Hidden Hearts

by Ann Roberts

  She knew his mother since they were both part of the sewing circle. He wouldn’t look at her and kept his eyes on Mac. She put a hand on his shoulder and said softly, “Please, Billy. Don’t make this any worse.”

  He glanced at her long fingers resting on his shoulder. I guessed it was the first time she’d ever touched him, and he seemed amazed that she was so close. He gave a slight nod and walked away. She went to Kiah, who fell into her arms and cried. They whispered while Mac and I stood nearby in identical poses—our hands tucked in our jean pockets. Eventually she stopped crying, and I gathered her books. When I tried to hand them to her, she walked away.

  I knew she was mad. It was my fault. If I’d kept my big mouth shut, Billy would’ve probably just teased us while we walked by, but I had to confront him and make a mess of things. If Mama ever heard the whole story, she’d call me a moron and have Pops paddle me.

  Kiah walked ahead and I lingered back near Mama and Mac, who were walking slowly behind us.

  “You didn’t need to do that, Lois,” I heard him say.

  “You were ready to pummel that boy. I couldn’t stand to see that happen.”

  “He was molesting my daughter,” he said.

  “I know. It was horrible, Mac. Kiah’s a lovely girl who doesn’t deserve anything like that.”

  When we reached the edge of the property Kiah turned and waited for me to catch up. She took her books and looked at me kindly.

  “Thanks,” she said. “Do you want to come over?”

  I looked at her expectantly. “You’re not mad at me?”

  She sighed and shook her head. “Just a little. You well-meanin’ white folks get us into a whole lotta trouble sometimes.” She glanced back at Mama and Mac who’d stopped walking. They faced each other and he was pointing at himself while she nodded. “I think Daddy’s tryin’ to explain that same fact to your mama right now,” she said.

  It was odd. The way they looked at each other, nodded when the other one was talking. And eventually they both smiled. Mama and Pops never looked at each other that way.

  I turned back to Kiah and said, “I didn’t mean for any of that to happen, really I didn’t. I’m so sorry. But I wish Mac had let me clobber Billy.”

  She put her hand on my shoulder. “No, Vivi, you don’t get it. It doesn’t help. It just makes it worse. If you’d hit him with that branch, then the next time I got off the bus, Billy and some of his friends would’ve done something worse to me. That’s how it goes.”

  “But then how do you get civil rights if you never stand up for yourself?” I asked. “Isn’t that what it’s all about?”

  She started to say something and stopped herself. “It’s just different,” she finally said. “My daddy says that there’s a time and a place to make your stand and you’ve gotta pick carefully. A dead nigger ain’t no good to anyone. There’s strength in numbers and violence isn’t the way.”

  I knew that was something else her daddy said. I’d heard him talk about race issues a lot in the last few months, and I knew how much she admired him. But this wasn’t a race issue in my mind.

  “I didn’t hit Billy because he was picking on my black friend,” I said. “I hit him because he was trying to kiss you and that made me angry.”

  A little smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “You were jealous?”

  I hadn’t thought of it like that. “Yeah.”

  We reached her front door and she paused with her hand on the knob. “Here’s what I think. I think that making Billy mad wasn’t a good idea but not letting him kiss me was a great idea. And maybe I’ll kiss you again sometime.”

  Sometime turned out to be right after we got inside and shut the door.

  Re: Definitely Friends First! – 27 (Central Phoenix)

  Date: 2010-06-09, 9:36PM MST

  Greetings!

  As you can see by the time stamp, I’m replying later in the evening, which is the only time I have to look at e-mail. If you know the meaning of carpe diem, I’m guessing you’re a teacher like me or a lawyer, but maybe not. I really am looking to make friends—no games, no addictions and no promise of a gay wedding. I’d love to get together for coffee. And I promise I’m sane.

