Claim of Innocence

by Laura Caldwell

  My father’s eyes moved around a little as if searching for the answer. His mouth crunched up. “Not really.”

  “Do you know how sad that is?”

  He shrugged. “What’s there to laugh about?”

  “Do you remember when I was young, when we were a family? You used to laugh all the time. You had this mischievous look on your face like you were always ready to crack up.”

  “Well.” A pause. “Well. That was someone else. That was a different life.”

  “But you have to laugh. Every chance you get.”

  “I gave up laughing long ago.” My heart hurt for him.

  “Have you spent any time with Charlie lately?” I asked.

  “He’s busy with the radio job.”

  “True.” But Charlie knew how to make time for the people important to him. I wondered how he was doing with the issue of my father.

  “So, what did you talk to Sam about?” I asked.

  “Not much.”

  I fought the urge to ask more, let the silence hang there. And it worked.

  He started talking again. “I was just asking him, since he knows you well, what he thinks about me being here. About me being, well, back in your life.”

  “That’s the passing conversation you had? Now that’s funny.” When he didn’t laugh, again, I looked out the window at a pack of teenagers hanging out on someone’s front stoop. “What did Sam say?”

  “He said that he thought you needed someone, a sort of father figure if you will, since Forester passed away last year.”

  I was touched that Sam got that. “He’s right.”

  “So you’re okay? With…uh, with me being here?”

  “With you being alive? Yeah, sure.” I sighed. “My life is so weird,” I said, half under my breath.

  “Mine, too.”

  We both laughed at that.

  44

  When I got home, I did some research Maggie had asked for, then I scoured the internet for information about Dr. St. John. As my dad said, there didn’t seem to be anything that indicated violence in his history. In fact, he’d been named one of the best doctors in the city by Chicago Magazine ten years ago.

  After an hour, I received a text from Mayburn. I found the nanny. She’s back in Chicago looking for a job.

  Yes! I wrote back. I’ll get the subpoena for her. You get ready to serve her with it. She’s coming to court.

  I let Maggie know, then started working on the subpoena. Theo had gotten to my place about ten minutes before, and I heard him moving around in the kitchen. When I looked up, he stood in the doorway of my office with a pitcher of iced tea.

  “You are so sweet,” I said.

  He walked in and handed me a glass.

  “You know how to make iced tea?” I asked.

  He chuckled. “I wanted to do something for you. Plus, iced tea isn’t that hard.”

  “I know, but I guess I just didn’t expect it from you.”

  “You say things like that a lot.”

  I thought about it. I supposed he was right. I often com mented about how he seemed older than he was, more mature. “Does that bother you?”

  “No. I’m tough to bother.” He leaned down over me, his soft hair falling onto the sides of my face like a light curtain. He kissed me. God, those lips. Then he stood. “I’m heading up to Wrigley if it’s cool with you.”

  “You have tickets?”

  “Nah, C.R. and I are just going to watch the game at Murphy’s.”

  It was such a young thing to do—watch the Cubs game next to Wrigley Field, without going inside. Maggie and I used to do that when we were in law school.

  “So how is C.R.? Has he talked to Lucy? I haven’t spoken with her.”

  “Yeah, and he’s into her.”

  “Really? Have they seen each other?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What did they do? What do they talk about?” I realized it was probably the same thing people wondered about Theo and me.

  He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know?”

  “That’s not what we talk about.”

  “Weird. You’re friends, but you don’t talk about your dates, what happened on them?”

  “Hey, you’re friends with Lucy, but you don’t know, either.”

  “That’s only because I’m on trial right now, and I haven’t kept in touch like I normally would. Under normal circumstances, I’d know all the details.”

  He seemed to think about this. While he did, I let my eyes sweep up his body, taking in the white T-shirt that had some kind of red design on it, which seemed to bleed in a sexy way into the skin of his arms, tattooed with other designs.

