The foreman was a woman in this case, and she called out their verdicts loudly and clearly. They began with Tom, and named each of the thirteen charges against him, and to each of them she responded with a single word. Guilty. Guilty. Guilty. It droned on eternally, and again the same with Larry, and with Simon. There was a huge stir in the courtroom, and the press was going wild as the judge rapped his gavel furiously and called everyone to order.
And then it was Sam's turn, and this time, the verdict was “not guilty” to all the charges of embezzlement, but to all the charges relating to fraud, and conspiracy to commit fraud, he was found guilty. Alex sat rooted to the spot, as she looked at him. He stood very quietly, listening to the judge, who was saying that they were to return thirty days from that date for sentencing, and he would take their cases, and their probation reports, under advisement until then. They were each being released on five-hundred-thousand-dollars bail, which meant a fifty-thousand-dollar bond, which Sam had put up for himself as soon as he was arrested. And then the judge reminded each of them that they were not to leave the state or country. He then rapped his gavel, and dismissed the court, and there was an instant uproar. Photographers flashed photographs of all of them and Alex had to fight to get where Sam was standing with Phillip.
Sam looked like he was in shock when she got to him, and there were tears in his eyes, understandably. Larry's and Tom's wives were sobbing openly, but she said nothing to them. And Simon left the courtroom almost immediately with his lawyer.
“I'm so sorry, Sam,” she said, just loud enough for him to hear her, as someone took their picture.
“Let's get out of here,” he said miserably, and she leaned over to Phillip then to ask him if he needed to talk to his client, but he shook his head. He was very disappointed by the verdict. Now all their efforts would be to reduce sentencing, but there was little chance of that now. Sam was going to prison.
She followed him outside, as news cameras and microphones were shoved into their faces, and finally they darted through the crowd and into a cab before anyone could stop them.
“Are you all right?” she asked him. He looked terrible, and she was suddenly worried he'd have a heart attack or a stroke. At fifty that wasn't completely impossible, although it was unlikely.
“I don't know. I think I'm numb. I kept telling myself I expected it, but I guess I didn't …let's go to the Carlyle.”
But at the hotel, they found reporters waiting for him. They went around to the Madison Avenue side, and hurried in, and he asked her if she'd come upstairs with him for a few minutes. And once there, he called room service and ordered drinks for both of them. Scotch for him, and coffee for her. She wasn't a drinker.
“I don't know what to say,” Alex said honestly, she was bereft of words. All she had left were feelings. Grief for him, and Annabelle who was about to lose her father, for twenty years or more. It was impossible to think of.
It was going to be hard on everyone until sentencing, but now they just had to live through it. “Is there anything I can do?” she asked helplessly. She felt almost as helpless as he had when he found out she had cancer. There was nothing she could do to change it.
“Take good care of Annabelle,” he said, and then burst into tears. He sat with his face in his hands for a long time, sobbing, and she said nothing, and walked over to him and gently held his shoulders. When room service came, she signed for it, and brought the tray in herself, and handed him the Scotch. He took it gratefully, and apologized for his lack of composure.
“Don't be silly, Sam. It's all right,” she said gently, touching his shoulder. But there was nothing they could do. He had been found guilty, and he'd have to go to prison. They knew that.
He took a sip of his drink and looked at her. “It can't have felt any better when they told you you had cancer.”
“It didn't,” she confirmed, and then smiled sadly. “But I'd rather have chemotherapy than go to jail.”
He laughed cynically at what she'd said, and took another swig of Scotch. “Thanks. I don't think they're offering the option.”
“Believe me, you wouldn't like it.”
“I remember that,” he said sorrowfully, feeling grim at how he had failed her. “My God, you were sick. I kept blocking it out because I couldn't stand it. I even let Daphne help me do it. She kept feeling sorry for me instead of you, and I agreed with her completely. We were really nice people. Mr. and Miss Terrific.” He looked into Alex's eyes, grateful beyond words that she had survived it.