  Posted by: AZNative1

  Reply

  Re: Definitely Friends First! – 27 (Central Phoenix)

  Date: 2010-06-10, 6:11 AM MST

  Well, shit, DFF, I’m just damn interested in you! I’m a little redneck in case you didn’t guess but don’t let that stop a potential love connection. It just means I’m honest and up front about my beliefs that include my recent membership in the Tea Party, my disbelief in global warming and my pride in my handgun collection. I’m guessing you’re my opposite, except that we both like fish apparently (carpe). But don’t opposites attract?

  Posted by: BrooklynBornBaby

  Reply

  Re: Definitely Friends First! – 27 (Central Phoenix)

  Date: 2010-06-10, 12:04 PM MST

  Hello DFF,

  As a way to distinguish myself from the other replies I will amaze you with my poetic talent.

  There was a young woman from Texas,

  Who drove to Phoenix in a Lexus.

  She came here for work,

  And socially met many jerks

  But she’s optimistic she’ll make a nexus.

  Posted by: JaneAustenRocks!

  Reply

  Chapter Six

  June, 2010

  The crowd had peaked at Della’s Restaurant when CC arrived. The hostess seated her in a booth and promised to watch for Mr. Rubenstein. This was the original Della’s, which looked like most every other diner she’d ever visited—a row of booths against a bank of windows and a U-shaped counter with old-fashioned stools. It was quaint and charming with an aqua and tan color scheme. The wall behind her displayed a large chalkboard listing two dozen types of pies, and underneath it was a long old-fashioned sign that read Farmhouse Pies.

  Her foot tapped the linoleum incessantly as she waited for Seth Rubenstein. In a moment of reckless boldness she’d phoned him at seven. He hadn’t sounded thrilled about joining her for breakfast, but he seemed more amenable when she offered to meet at his restaurant. She knew Blanca wouldn’t approve of her summoning a client to a meeting without her knowledge, but after spending most of the night doodling across the report she still hadn’t rewritten, she’d made a decision to help Vivian Battle as much as she could. She’d figured that solving the mystery of the note was the key to Viv keeping the enclave.

  She flipped open the file and read his bio again. His father Jacob had built houses in the late forties and early fifties, but after he married he changed careers and opened Della’s. It grew into a chain of ten diners across the state. Seth became CEO of the Della Corporation when his father passed away a year before. His brother, Ira, was an architect and had no role in running the company but received a share of profits.

  She wasn’t sure what a restaurant CEO would look like, but it wasn’t the short, plump, balding man, wearing a Hawaiian shirt and chinos, that appeared in the doorway. He scanned the restaurant, looking for his idea of an attorney, and when his gaze settled on her dark blue pantsuit, he pointed and joined her at the table.

  “Seth Rubenstein,” he said, and she held out her hand but he waved her off. “Sorry, I’m kinda OCD about the handshaking stuff. All the years of working in the food industry. Millions of germs passed along because we’ve insisted on greeting each other with our most bacteria-laden appendage. Just another reason why the Japanese are ahead of us. They never get sick. Between eating a ton of vegetables and all that bowing, they stay out of the doctor’s office. Why can’t we learn, you know?”

  She nodded her head in agreement. “Absolutely—”

  “But if you don’t shake hands with new people they think you’re a bastard or a clean freak, which I kinda am, but it just makes good sense, you know? Have you ordered yet? I strongly recommend the Denver omelet or the waffle combo with hash brown
s. They’re both fabulous.”

  “Great,” she interjected. “I love waffles.”

  “That’s what me and my brother always order. We always seem to get the same things wherever we go. When we were growing up, I always thought he did it to copy me, you know? Like he just wanted to frustrate me because I was his big brother. But when we started hangin’ out as adults and he still got what I got, I finally realized we just had similar tastes. Happens all the time when we’re both in the mood for a Philly cheese steak.”

  He motioned to a waitress carrying a pot of coffee in their direction, and CC listened patiently as they exchanged pleasantries about the morning rush. Five seconds after she’d taken their order and disappeared he asked, “So how’s my case?”

  She smiled and launched into the script she’d written at four a.m. “Mr. Rubenstein, I appreciate you meeting me this morning. I know you’re very busy and I won’t take much of your time, but I had some questions about your father.”