  “I should ask C.R. about him and Lucy,” Theo said. He nodded as if agreeing with himself. “You know, sometimes when I’m around them I act all casual and shit, like those guys do, because they’re my buddies and I’m their age, but I’d like…” He drifted off as if lost for words.

  “What?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You want friendships that are a little deeper?”

  “Yeah. Exactly.”

  “You’ve got Eric.”

  “That’s true. But Eric and I talk about work all the time. All the time. When we’re done with that, we don’t have much energy to be buddies.”

  I understood that. It was how I’d felt about a number of lawyers I’d worked with at Baltimore & Brown—I realized they were interesting people I’d like to know better, but as litigators we got so much of each other at work. “I can do that for you,” I said. “I can be a friendship that’s deeper.”

  “You’re more than that.”

  “I know. But I can be the friend part, too.”

  He met my eyes, and I saw an appreciation there. “Thanks.”

  “Anytime.”

  An hour and a half later, as I sent an email to Maggie about my research, my mom called.

  “Hello, Boo,” she said, using the nickname my father had given me as a kid. I noticed she used it more often these days. “I was thinking we should go out and get a glass of wine. Perhaps the Elysian Hotel?”

  “Now?”

  “Yes.”

  I pulled the phone away from my face and stared at it, then returned it to my ear. “Really?” My mother had rarely called me last minute about going out. Overall, she preferred to be in her house where she was most comfortable.

  “Are you too busy with the trial?” she said. “I should have thought about that.”

  “Actually, I’m at a good breaking point.” I didn’t mention that I was also curious to see if there was a reason for this different behavior of hers—this desire to step out. “I’ll meet you in twenty.”

  The Elysian Hotel was a vast stone building occupying a city block on State Street. It boasted a massive cobblestone drive that hearkened to an estate in Europe, so different from the other newer hotels in Chicago, which tended toward the sleek and modern.

  Inside the lobby, a large soapstone bust of a man dominated the place. Staircases on either side of the sculpture twisted upstairs to a snug, dark bar.

  My mother sat on the leather banquette against the wall, and I took a chair to the other side of the tiny table. The waitress soon delivered two glasses of Sancerre, which my mother was delighted to find on the wine list.

  “Isn’t this nice?” she said, raising her glass to toast me.

  “It is,” I said simply. “What’s going on with you? You don’t usually ask me to meet you out.”

  She lifted her shoulders and smiled. “I suppose that’s true.” Another lift of her shoulders. “I feel I have a different outlook on life right now.”

  “A good one?”

  “Very.”

  When she didn’t say anything else, I asked, “How is Spence?”

  “Well…” She sounded unsure. She looked me in the eyes. “Spence told me that he stopped by your place over the weekend.”

  “Yes. Did he tell you why?”

  S
he nodded. “I know this is very disconcerting for him. I’m going through a time, a rather interesting, wonderful time actually. I feel like I’m learning to know myself much better than I ever have before.”

  “Because of Dad. Because he’s back in town.”

  “Technically, yes. But it’s more to do with…” She shook her head and seemed unwilling, or unable, to continue.

  It’s more to do with what? I wondered. Did it have to do with feelings she had for my father? Or was it the concept she had mentioned to me last week—that she could trust her instincts again because she had been right, and he hadn’t been dead?

  “Have you seen him?” she asked.

  “Yes, he’s been coming to trial, and he’s been working a bit with Mayburn.” I stalled momentarily when I realized my mother didn’t know Mayburn’s name; I’d only told her of our work relationship generally, when I absolutely had to. I’d listened to Mayburn’s advice—okay, not advice, but commands—not to let anyone know I did work for him on the side. It would, he said, take away the whole reason for me, an average Northside girl who could slip into everyday situations like the mom’s crowd on a playground or women’s locker room, to handle work for him. And so as uncomfortable as it made me, few people knew I worked for him.

  “I did see Dad after you mentioned it on Sunday,” I said. “I went to his apartment.”

