“Crystal,” she called, forcing her voice to sound light, unworried or untense. “Do you have the mediation binder out there by any chance?”
“No, I’m pretty sure you have it.”
Bernie walked around her office, checking to see if she had set it down someplace out of the ordinary. But it wasn’t there. It didn’t matter if she could recall every detail in the binder, she wanted to have it with her during this meeting, a physical crutch, but she didn’t want to keep Don waiting. She had to see him. It was important to prepare him for what would undoubtedly be a difficult day. There was no choice but to resume her search for the missing binder after her meeting with Don.
She paused on her way to the conference room to tell Crystal to go ahead and go, leaving her and Don alone in the big old house. Don stood up when she entered the room, just as he’d done the first time they met.
“Hi there,” she said. “How are you, Don?” A smile appeared involuntarily. He had cut his hair shorter, above his ears on the sides and above the eyebrows at the front. Bernie couldn’t decide if he looked older, more businesslike, or younger, like a college kid who had just removed his black, horn-rimmed glasses, striving for a cooler look. “You got a haircut, I see.”
“Yeah,” he rubbed his hand across the back of his neck. “I’m still trying it on, I guess.” His smile was hesitant at first, but grew with her presence.
“Well, it looks good,” she said.
It had grown dark outside, and the tree lights made the office glow with the warmth of a home in winter. The day with Carlos had gone well, and she was feeling better than she had in weeks, both physically and emotionally. She sat across from Don and began to tell him about Carlos and Mrs. Luna, how they were in deposition with Reilly, and how they were with each other.
“He’s such a cute kid,” she said, “but you can feel the sadness in him. I think Reilly could, too. That’s probably scaring the shit out of him right about now.” Bernie couldn’t help but smile, realizing nothing she ever planned or researched could be as disarming as a little boy in an oversized chair talking about his mom and dad in heaven, pointing toward the ceiling, lifting his gaze higher.
Don nodded his head in agreement. “I’m looking forward to meeting them, but to tell you the truth, I already feel like I know them, especially Carlos.”
“Did I ever tell you about Angelica Corona, the woman that the Lunas lived with before they died?”
“I’m not sure.” He leaned closer, his attention keen on every word she said.
“I went to her house a few weeks ago; she’s the one that had the box of letters and pictures we went through. Remember?”
“Of course.”
“Well, at first, I thought she was some kind of gold digger looking for some way to get her hands on some of Carlos’s money. I promised to pay her for the Lunas’ bills that went unpaid, but that’s only a couple of hundred bucks, no big deal. Anyway, today,” Bernie paused and gazed around the room, searching for the words to articulate the feeling that had come over her earlier. “Today I was listening to her talk to Carlos. She was telling him about his mother, not in a sad mopey kind of way, but happy and very matter of fact. She told him that his mother, Lucero, was a star looking out for him, because Lucero means morning star. He kind of, I don’t know, lit up at that. It was something. I guess it kind of lit me up, too, because I hit the day and Stuart Reilly with more energy and confidence than I’ve had in a long time.” The flow of conversation spilling out of her was surprising, so natural and automatic, the expected awkward moment nonexistent.
“Wow. It sounds like things are going well for you, then. I mean, last time we saw each other was, well, probably not a good night for either one of us.” His eyebrows lifted when he offered a brief smile and submissive nod of his head.
“No, and I want to apologize for that. For whatever good it might do, I’m sorry. I was out of line.” The fingers on her right hand lifted from the table, a slight gesture, as if her hands had a distinct and separate will, eager to reach out for him. “A lot has happened since then, and uh . . .”
“No, Bernie, you don’t need to explain. Let’s leave that alone.” He reached over and placed his hand over hers, squeezed gently. “Please. You’re a lawyer, and part of being a good lawyer is digging into people’s lives and peeling off the layers. It’s not the worst thing I’ve been through.”
