two had . . . words.”

  “Really? Is that all she said?”

  “Yeah. Nothing specific, honestly. Just that—”

  Lauren cocked her head to the side to show she was listening.

  “Well, she just wants more attention, you know, motherly attention.”

  Dennis was frustrated with trying to make a bad situation more tolerable. However, as per his character, he let it slide off his back as if he were the proverbial duck in water. Reaching for the Bible, he said, “You don’t mind if I—”

  Lauren stopped his hand just as he was about to pick it up.

  “For what?”

  “I dunno. It’s there, right? You know how I am with books.”

  “Tell me about it. They’re practically in every room.”

  “Like your clocks.” Dennis pointed out.

  He didn’t mean for it to be a dig, but Lauren’s negative attitude was getting on his last nerve. He immediately regretted it. “It kinda feels like it’s calling to me. Strange. A divine calling, as if saying, ‘Hey, ol’ boy, take a look: good for the soul.’”

  Lauren’s ears perked. “Calling you? Like how? What do you mean, ‘calling you?’ Do you hear a voice beckoning you?”

  “No, nothing like that. I don’t hear voices or anything, if that’s what you mean. Nobody actually hears—”

  Lauren would never be able to explain to her husband that not only had she heard the Almighty God speak, but she had seen him as well. Lauren removed Dennis’ hand from the Bible and interrupted. “I’m not done with it yet.”

  “I thought you were. Oh, okay.” He backed away, hands up in a symbol of truce. “Hey, by the way, I talked to Mark today. He said he thinks he can get this latest book optioned for a movie. Can you believe it?”

  Lauren was unimpressed.

  “That’s right, even before it’s finished. You know Keith Tarmin? He recently got one of his books optioned by a Hollywood studio. Mark suggested I make a few dramatic changes, you know, a little more action and a bit more sex stuff between the pages to beef it up.”

  Lacing her reply with plenty of sarcasm, she half-heartedly congratulated him.

  “Could mean some pretty decent money,” Dennis offered.

  Lauren knew the right thing to do was to encourage and say something positive for a change. However, she had already lost precious sleep time talking to Dennis about stuff that didn’t interest her much—correction, not at all. Opting to take the low road, Lauren jumped down his throat.

  “Can’t you see I’m working here?”

  “Yeah, yeah, honey. That’s why I brought you the tea.”

  “Well, thanks, but let me finish up before I go insane, will you, please?”

  Dennis turned and silently headed in the direction he had come in.

  “Dennis?”

  Obediently, he turned.

  “She didn’t mention anything specific?”

  Dennis had to think a moment. “Who? Constance? No.”

  Lauren stared at him and picked up the cup of tea. By the lack of steam, she could tell it had cooled a great deal. She squeezed the teabag and discarded it in the saucer. Closing her eyes, she took a long, soothing sip, savored it.

  “Ah, the tea is nice. Thank you.”

  Although saddened by the course the conversation had taken and the cold way his wife had spoken to him, Dennis still smiled. Half-brokenhearted, yet half warmed by the minuscule amount of affection, he left her to her work.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Darkness engulfed Maze. He dreaded the sunless portion of the calendar day. Those hours between sunset and dawn unnerved him. For many, night brought serenity; for him, it brought only madness. The slightest sound start
led him. Sleep eluded him.

  Maze had few supportive family members and even fewer friends. After the . . . unspeakable incident, everyone had seemed to scatter to the four winds. Only a handful wanted anything to do with him. Most had believed he was guilty long before the case even went to trial. His brother wouldn’t talk to him. Neighbors went out of their way to avoid him. No phone calls. No letters. No messages. Nothing. He was virtually alone. Alone was not a happy place for the fragile mind of Mr. Maze.

  Being in court and on a set schedule helped to a certain extent. At least there was noise. With his medication, Maze was able to keep himself somewhat together during much of the daylight hours. But when the sky turned from yellow to pink to a deep midnight blue, and Venus graced the western heaven, that’s when things became more perilous. When all grew quiet in that part of the world and there was nothing to do to pass the time, his mind would play evil tricks on him. Quiet. He hated not having sound. It unnerved him, wreaked havoc on what little remained of his sanity. Maze was in a dark, dark place.

  Tonight was the darkest night of them all. It droned on and on and on.

  Maze lay in his bed and gazed out the curtainless window of his second-floor, red-brick apartment. Mercifully, there was light: manmade, but still most assuredly light. The streetlamp, just a few yards beyond his window, cast a long, near flawless, rectangular beam onto the beige carpeting just past the bedposts. If not for the small, jagged crack in the upper right corner of the beveled glass, it would have been perfection. Maze stared, but he wasn’t actually seeing much of anything.

  His mind tried to block any outside interference. Shrieks of You’re going to prison, loser and You know what they’re gonna do to you, Maze drifted to his ears from the street below. They had been almost a nightly occurrence for months leading up to the trial but had died down for the most part. Now that it was his last night of freedom, his tormentors had returned with a vengeance, shouting vicious obscenities at him. He hated them, but he fumed with the lights off, pretending not to be home. They kept trying, hoping to say the right words to get Maze to explode. He didn’t take the bait. Too many of them to fight off. He drifted off into a dreamlike trance, his stare vacant, as if many hours and miles away from the hustle and bustle of the City of Angels and the fate, favorable or unfavorable, which awaited him.