  “Oh.” Her eyebrows raised. “I admit, I’ve been curious. What’s it like?”

  “Nondescript.”

  “I suppose that’s fitting, isn’t it? He probably doesn’t really know who he is at this point.”

  She said it in a gentle way, and I knew she meant the statement to be a kind one. We were both silent for a second.

  “So getting back to you and Spence…” I said.

  The waitress delivered mixed nuts in a silver dish. We munched on a few, and my mother looked pensive for second. “You know, we’re not that good,” she said.

  My stomach sank.

  She seemed to sense my reaction. “Let me explain, Boo.” She sighed. “I’ve been struck now, more than ever, about how each person goes through different lives within their one lifetime.”

  My dad had said something like that when he had driven me home that day. Spence had mentioned something similar, too.

  “Do you know what I mean?” my mom asked.

  “I think so. But what do you mean?”

  “Well, I’ve gone through a number of lives, haven’t I? After all, I was one person when I grew up in Michigan. I was another person after I met your father. I was yet another person when I became a young mother.”

  I saw what she was getting at now. “And you were quite another person after dad died.”

  She looked at me. “Yes, that’s right. And I don’t know if I have ever said it but I’m sorry. I’m sorry that the person I was then was not able to take care of you the way I should have.”

  “I’ve never been angry about that. I’ve always understood.”

  She nodded. “Yes, you’ve always been very empathetic, even as a child. I appreciate that.”

  “Thanks.” I was touched. “But you and Spence now?”

  My mother shrugged. “I am a different person again now that your father is alive. Spence doesn’t seem to like that person.”

  “Mom, he loves you immensely.”

  “Of course he does. But it’s not about how much he loves me. It’s a matter of adaptation—whether he can acclimate to who I am now, whether our relationship can do that.”

  “And so what do you think?”

  She dipped two elegant fingers and her thumb into the silver dish and pulled out an almond. She looked at it for a moment, as if not entirely aware she was holding it. Then she looked at me. “This is one of those situations, Isabel, where the cliché is true—only time will tell.”

  45

  “We’re going to a hotel.” I pushed my cell phone closer to my ear and looked around to see if anyone was near. But the courtyard of the Elysian was deserted, save for a valet and a waiting cab across the way.

  “What?” Mayburn said. “Who is going to a hotel?”

  “Sam and me.” My body tingled as I said it. With excitement, with trepidation, with guilt.

  Mayburn whistled, then laughed. “Thanks.”

  “For what?”

  “I haven’t laughed in a month.” As if to try it again, he laughed once more. “Shit, that feels good.”

  “Okay, glad it’s amusing. But we’re not going to a hotel as in a hotel.” I told Mayburn how, after my drink with my mom, Sam had called, talking about our engagement at the James Hotel. He didn’t want to go there, he’d said. He knew things weren’t exactly the same between us, yet he wanted to show me they were still similar. He wanted us to meet someplace where it was just him and me. He suggested the Peninsula Hotel Bar a few blocks away from the Elysian. None of the reasoning quite made sense to me. It sounded romantic, yet it made me wonder if he was hiding us from Alyssa or anyone she knew. But that wasn’t worrying me like it normally would. Instead, I was, quite simply, craving information from him; I wanted to know if he had, as he said he would, “figured things out.”

  “So I’m ready for your help,” I said to Mayburn now. “You promised that if I needed advice, you’d give it to me.”

  “Yeah, I thought about our conversation after we talked,” Mayburn said. “You’re right that I do a lot of infidelity cases. Or suspected infidelity cases. But they’re on behalf of the person who suspects cheating. It’s the wife at home, and her husband travels a lot for work. So I tell them to pay attention to certain things, like when their partner stops calling them pet names or can’t look them in the eye or when suddenly the spouse has new interest or when the wife is rushing you off the phone or changing their eating habits or that kind of thing.”

  “Okay, so what should I look for with Sam?”