“You didn’t really lie, but I snooped. I could argue that those are all public documents, but you and I both know I was snooping into your private life. It was wrong.” She could still feel his hand on hers, but she didn’t know what to make of that. It was nothing more than any friend would do, almost gentlemanly, but she liked it all the same. She still liked his touch.
“It was wrong,” he agreed. “But I’m over it, and you should be too. To tell you the truth, I never expected anyone to be interested enough to actually check me out. For the record, the Judgment is now entered; I’m officially divorced, and it’s all a done deal. All of it.”
Bernie didn’t answer. The world had been spinning too fast for her lately, kicking up old secrets and lives like puffs of dust. Her restlessness and anger had slowly withered away to a small roar that allowed her to simply throw her hands up in surrender. She would never have all the answers, not now, anyway. Life was full of mysteries, and her past was overflowing with them. Pieces to the puzzle were there, but some were missing, lost forever, and nothing was going to change that. But she could change.
Long ago, Bernie had made a decision to work for the right thing, and to focus on one right thing at a time. At work, this week, it was the Lunas. At home, well, that was more complicated, but maybe it was time to throw her own life out there on the line. Noni was in the best place she could be. Bernie had a mother out there, even though she didn’t really know her, and something told her that, if she wanted it, she could have a family too. For a moment, she had even considered that, maybe, she could have a man in her life, a relationship, but it didn’t take long for Bernie to recognize that as foolishness and pushed that thought away. That was the fantasy of a winter night, sweet-smelling pine, and the magic of a six-year-old boy with no front teeth, his mother shining down on him from a bright star in the heavens.
“So,” Bernie said, slowly pulling her hand away, changing the subject to the more comfortable and necessary realm of Don’s pending deposition, “I have a mediation binder with everything perfectly organized, color-coded and labeled and ready to go; the great report you sent me is in there, too. I want to go over it with you line by line, but just when you got here, I couldn’t seem to find it. I think Mrs. Gordon is messing with me, taking a turn with it.”
“Who’s Mrs. Gordon?” he asked, confused.
“She’s our resident ghost. She hides files, occasionally slams a door or two upstairs, drives poor Crystal crazy.”
“That’s right, you told me about her out at the cemetery.” His voice softened, “Remember?”
“I do.” She stood and headed for the door, happy to be moving, avoiding the crest of an emotional wave that seemed so close she could feel the spray and mist. “Even though I can recall every word in there, let me take one more look to see if I just missed it, because I really think you’re Reilly’s only hope to weaken this case. He has to minimize the damages; we’ve talked about that before, but . . .”
As she rummaged through the files stacked on Crystal’s desk, double-checking everything, she noticed a brown paper package on the window seat. She recognized the handwriting, and for one brief moment, her breath halted. It wasn’t heavy, just the size of a shoe box. She carried it to her office, holding it close to her breast, and before she even reached her desk, she saw the binder. It sat on the credenza, behind her chair. Was it possible that she looked everywhere but behind her, or was that damn spirit so conniving she found a way to make her search her secretary’s desk after hours to find a package?
“Found it,” she called, then turned to see Don standing back
in the middle of the reception area, examining Crystal’s decorating job. A broad timbre of light danced over him, the neighbor’s new parking lights reflecting through the stained glass, refracted colors colliding with the subtle glow of flickering tree lights. It was as though the light hummed or buzzed around him.
“Your tree is beautiful,” Don said.
Bernie moved beside him, hugging the binder and the package to her chest as they admired the decorations. “Thanks, but I didn’t have anything to do with it. Crystal and her husband did it all. It is nice though.”
Don stood there in the light of the Noble Fir, quietly gazing at Bernie. “I’ve missed you,” he said. “I enjoyed talking to you and I hope we can still be friends, and not just professionally.”
Bernie swallowed hard. “I’ve missed you, too. It’s been a weird time.”
“What happened with your—God, I hope this doesn’t cause a problem, bringing it up, but I want to know—what happened with your mother? Your birth mother.”
