“Nope,” Melanie replied. “But the name itself sounds delicious.”
He put a hand on her sleeve. “Give me a chance to be a gentleman and open the car door for you, all right? Sit tight and count to five. That’s all the head start I’m asking for.”
Although she did not reply, Melanie smiled and released her grip on the interior door handle.
After escorting her in, Jeff claimed a booth in the back of the restaurant while Melanie made a phone call. The red and white checkered tablecloths gave the small place a cheery atmosphere, along with lighted candles in old wine bottles. Strategically placed rounds of cheese, jars of uncooked pasta, and an Italian flag completed the décor. In the background, opera music played at a volume that did not interfere with quiet conversations.
“Dad’s not answering the phone. So I left a message on his machine,” Melanie announced, as she scooted into the maroon-upholstered booth. “I hope that means he stopped off somewhere and isn’t still fussing with my car.” She opened the menu. “Wow, plenty of choices. Have you eaten here before?”
“Lots of times, but not lately. The pasta primavera is my favorite.” Jeff watched Melanie’s face while she studied the choices. Something about being here with her pleased him. He could get used to her company.
“Tempting.” She looked up at him and smiled. “However, I have to try the chicken picatta.”
“Were you born here?” Jeff asked after they placed their order.
“No. We lived in Oklahoma until I was seven. When my mother left us, we moved down here so Grandma could help take care of me.” She stirred two packets of sugar into her iced tea. “After Papaw passed away, my dad bought the place out in the country and built Grandma the little house I live in now. I went to County Consolidated High School and then State College.” Melanie smiled. “I could get all dramatic and say how rough it was growing up without Sandy—my mother. But compared to the kids I deal with every day, I had a wonderful childhood.”
Jeff waited while the server placed salads on the table and ladled Italian dressing over each one. “Do you remember much about your mother?”
“Um.” Melanie nodded affirmatively while swallowing a bite of salad. “She was so beautiful. Even first thing in the morning, wearing a housecoat, she was always perfectly elegant. But she wasn’t cut out to be a mother, you know what I mean?” Her eyes met Jeff’s briefly before she looked down at her salad plate. “She wanted to be an actress. Always wanted me to call her ‘Sandy’ and act like she was my big sister.”
“And she died when you were only seven?”
“No, she went to California, hoping to be in the movies. Being without her broke my dad’s heart. I was pretty torn up, too. For a long time I thought if I’d been less trouble she wouldn’t have left, that her leaving was my fault somehow.”
Raising an eyebrow, Jeff asked, “Did she stay in touch?”
“Once in a while she’d call, usually to ask Dad for money. Some years she sent me a birthday card, then she’d skip the next one or two.” Melanie put down her fork. “I didn’t see her for ten years. When I was a senior in high school, she asked Dad to let her come home.” She closed her eyes briefly. “She was sick, broke, and dying. She had nowhere else to go.”
After a sip of tea, Melanie tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I was angry at Sandy for deserting and ignoring me. I didn’t want her to intrude on my life after being away so long, but now I’m grateful she did. Because after she came home I learned to appreciate her. She just marched to a different drummer, you know what I mean?”
“Well.” Jeff hesitated. “I’ve known plenty of people who were a little outside the norm. Especially the artistic types.” He hardly noticed when their salad plates were removed, but the arrival of steaming entrees grabbed his attention. “Bon appetit!” he said, anxious to dig in to his pasta primavera.
“What about you?” Melanie asked, cutting a sliver of her chicken. “Where did you grow up?”
“Not far from here, in an old rock house my grandfather built.”
“You mean to tell me you’re from the south side?” Her fork hung in midair.
Jeff smiled. “Yep. Proud graduate of South Side High.”
“I never would have guessed.”
“Of course not, because I’m a man of mystery.” He made a mask of his hand and peeked at her through his fingers, eliciting a chuckle. “How’s the chicken picatta?”
Melanie studied her plate as if seeing it for the first time. “Was that true, what you told Keenan? Were you really in the hospital as a kid, or did you make that up?”