  She quickly pulled out the file and a pad of paper while he peered at her over his coffee. She hated doing business over a meal since inevitably she wound up speaking with food in her mouth, but she’d learned that eating and litigation went hand in hand and it was best to get most of it done between ordering and serving.

  “Why do you think he didn’t put the farmhouse property in his will?”

  He shrugged. “Not a clue. We had no idea the place belonged to us. Dad got out of the construction business by the end of fifty-six, or it might’ve been early fifty-seven. I’m not sure on that part. He didn’t like it. Too much time outside, too many employees. He didn’t mind working hard, but he wanted to enjoy what he was doing. It was right after Mom had me.”

  She calculated the timing. The subdivision had been completed by the summer of fifty-six so the timing suggested he’d sold the last house in the neighborhood and turned his attention to Della’s. She sipped her coffee and calculated her approach. He was quick and bright, and she sensed a strong streak of family loyalty.

  “Your father sounds like an extraordinary man with a lot of business savvy.”

  Rubenstein nodded. “He was. He and Mom took this little diner with ten menu items and two cooks and turned it into a business. They were totally devoted to each other and us kids. Brought us up right, not like so many of these absentee parents today who don’t have a clue where their kids are or what they’re doing. Me and my wife Belinda, we always knew where Seth Junior and Moira were when they were teens. It’s important, you know?”

  She shifted in her seat uncomfortably. “Here’s what I don’t understand. Your father was such a great businessman, there’s no doubt about that, but if that note is real and Chet Battle gave him the property in fifty-five, why didn’t he add it to the subdivision? It wasn’t completed yet, and he could’ve built two or three more houses and sold the farmhouse as well. That would’ve been quite a profit.”

  “No doubt,” he agreed. “It doesn’t make any sense. There must’ve been a reason. Dad always had a reason for everything.”

  “Why do you think he might have left the place with Vivian Battle, despite the note?”

  “Again. No clue.”

  “Do you think your mother knew about it?”

  Their breakfast arrived and her question hung in the air for the time it took him to chat up the waitress, dress their waffles and dig in. She was about to repeat it when he said, “I imagine she knew because she was his partner in everything. They had an odd relationship for that time, not like the typical man and wife thing where the wife just cooks, cleans, sews and deals with the kids, you know? She’d been a teacher before he married her so he knew she was smart. She was his equal. I’d be surprised if he hadn’t told her, but I suppose it’s possible. Knowing her, she would’ve told him to add it to the subdivision and take the cash, so the fact that he held on to the note makes me wonder.” He shook his head. “Weird. I never thought there were any secrets between them.”

  She said nothing and kept eating. Since entering probate law, she’d learned there were always secrets in families, like a trump card held in a bridge hand, just waiting to be played at the most advantageous moment.

  “So when do we wrap this up?” he asked abruptly.

  “Well, we’re still verifying the handwriting, and Ms. Battle has lived in the farmhouse her entire life. Did you ever meet her?”

  He shrugged. “Maybe. You know how it is with parents. They drag you everywhere when you’re a kid.”

  “Did you ever read the Chloe books?”

  He cracked a smile. “I’ve got ’em all. First editions, too.”

  She nearly sighed before she said, “You know Ms. Battle wrote them.”

  She hoped she’d jostled his compassion, but he merely speared another hunk of waffle and chewed on it. Once he finished he looked at her intently. “That’s not our problem. This is business, Ms. Carlson. I’m sure she has plenty of money, and I’m more than happy to pay her for the upgrades she’s made to the land. But it’s prime real estate. Claiming it is good business. Now I know you’re young, but Blanca says that you’ll do what needs to be done to please your client. Is that a fair assessment of your abilities and character as a lawyer?”

  She swallowed hard, pressing her breakfast back down her throat before she said, “Absolutely. But just so you’re aware, Ms. Battle’s attorney has mentioned taking her case to the media. I’m not sure that would be a good idea.”