“You know, it was a bit of chaos for a while. And I was right, Noni can’t handle any of it, but, I think it’s going to be okay. I guess you could say now that the initial drama is over I’m finally interested in what she has to say. I want to know her story, and my story too. In fact, it seems I got a package from her today, my mother, not Noni.” She loosened her grip, showing him the box in her arms. Her eyes burned with a threat of tears and a lump rose in her throat, causing her voice to crack when she spoke. “God, where’s that coming from?”
“Maybe you should open it now,” Don said. “It might be something you need.” With one hand he lightly touched her shoulder, guiding her to sit on the loveseat, a space for guests and visitors. “Unless you want to be alone for that, and I completely understand if you do.”
“No; I’ll open it with you here.” She gently pulled the brown wrapping paper away, carefully tearing the taped ends, keeping the entire paper whole. Inside was a Christmas card, a colorful drawing of a horse-drawn sleigh carrying a man and woman down a snow-covered path on a moonlit night to their warm cabin glowing in the distance. The handwritten message was safely distant, simply telling her she hoped they could get together soon and wishing Bernie and her grandmother a very merry Christmas. The gift was, Julie wrote, something she’d treasured for many years, something Bernie might like to have. She ended the message by saying she hoped Bernie got everything she wished for this Christmas and always. Inside the box was an old stuffed baby doll with yellow hair and a pink gingham dress.
Bernie touched the nose of the doll, stroked it lightly, looked up to Don and smiled. “This is nice,” she said. “I’m sure there is a story to go with this.” She held the doll up to her face and took a deep breath. “Clean. She smells a bit like fresh linen.”
“Maybe she kept it in the linen closet.”
“Maybe.” Bernie moved the box and paper to the floor then sniffed the doll again. “Or maybe she kept her in the laundry room with the dryer sheets.”
“I doubt it.”
“I didn’t even think to get her anything. Of course, I didn’t get anybody anything yet.” She picked up her binder and her baby doll, then rose to her feet, ready to work some more. “When I have like a week or something, I’ll tell you everything that happened, and I mean everything. But not now.” Her voice trailed off and she shook her head slightly, “Not tonight.”
Don moved closer to her. They stood inches apart, still and quiet. “At the risk of offending you or sounding foolish, would you like a hug? You look like you need a hug.”
His eyes looked straight into hers, searching for any hint of rejection.
“Yes, I think I would,” she answered. “That would be nice.”
He quietly wrapped his arms around and pulled her closer, his efforts stalled by an old rag doll and three-inch binder pressed between them.
“Perhaps I should put these down,” she said.
Don took the bundle from her and set them down on the small sofa then took both of her hands into his own. Bernie didn’t object or pull away. He lifted her right hand to his face and pressed her knuckles against his cheek, never shifting his gaze away from hers. When her index finger moved to stroke his face, he closed his eyes, a line of dark lashes fluttering. Still holding her hands, he lowered them to his sides and pressed his soft lips to hers. Two small kisses, one after the other, innocent and sweet. They released their hands and slowly moved apart, their eyes searching and unsure of what happened, but neither one spoke a word.
Under the glow of a shining star on top of the Noble Fir, their arms reached out for the other, first embracing and holding one another close, feeling the warmth of the other’s body, the press of arms and hands on her back, caressing his shoulders, touching the back of her warm neck. Eventually, their mouths came together, lips parting to a perfect fit. He smelled like fresh air and tasted like a warm fire that Bernie wanted to fall into, happy to burn.
“Wow,” she finally said, her voice low and deep. “That was some hug.”
“I’ve wanted to kiss you since that rainy day,” he said, “but . . .” He laughed and took her hand gently. “You aren’t the easiest person to get close to, you know.”
“Yes, I know.” She laughed and moved away from him, embarrassed by her behavior, kissing in the office, like the stories of drunken Christmas parties at Bennett, Hart and Reilly. She reached for her doll and binder, desperate to escape the physical longing that seized her. “But, there’s a reason,” she explained, again clutching the doll and book to her chest. “We shouldn’t have done that. If anything is going to happen between us, we should wait, not get into this until at least after the mediation.” She inched away, her heart still pounding. “It’s not professional.”