“Have you heard from her?” she asked out of curiosity, and he shook his head.
“Not a word, the little dear. I'm sure she's moved on to greener pastures. She'll fall on her feet, wherever she is. Daphne's a smart girl, when it comes to Daphne.” And then he looked at his wife with an expression of immeasurable sadness. “Why are you here? You shouldn't be by now.” It was true, but she was a faithful sort and they both knew that. Besides, Brock was right. Eighteen years had woven a powerful bond between them.
“I loved you for a long time. It's hard to forget that,” she said honestly, no longer afraid that he would hurt her. She knew he couldn't. She was too far removed now.
“You'd better forget it soon,” Sam said. “Thirty days. I'll file before that, by the way. I'm sure your young lawyer friend will be relieved. The poor guy looks daggers at me everytime he sees me. Tell him he can relax now, I'm going.” She smiled at the irony of his words. They knew each other well. He had finally figured out who Brock was. Though he'd been a lot slower than she had been in figuring out Sam's relationship to Daphne. But there were no secrets between them now. “Isn't he a little young for you?” There was a hint of jealousy in his voice when he asked, which reminded her of Brock and made her smile. They were both being silly.
“I say that to him every day, but he's very stubborn.” Alex smiled, thinking of Brock. “He was incredible to me when I was sick. He spent the first five months with me throwing up on the bathroom floor of my office before he ever invited me anywhere.”
“He's a good man,” Sam said fairly. “I wish I'd been decent enough to do that.” And then he thought of the result of the trial again, and shrugged unhappily. “Maybe it's just as well I didn't stick by you. I don't want to take you down with me on this. You need your freedom.”
“So do you,” she said gently.
“Tell it to the judge,” he said, and stood up. He knew he had no right to keep her any longer, and it only made him feel worse to be near her. It was so obviously over for her, it was hard being around her. “Tell Annabelle I'll come by tomorrow to pick her up. I want to do lots of things with her this month.” He only had one month of freedom left, probably, and he was going to spend it all with her. He would have liked to spend it with Alex too, but he would never have asked that. He knew he couldn't.
Alex was sad when she went home to Annabelle that night, and Brock called to say he had seen it on the news and was sorry. He was working late, and he'd come over in a while, but when he did, Alex was irritated by his attitude about Sam. He was supercilious and overtly pleased that Sam had been convicted. He said that Sam had messed up his life in every way possible, and basically deserved what had happened.
“I think twenty years in jail might be a pretty high price for his mess, wouldn't you say? Who the hell hasn't made mistakes? He was stupid and self-centered, and naively trusting of his partners, but he doesn't deserve to lose everything, nor does Annabelle because of his mistakes. She needs her father.”
“He should have thought of that before he went into business with Simon. Hell, Alex, the guy was obvious. You said so yourself,” and she couldn't disagree. She had never trusted Simon. But Sam had, much to his chagrin now.
The next day when Sam came by to pick up Annabelle, looking drained, Alex thought that Brock was unnecessarily unpleasant to him, and after Sam left with Annabelle, she said so. “The guy's got enough on his plate without your being rude to him on top of it.” It was rare for them to
fight, but for Alex, it was an issue of loyalty and kindness.
“I was not rude, I was cool, there's a distinct difference.”
“You weren't cool, Brock,” she said, feeling like his mother, scolding him. “You were nasty, that's different. It could have happened to any of us. He was swept away by a glamorous crowd, who were out to use him. Are you so sure you're invulnerable to that?” she asked him pointedly, and he insisted it could never happen to him, but Alex knew better. But it was her attitude that worried Brock. He didn't like the things she said, or the way she said them.
“Why are you defending him?” he asked, looking suddenly worried. “Are you still in love with him?” His eyes bore into hers. He was the prosecutor and she was the defendant.
“I don't think so,” she said honestly, wanting to be fair to both of them. “I care about him. I'm sorry about what happened.”
“Don't you think he deserved it?” Brock pressed. They were alone in her apartment after Annabelle had left with Sam, and Brock wasn't going to let go of the issues. He wanted to know what she was feeling.