  He nodded. “You’re right. It wouldn’t.” Then he winked. “And your job is to make sure that doesn’t happen.” He leaned over his waffle and added, “It’s no accident that I hired the most ruthless law firm in town. You have my permission to do whatever needs to be done to get that property.”

  “I understand,” she mumbled.

  He laughed a belly laugh and turned the conversation to mundane topics like the Phoenix Suns and the immigration problem and she feigned interest. He finished his meal quickly, gave a wave and reminded her not to bill him for the time since she’d called the meeting. After he stopped at several tables and introduced himself as the owner, he nodded to the manager, strolled out and got into his Lexus.

  She needed the bathroom. She headed down a corridor filled with framed black-and-white photographs, a visual history of Jacob and Della Rubenstein’s life. She slowed to look. Several of them showed the Rubensteins standing outside their newest diner on the day it opened. They were a handsome couple, and both wore beaming smiles in every picture. Some of the photos included a young Seth and Ira standing in front of their parents, looking appropriately obedient.

  She spotted two photos of the Farmhouse Pies sign, which she guessed originally sat on the side of a dirt road. While one of the pictures was solely of the sign, another showed a man and a woman standing on opposite ends of it. She easily recognized Jacob Rubenstein on the left, but she had no idea who the stunning blonde was on the right.

  She turned to study the other wall and stopped suddenly in front of Jacob and Della Rubenstein’s formal wedding picture, which was taken on the front porch steps of Viv’s farmhouse. Her gaze strayed to the pictures next to it. In one photo, the bride and groom were sandwiched between a handsome black man and the stunning blonde, and in another, two young girls—one black and one white—had joined the four adults. She leaned forward, staring at the little white girl—almost certain she was looking into the eyes of a young Vivian Battle.

  The handwriting request remained on the edge of her desk for the entire morning. Periodically she’d drop a file or a stack of papers on top of it, rationalizing that if it kept disappearing she wouldn’t remember it. She knew that after she tossed it into the mailbag, the ever-efficient business department would process it quickly.

  The receptionist paged her. “There’s a woman here to see you. Alicia Dennis? She says it’s very personal.”

  She could hear the disdain in the receptionist’s voice. Personal anything was frowned upon in the workplace. And she couldn’t understand why A
licia would be here.

  “Send her back, please.”

  Ding!

  She adjusted her skirt, hoping she didn’t have lipstick on her teeth. Alicia appeared wearing a deep emerald-green blouse and a gray A-line skirt that clung to her buttocks and thighs perfectly.

  “Well, I’m glad you still check me out.”

  She knew her face was red as she motioned for her to sit. “What are you doing here?”

  She shrugged. “I was in the neighborhood and I thought I’d drop by and see if you wanted to go to lunch.”

  “That’s nice but I can’t today. Too much work.”

  Blanca popped in the doorway. “Don’t forget that we need to review the Holsten trust at four, and where are we with Rubenstein?”

  “It’s coming,” she said.

  Blanca nodded suspiciously at Alicia. “What are you doing here?”

  She held up a hand. “Strictly personal. I was inviting CC to lunch, which she declined in favor of work.”

  Blanca glowered at CC. “Good because her rewritten report needs a third try.”

  Before she could apologize for her poor effort, Alicia interjected. “Writing was never her strength in law school but she was fabulous in oral argument.”

  Blanca missed the wink that punctuated her sentence and asked, “You went to law school together?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Her eyes never left CC. “And where do you work?”

  “I work for Alma Santiago.”

  “And are you a good writer?”

  She shifted in her seat. “I think so, I—”

  “Are you happy there?”

  “For the moment.”

  CC imagined a hedge—as tall as the one that bordered Viv’s pool—surrounding her and separating her from the conversation. Blanca and Alicia openly sized each other up before Blanca offered a single nod and walked out.

  “Thanks a lot,” CC hissed.

  Alicia shook her head. “For what? I was just answering her questions.”

  “No, she was offering you my job and you practically took it.”