“It’s the truth. Adults—including judges and juries—have no problem believing lies. But children can tell. You have to be straight with them.”
“True enough,” she agreed. “Kids spot phonies quick as a wink.” At last she ate a bite of chicken. “Mmm. This is delicious.”
“Why did you go into social work?”
“I believe it’s important for each one of us to try to make a difference. You know, do what we can to make the world a better place.” Melanie frowned. “I always sound like a goody two shoes when I explain this. Let me try again, I enjoy helping families, especially the kids.” Cutting another slice from her chicken, she swirled it in the sauce. “What about you? Did you always want to be a lawyer?”
“I sort of fell into it.” Jeff expertly wound linguini onto his fork. “I was offered a scholarship to study pre-law. So I took it. My lawn-mowing business sustained me through law school—barely—and when I graduated I hit the jackpot landing a job with Wilcox-Meyer.”
“Do you like your job?”
“Most of the time,” Jeff replied. Her blue eyes mesmerized him. “I’ve devoted almost two years to one case, Evelyn Meeker versus Buffalo Nickel Energy. You may have heard something about it on the local news. They mention it occasionally.”
“Oh, I feel so sorry for that poor lady.” Melanie narrowed her eyes. “How can you help that big corporation cheat her out of what’s rightfully hers? I don’t know how you sleep at night.”
“Surprise, Miss Crusader. My firm represents Mrs. Meeker, not Buffalo Nickel.”
“So you’re helping the poor little widow?” Melanie asked.
“Sir Lancelot, at your service, m’lady.”
Melanie’s face at once softened. “That’s wonderful, Jeff. I had no idea.”
“And to set the record straight, you’re correct Mrs. Meeker is a widow, but she is not poor. Not by any stretch of the imagination.” Jeff leaned forward, and lowered his voice. “I do sometimes have trouble sleeping, though.”
“Why?”
“Well, when the squire polishes my suit of armor in the middle of the night, it makes a squeaky noise and wakes me up. Happens all the time. Drives me crazy.”
Jeff enjoyed Melanie’s hearty laugh. He wondered if he would ever tire of her lovely, expressive face. She didn’t need to know he represented Evelyn Meeker because of a long-standing friendship between her and the Wilcox family.
“You had me going,” Melanie admitted. “But seriously, it must be a great feeling when you win a case like this one.”
“We haven’t won yet,” Jeff said. “I believe we will. Still, you never know until the very end. I would imagine the interaction you share with your clients is far more personal than the relationship I have with mine.”
Melanie frowned. “Sometimes the connection is stronger than it should be. Do you believe in love at first sight?”
Jeff took a sip of tea to buy time. “I suppose it happens on rare occasions. My mother claims she and my father fell in love with each other instantly.”
“I don’t mean romantic love.” She shook her head. “I’m referring to an instant bond like I formed with Keenan.” Melanie turned her glass round and round. “I care for all of my clients, but there’s something special with this little guy. I sometimes want to snatch him out of the hospital and take him home where I can protect him. My supervisor has already cau
tioned me to hang on to my professional detachment.” With a smile, she straightened her placemat. “Enough about work. Tell me how your parents fell in love at first sight.”
“They met in 1945. Mom was on a train, going home from college. Dad was returning from World War II. When she smiled at him, he sat down beside her and they started talking. She swears they were engaged before they went two hundred miles down the track, and so she persuaded him to get off at her stop, come home with her and meet her family. They were married the next year.”
“What a great story. It’s so romantic. Your parents sound like wonderful people.” She bit into the last of her chicken.
“My mom’s a fine person. She says my father is also.” Jeff waited for Melanie to swallow before adding, “He went to prison when I was three years old.”
“How long did he stay?” Melanie asked.
“Twenty-seven years.” Jeff picked up their bill to avoid her eyes. “He’s being released next week.”
“That’s supposed to be mine,” she said, pointing to the check.