“No, I don't think he deserved it,” Alex said sadly. “It's right for him to lose his business, and his job … his standing in the community …even his reputation. He was foolish, he hurt a lot of people by being blind to what the others were doing. But he shouldn't go to prison for that, Brock, no more than he should for failing me …it's not right. I just don't think he deserves that.”
“You're too soft,” Brock said, watching her carefully, and then slowly he went to her, and put his arms around her. “I guess that's why I love you,” and then he closed his eyes and pulled her so tightly against him she could hardly breathe. “I don't want to lose you, that's all. That's what this is all about for me … I keep hearing what you're saying about him, and seeing something in your eyes that still hurts for him. It's not over yet, no matter what you say. He still lives in your heart somewhere …maybe that's normal after eighteen years, and a little girl … I don't know … I just don't want to lose you,” he said again, and kissed her. And when they came up for air, she smiled at him, and touched his lips with a gentle finger.
“You won't, Brock. I love you.” And she meant it.
“But you love him too,” he said wisely, and this time she didn't deny it.
“Maybe I do, and I don't know it. I don't love him in a romantic sense. But I love who he was, and what we had. We were together for a long time. I thought we had it all …and then everything fell apart. It was hard to understand that.” They shared a blood bond by now, like members of the same family, that was near impossible to sever. “I feel his pain. I think I understand what he did. I know what he's feeling. It's hard to explain that to someone else, or to stop feeling it just because things have changed between us.”
“Are you sure they have?” he asked softly.
“Positive,” she said firmly. “I'm not his wife now. I'm someone different than I was before. I don't know …I'm not sure you can ever go back, after all that happened to us. You can only go forward.” And she had, into Brock's arms, but she was not his wife either. She was no one's. She was her own, for the first time in years, and as lonely as it had been for a while, now at times she even liked it. She had the best of both worlds. A sense of herself she'd never had before, and Brock, whom she loved deeply.
“Just let me know if anything changes,” he said simply, watching her eyes, and only somewhat reassured by what he saw there. He knew she was torn by everything she was feeling. She felt sorry for Sam, and loyalty to Brock. And in her own way, she loved both of them, and Annabelle, and she wanted what was right for everyone. Sometimes that wasn't easy.
“Don't say things like that,” she chided him. “Nothing's going to change. It's just going to be a hard time for him, and I'd like to at least be supportive.”
“Why? He didn't support you last year. Why should this be any different?”
“Maybe for old times' sake.” But Brock wanted that with her. He wanted the same ancient bond that tied her to Sam even now, even from a distance.
“Don't feel too sorry for him,” he warned, kissing her again gently. “I need you,” he whispered.
“So do I,” she whispered back, and they made love that morning in the bed she had once shared with Sam, and knew she never would again. What she had said to Brock was true, and she believed it. The past was gone, and it was time to move forward. Besides, she loved him.
But Sam was in a pensive mood when she picked Annabelle up at the Carlyle late that afternoon, after their day together. It was as though in the past twenty-four hours, the verdict had really sunk in, and he was beginning to panic. He was about to lose everything, his freedom, his life, his little girl, even the last whispers of all he had once shared with Alex. And he was suddenly a lot less philosophical and less glib than he had been the night before over his Scotch after the verdict. Being with Annabelle had reminded him of all he would lose, and seeing Alex made it even more poignant.
He had told Annabelle that afternoon that things hadn't gone well for him. She still didn't understand what that meant, and he hadn't explained it fully with all the implications. He had said nothing about leaving her, or going to prison. He would have to deal with that later. He had another thirty days in which to do it.
“Did you two have fun?” Alex asked, smiling at them. She had come to pick Annabelle up, while Brock shopped for their dinner at Gristede's.
“We had a great time,” Sam said, looking better but still tense. “We went skating.” And then he sent Annabelle into the other room to get her doll and her sweater, and he turned to Alex with a look of anguish. “I'm sorry about your friend this morning. He seemed annoyed. I think I upset him,” he said. She nodded, hesitating about how much to say to him, but as always she was honest.
