Clayton shook his head to clear his muddled mind. What he needed was to get away for a while. He had some vacation time coming up. And it was time he took it.
Syneda Walters looked across her desk at the elegantly groomed woman sitting in front of it. She schooled her expression not to show her irritation and annoyance—or her pity. Bracing her elbows on the arm of the chair, she leaned forward. “Ms. Armstrong, I hope you'll reconsider your decision.”
“But he has told me he's sorry about everything and really didn't mean to hurt me. He's been under a lot of stress lately. He loves me.”
Syneda sighed, letting her well-manicured fingers run agitatedly over the desk surface. She could barely restrain herself from calling the woman all kinds of fool for letting a man abuse her. Yet the woman sat defending a man who evidently got his kicks using her as a punching bag.
Rubbing the ache at the back of her neck, Syneda stared beyond the woman and out the window. It was a beautiful day in early May. The midday sun slanted across the sky and reflected off another building. Its golden rays gleamed brilliantly in the blue sky. She watched as a flock of birds flew by and wished she could somehow fly away with them.
“Ms. Walters?”
Syneda's eyes again rested on the woman's tear-stained face. The bruises hadn't quite faded and were not adequately concealed with the use of makeup. “Yes?”
“You just don't understand.”
Syneda allowed her eyes to close for a moment. Then pushing her chair back she rose and sat on the edge of her desk facing the woman. “You're right, Mrs. Armstrong, I don't understand,” she replied quietly. “I don't understand several things. First, how can a man who claims he loves a woman physically hurt her the way your husband has repeatedly hurt you? Second, how can a woman who cares anything about herself let him do it and get away with it?”
Mary Armstrong blew her nose in a well-used napkin. “But he's my husband,” the woman implored, pleading understanding.
Syneda didn't give her any. “He's also your abuser. Look, Mrs. Armstrong, you've only been in the marriage for three years and he's doing this to you now. What do you think he'll be doing to you three more years from now?”
“He'll change.”
“That's what you said a few months ago.” Syneda gave a disgusted shake of her head. “It's time for you to make changes. Don't live under a false conception you're worth less than you really are. Don't ever believe you deserve to be beaten. No one deserves that. And please stop thinking you're nothing without him.”
There was a moment of silence in the room. Then the woman spoke. Her voice quavered with indecisiveness. “What do you suggest I do?”
“As your attorney I suggest the first thing you should do is get some counseling. And I highly recommend that you bring charges against your husband.”
“Will he be arrested?”
“That's a good possibility.”
The woman's face paled. “What will happen to his practice? He's an outstanding member of the community.”
Syneda let out a huff of breath that was more disgust than anger. “He's also an abuser. As far as his medical practice is concerned, if I were you I'd let him worry about that.”
“He loves me, and he's sorry that he's hurt me. I can't let him lose everything. I can't do that to him.”
Syneda stood. “Then there's nothing I can do. We'll be more than happy to help you, Mrs. Armstrong, when you're ready to first help yourself. Good day.”
Syneda continued to gaze at the closed door after Mrs. Armstrong had left. She let out a deep sigh of frustration. She was not having a good day. To be more specific, it had not been a good week. It had started with the case she'd lost on Monday, and the week had gone downhill from there.
She rubbed her forehead, trying to relieve the throbbing at her temples. Even after five years she often wondered about her decision to practice family law. But then, she silently admitted, the profession she had chosen was important to her because she'd always managed to feel she had somehow made a difference in someone's life; whether it was getting them out of a hellish marriage, taking on their fight for custody rights, or in a case like Mary Armstrong's, helping them to realize options in life other than one filled with physical abuse.
A quick knock sounded at the door. “Come in.”
The door opened and her secretary stuck her head inside. “I'm leaving for lunch now. Do you have anything you want me to take care of before I go?”
Syneda shook her head. “No, Joanna. There's nothing that can't wait until you return.”
Joanna nodded. “All right. And Lorren Madaris called while you were with Mrs. Armstrong.”
“Thanks, and enjoy your lunch.”
“I will,” Joanna replied, closing the door behind her.
Syneda picked up the phone and began dialing. Lorren Madaris was her best friend. Both of them had grown up as the foster children of Nora and Paul Phillips. “Lorren? How was Hawaii?”
“It was great. Justin and I had a wonderful time.”
“I'm glad.”
“What about you? What was the outcome of that case you were working on?”
Syneda studied her manicured nail for a long moment before answering. “We lost.” She shook her head and tried shrugging off her disappointment. “As far as I'm concerned the judge's decision was wrong. No one can convince me that Kasey Jamison should have been returned to her biological mother. Where was the woman when Kasey really needed her? If you ask me she showed up five years too late. You of all people know how I feel about parents who desert their kids.”
There was a slight pause before Lorren replied. “Yes, I know. And you're thinking about your father, aren't you?”
Syneda's body tensed. “I don't have a father, Lorren.”
Lorren said nothing for a while, then broke the silence. “So what're your plans now about the case?”
“For one thing, I won't give up. I feel like I've let Kasey down, not to mention her adoptive parents. I plan to appeal the judge's decision.”
“Don't let things get you down. You did your best.”
“But in this case, my best wasn't good enough.” Syneda stood. She let out a deep sigh of frustration, not wanting to talk about the Jamison case any longer, not even to her best friend. “Lorren, I'll get back with you later. I need to prepare for my next client.”
“Okay. You take care.”
“I will.”
As Syneda hung up the phone, a part of her mind slipped into a past she had done everything in her power to forget. Eighteen years ago this week, at the age of ten, she had received her mother's deathbed promise that the father Syneda never knew would be coming for her.
Syneda sighed deeply, remembering how her mother had died of an acute case of pneumonia. Even after the juvenile authorities had come and taken Syneda away because she'd had no other relatives, her mother's words, “Your father will come,” had been her comfort and hope. Weeks later, after she'd been placed in the foster home with Mamma Nora and Poppa Paul, she still believed her father would come for her. She would never forget how she would stand in front of her bedroom window, watching and waiting patiently each day for him.
For an entire year she had waited before accepting he was not coming. She began pitying her mother for dying believing in the love and devotion of a man. If his actions were proof of the love two people were supposed to share, then Syneda wanted no part of love. As far as she was concerned,