Jeff smiled and shook his head. “Next time.” If there was a next time, now that she knew his father was a convict.
Chapter Seven
The last few days before Keith’s release, Rosemary walked around as if observing herself from outside her own body. Drawing on her years of teaching sixth grade, she managed to present each day’s material without disengaging her mind from rampaging thoughts of her husband’s imminent homecoming. She scrutinized the weather report on the news every evening. Although snow was rare this far south, she feared a blizzard could roar in to make the road to the prison farm impassable. What if a riot broke out, or a fire swept through the prison dormitory and killed all the inmates? What if she or Keith had a heart attack? After so many years, was some gruesome disaster waiting to snatch their reunion away at the last moment?
The Thursday afternoon before she and Jeff were to leave, Rosemary checked the instructions and materials laid out for the substitute teacher. She wanted everything to go smoothly while she was gone. She felt as if Thursday would never end.
A strange car pulled in to Rosemary’s driveway as she unlocked her front door. She stared at the driver, finally realizing it was her son. With a smile, she motioned for him to follow her inside.
“Whose car?” Rosemary asked, as soon as Jeff released her from a bear hug.
“It’s a rental.” Jeff held up his hands, palms out, as if they had the power to prevent words from being spoken. “My back seat isn’t comfortable, and we can’t risk taking your car on a long trip.”
“But Jeffrey,” Rosemary protested. “You’re already paying for us to stay in a motel tonight. And now you’re spending more money on a rental?”
“It’s okay. I may even have enough left over for us to split a hamburger on the way.”
“Oh, Jeff.” Rosemary grasped her son’s hand.
“That was a joke. I’m not hurting, Mom. Scout’s honor.”
“You weren’t a scout.”
Jeff kissed her cheek. “Merely a figure of speech. Mom, I make a ridiculous amount of money, and I’ll hardly notice what we spend on this trip.” He dropped his hand. “Are you packed? Where’s your luggage?”
“Over there,” Rosemary inclined her head toward a corner.
“Ready to roll?” Jeff grabbed his mother’s outmoded bag and led the way to the door.
Rosemary stopped. “Let me check the kitchen one more time to make sure everything is turned off.”
After loading the trunk of the rental car, Jeff slid behind the steering wheel and waited. At last, Rosemary emerged from the house. “You’re nervous,” he said as she fumbled with her seat belt.
“No, not exactly,” Rosemary said. She shifted and crossed her legs. “Maybe a little. I was afraid this day would never come. Last night I couldn’t quit thinking about all the things that went wrong in the past. What if something keeps us from bringing Keith home?”
“You worry too much.” Jeff drove slowly through his mother’s neighborhood. “What can happen? It’s not like he’s being paroled. His sentence is up, and they’re probably glad he’s leaving. The prisons are overcrowded.”
Rosemary patted the console between them. “This is a nice car.”
“Yep. Automatic shift, comfortable, reliable, roomy.” He glanced at her. “I still don’t understand why you won’t let me get you something like this to replace your clunker.”
“No. I appreciate the thought, but I don’t want you spending your hard-earned money on me.” She turned her head toward the passenger window. “Besides, I’ve been waiting for Keith to get home so we can buy our next car together. That way, there’s no risk of ending up with something he won’t enjoy driving.”
After taking a deep breath and exhaling, Jeff said, “Mom, today’s cars aren’t like they were in the nineteen fifties. Dad doesn’t have a license. He may not even remember how to drive.”
“His driver’s license is in my purse,” Rosemary said. “I’ve renewed it by mail, every three years.” She yawned. “I couldn’t sleep last night, and now I can hardly keep my eyes open.”
“I’m trying to say we need to be realistic. Dad hasn’t lived what we think of as a normal life for twenty-seven years.” He stole a look at his mother’s profile. “There are bound to be adjustments.”
Rosemary sighed. “I understand we have to get to know each other again.” She flexed the fingers of her hands. “Keith and I are both Christians. We love each other. He and I love you more than anything in the world. With all of that going for us, we’ll be fine.”