“He's afraid of our history, Sam. I can't really blame him. Eighteen years is a long time, it's hard to explain that to someone else. He's afraid that loyalty is more powerful than love, which is foolish.”
“Is it?” he asked softly, daring to raise his eyes to hers, and he ached instantly at what he saw there. He saw a woman he had hurt deeply, and every moment he spent with her, he remembered. “Is it only loyalty?” he asked thoughtfully. “I'm sorry to hear it. I suppose I'm lucky there's still that, after what I did to you.” He had spent the previous night, and even that afternoon, thinking about her, and the pain he had caused her.
“Sam, don't …” she said gently. It was too late for recriminations. There were too many regrets, and bad memories, along with the good ones.
“Why not? I guess I shouldn't say anything, but I have this crazy sense of time running out suddenly, which we both know isn't so crazy, after Friday's verdict. Maybe it's important to say things now, just in case there's no chance to say them later.” She understood what he felt, but she couldn't help him. She could be there for him, to a point, she could help him with Annabelle, and sympathize with what he was going through, but she couldn't give him more than that. That part of her life was Brock's now. “I still love you,” he said softly, and tore at her heart, as Annabelle skipped back into the room with her doll and her sweater. “I mean it,” he said pointedly, and she turned away, ignoring him, wishing he hadn't said anything. He had no right to.
Alex helped Annabelle put her sweater on, and then her hat and coat with trembling hands and she didn't say a word to Sam until Annabelle went to ring for the elevator, and they followed.
“Don't make things harder than they have to be. I know this is a hard time for you, and I feel terrible, but Sam …don't hurt all of us again now.” If he toyed with her, it would only hurt her, and Brock, and Annabelle, and even himself. “Don't do that.”
“I didn't mean to hurt you,” he said thoughtfully. There was suddenly so much he had to tell her. “I guess I ought to have the guts to leave you alone, no matter what I feel, especially if I'm going to prison. I promised myself that. But maybe it's a bigger mistake to just let you slip away without at le
ast telling you I love you. I know I have no right to you. Hell, I don't even feel like a man anymore. Everything I ever hooked my identity to is gone, money, success, position … I guess that's how you felt when you lost your breast, but we're both stupid. Your womanhood wasn't in your breast …my manhood wasn't in my office …it's in our hearts, our souls, who we are, what we believe in. I don't know why I never understood that before. I understand so much more now, and the bitch of it is that I've figured it all out too late, too late for us anyway … all I want is to turn the clock back a year and start over.” She was shocked by what he was saying.
“I can't, Sam,” she whispered, as she closed her eyes for a moment so she wouldn't have to see the pain in his eyes, or the love she suddenly saw there. Why hadn't he said it all a year before? It was too late now. “Don't say these things to me … I can't go back again, and I can't do this to Brock.” She had promised him she wouldn't only that morning.
“What are you doing with him?” Sam said, sounding annoyed. “He's a kid. A nice kid, I can see that. And he's been good to you, but ten years from now where will you be? Can he really give you what you want?”
“It's not what he can give me,” she said firmly to Sam, “he's already given me so much. It's my turn to give now.”
“You can't give him your life to make up for what he did for you, any more than I can make up to you for what I didn't. But I still love you, Alex …you're still my wife. Maybe I have no right to you anymore, I'm sure I don't. But I want you to know I'll always love you. Even at my craziest, at my worst … I always loved you. I didn't want to leave, but I couldn't stay either. I was running away from everything, you, my mother's ghost, reality. And I had to get that girl out of my blood. I know how wrong it was, but she was driving me crazy. And so were you. I was driving myself mad more than anything. But I never meant to hurt you.” He wanted her to hear all of it from him, before he went to prison. But it wasn't fair. He pulled a string that hadn't been severed yet, and touched a part of her that was still his, which hurt too much. She didn't want to love him.
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