“No, no, no. Bernie, if we try to pretend this,” he reached over and touched her face gently, running his index finger along her lower lip, “didn’t happen, then all through the deposition and mediation, you’re going to be thinking of nothing but this moment right now. You can’t unring that bell, you know.”
She backed away and he followed her into the conference room where he stood close beside her, his hand only brushing against her. “You’re right, you’re right,” she agreed, “but either way, this is a distraction and . . .”
“I think the best thing, really, is to start from here and take it slowly.” He took the doll away from her again, moving it and the binder to the table, then took her hand and held it in both of his. “Let’s go home, Bernie. I’m ready for tomorrow. I know what the case involves, what the numbers are, what Reilly will ask, what you will ask, and what I will say. Let’s just go sit in front of a fire, have a glass of wine, enjoy the evening together. Let’s start over. Let’s be the good friends we are, and see where that goes. Some of the best relationships start with friendship.”
Bernie again felt the rising crest and shutter of a crashing wave, this time savoring the thrill of the ride. She could feel herself riding the wave, the sea and wind in her face, taking her breath away. She wanted it to go on forever. She wanted it more than he could ever know. She wanted it all: him, Julie, Noni, her dead mother and father, the riddle solved, to save the world one case at a time. She wanted that stream of light shining down from the stained-glass window to open wide and swallow her whole. But tonight, what she wanted most was to sit and drink some fine red wine with this man in front of a raging fire. She wanted to taste the fire.
Twenty-Two
The parking lot was nearly full, a sure sign of the holiday, family and friends dutifully filing in to share Christmas Eve with their aging parents and grandparents, fulfilling their obligation before Christmas Day. Bernie found a spot at the far end of the lot, near the statue of the Madonna, a young Jesus smiling in her lap, his chubby arms reaching out for someone to hold him. A lingering mist from a late afternoon rain glittered in the pool of blue light surrounding the holy mother, who seemed to shine brighter than usual on the night of her child’s birthday celebration. Bernie flashed
even the lifeless piece of stone a happy smile before heading in. It had been a good week, one of her best.
“Don’t you look fancy,” she said, bending down to kiss Noni’s rouged and powdered cheek.
“Sister Anna fixed my hair.” Noni lifted a quivering hand to touch the sides of her pinned up hair, her face. Her thin lips trembled to a weak smile.
“Well, you look beautiful. It’s nice to see you up and dressed again.” Ten days ago, she would have told her grandmother about the smudge of red lipstick on her teeth, but it now seemed somehow cruel, like telling a three-year-old girl playing dress up that her shoes didn’t match her ball gown.
“What’s that?” Noni pointed to the shopping bag Bernie carried.
“Oh, Santa asked me to make a little delivery for him.” She winked and set the bag down near Noni’s chair while she slipped off her raincoat. “No peeking, hear me?”
“Where have you been, Bernadette? I thought maybe you forgot where I lived.” Noni reached over and pulled the edge of the shopping bag toward her, jutted her chin out and peered into the bag to see two bright gold boxes and silky red satin bows. “You shouldn’t buy such an old woman presents. What could I need at my age?”
“Don’t be silly. Now, do you want to open gifts now, or wait until after dinner?” She stood over her grandmother, hands on her hip, still pulsing with the energy of other last-minute shoppers panicking at Macy’s. “I’m sure there will be Christmas carol singing later, so maybe we should have our party now, but it’s up to you.”
Bernie finally took her place in the rose covered chair, took her shoes off and tucked her feet up beside her, eager to share her good news with her grandmother, to spend some pleasant time with her for a change.
“I guess we should open them now, or you might have to stay out too late.”
“Right, we’ll open them now so that I won’t be out past eight,” she said, sending Noni an eyebrow raise. “It has nothing whatsoever to do with your dying curiosity to know what’s in the box.”
The Circle Game Page 28