“I just don’t want you to be hurt, Mom. We’re not talking about a conquering hero returning home for a victory parade.” Jeff gripped the steering wheel tightly. “From my perspective, he ran out on us when we needed him most, leaving you to raise me by yourself.”
“You’re wrong, Jeffrey.” Rosemary chewed a fingernail. “There was no other way.”
“No option but to steal money from the bank where he worked?”
“He’s innocent,” Rosemary replied. “How many times have I told you that?”
“All my life,” Jeff answered. “Problem is, he pled guilty.”
After a long silence, Rosemary’s voice was barely audible. “Who told you how Keith pled? Your Aunt Ruby?”
“When I was in high school, Congress passed the Freedom of Information Act. I decided to find out what happened to Dad, naively thinking I could prove he was innocent, perhaps arrange for him to be pardoned. So, I sent off a request to the District Attorney’s office. Didn’t get much, mostly some old newspaper articles.” Jeff checked the rearview mirror. “Is it warm enough for you? I can turn the heat up.”
“I’m fine,” Rosemary said. “Why didn’t you talk to me about your father?”
“Every time I tried, you changed the subject.”
Rosemary sat staring out the passenger side window for a while. “So what did you find out in your quest to unravel Keith’s case?” she asked.
Jeff brushed a hand through his hair. “Not much. The evidence was circumstantial, and no one thought he would be convicted. Then, out of the blue, he confessed. The judge was extra hard on him because he wouldn’t tell them what he did with the money.”
“One thing you can be sure of. Keith Galloway never stole anything in his life. He would never do such a thing.”
“So he admitted to a crime he didn’t do and served twenty-seven years without ever asking for a new trial or a pardon? Doesn’t make much sense, does it?”
After a long silence, Rosemary said, “There’s always a reason why we do what we do. Other people may not understand, but the reason is there nonetheless.”
They rode several miles without speaking. When Jeff glanced toward his mother, she appeared to be sleeping.
Chapter Eight
“How much longer will it be?” Jeff asked the uniformed security guard sitting at the lone desk in the grim prison farm waiting room.
&nbs
p; The man shrugged and continued to focus his attention on a stack of papers before him.
Returning to the row of plastic chairs where Rosemary sat motionless, Jeff sighed and plopped into the chair next to her. “Why don’t we go and have some dinner?”
“You go ahead,” she said. “You can bring me something if you like.”
Jeff nodded toward a sign that warned, “No food or drink allowed.”
Rosemary remained still. Only her eyes moved to the sign. “There’s a picnic table outside where I can eat. I don’t want to leave until they let Keith go.”
“All right. I feel like a caged animal.” He looked around. “This place is more depressing than a hospital.”
“This is a waiting area,” Rosemary said. “I’m sure it’s much nicer inside the prison itself.”
Deciding it was futile to question his mother’s illogical statement, Jeff stood and stretched his arms. “What do you want to eat?”
“Anything.”
The relief Jeff felt when driving away gave him a twinge of sympathy for the inmates. Merely spending the day in the reception station was enough to make a man stir crazy. How depressing it must be for those who could not get in a car and leave. How did his father survive almost three decades in such a dreary place? However, when Keith Galloway took that money, he had to expect he would be found out.
Jeff passed up several fast food restaurants, finally choosing a small establishment that claimed to smoke their own meats. He didn’t mind when the teenagers behind the counter took a long time to make and pack smoked turkey sandwiches, chips, dill pickles, and two chocolate chip cookies. Jeff adopted the same leisurely pace to dispense ice and sodas into the paper cups the cashier handed him when he paid. Out of excuses to extend his time away from the depressing waiting room, Jeff headed back. The flat terrain permitted the prison farm to be visible from a great distance. As the squat, gray buildings loomed larger, Jeff wondered if he would ever know the answer to the question that plagued him for years. What did his father do with the money he took from the bank?
Evidence Not Seen (Love Is Book 9) Page 3