  A pause. Then, “McNeil, you’re the one he’s cheating with.”

  “We’re not cheating! It’s a drink. And if anything, he’s still cheating on me by being with Alyssa.”

  “What? You want him to be by himself because the two of you broke up? You want him to go on without you and—”

  “Yes,” I said, interrupting him, “I want him to go on, celibate and lonely, without me.”

  “Hmm. I wonder if that’s what Lucy wants for me.”

  “No,” I answered immediately. “Lucy is way nicer than I am.”

  “That’s true.”

  “So seriously, just give me something.”

  “Do you want a Tru-Test?” he asked.

  “What’s that?”

  “It checks for sexual fluids.”

  “Ew. No! What would I do with that?”

  “Help me out, McNeil. What do you want here?”

  I thought about it. “I don’t know. Just a primer. A way to fish around for information or whether or not it’s forthcoming.”

  “I’ve taught you that stuff already,” he said. “And,” he added grudgingly, “you’ve learned it well. An investigation is like a puzzle—”

  “Yeah, yeah, you have to put the pieces together.”

  “That’s right. And often you don’t know which piece will be important until you see it. Keep your eyes open. And when you see a puzzle piece…”

  “Pick it up,” I said for him. “Got it.”

  Sam and I sat on a slouchy velvet couch nearly hidden by swaths of sheer fabric that billowed from the curtain rod over the windows. The light was low and warm. I’d been to the Peninsula bar before and found the place too dark, maybe a tad staid. But now the room seemed to ooze sexiness, warmth and ease.

  Sam and I sipped at our glasses of Blue Moon. I tasted the sweet orange Sam had squeezed into my beer.

  When we’d first arrived, Sam told me he’d realized something. Since he and I broke up, he’d lost his job as a wealth management advisor and he’d lost Forester, who was his father figure…essentially he’d lost everything he identified with in life. He’d gott
en engaged to Alyssa, he realized, because he wanted something to identify with. But he had been wrong to do so. He wasn’t in love with Alyssa. He loved her, but he was in love with me.

  I still love you, he said.

  Now, I thought of something that had been troubling me—something I never really spoke at length to Sam about, but something I should have made sure he understood.

  “Remember,” I said, pushing my beer glass an inch away, “when I was getting a little…I don’t know, a little strange before our wedding.”

  He didn’t hesitate before he answered. “Yeah, you were cranky and distracted. I thought the wedding planning was just making you crazy.”

  “It was. But not just because it was a lot to deal with.”

  “You had a huge job at the same time,” Sam pointed out.

  “Yeah, but it wasn’t just that, either.” I pulled the glass back and stared into the golden ale. “There was another reason I was unhappy.” I looked at him. I really didn’t want to hurt him. But if we were going to have these conversations, we needed—or at least I did—to be entirely honest.

  “Tell me.” He didn’t look afraid.

  So I did. “I felt like the wedding was going too fast, and it was beginning to feel like someone else’s wedding.”

  He nodded. “It got bigger than we expected. That was my fault. You never wanted all the bells and whistles.”

  “No. But you and my mom were both so into it. The whole thing was fine at first, but then it just started spinning and spinning and we were hardly spending time together, and I was overwhelmed at work, and…”

  Sam stared at me as I let my words die away. “How much of your hesitation about the wedding had to do with me?”

  “I told you, it was all the hoopla, combined with working a lot and—”

  “I understand,” Sam said. “But I’m asking you something specific. And now more than ever, I need you to think about this. How much of that time had to do with me? About the fact that you weren’t ready or maybe didn’t want to marry me?”

  “None.” I answered fast. It was an easy answer.

  Sam’s face looked excited but not sure he entirely believed me.

  “I swear,” I said. “The planning was making me nuts and work was making me nuts and I felt like I was growing up too fast, like I’d gone from law school graduate to a nearly married, nearly partner of a law firm. And then you brought up moving to the suburbs…”