“Positive.”
“Well, then, we’re going to have to get the crib out of the attic.”
And that was that.
Juliet hoped the second topic of conversation would go even a quarter that well.
MARY JANE INSISTED the baby was going to be a girl—to make them two pairs. She spent the next twenty minutes, as they unwrapped the cheese and bread and fruit, trying out different names. So far she’d settled on six of them. She ate enough, steadily, so the food was disappearing, although her mother and aunt had done no more than eat a grape or two.
Juliet shifted her weight, the sand hard beneath her.
“So what was the second thing to talk about?” Mary Jane asked, chocolate-chip cookie crumbs on her lips as she chewed. Clearly, she thought she’d heard the worst of it.
“I…” Juliet started. Stopped. Looked out at the ocean. “I…”
“Your mother has a new client,” Marcie said. “And you’re not going to like who it is and you’re probably going to think there’s more to it than there is, but there isn’t, and you’re just going to have to trust us on that one.”
“Huh?”
“Blake Ramsden’s been charged with fraud and he’s asked me to represent him.” It wasn’t how she’d wanted to break the news, but other words failed her.
Mary Jane’s mouth froze. The cookie in her hand crumbled. And her eyes creased, their depth lit with sheer panic in the bright sunlight.
“And you told him no, right?” the child asked as though warding off a blow.
Juliet was aware of Marcie next to her, watching them, but she kept her gaze focused strictly on her daughter. “Is that what you’d want me to do, Mary Jane?”
“Yes.”
On one hand, Juliet completely understood—had expected this, even—but another part of her was disappointed.
“She’s only eight years old,” Marcie’s voice came softly beside her. Juliet listened for the waves—for reassurance—and for whatever voice inside was going to tell her what to do next.
“He’s a man I once knew, Mary Jane. Someone who was kind to me, made me laugh, gave me the greatest gift I will ever receive…”
The little girl stared, the expression in her eyes a mixture of belligerence, fear and a small hint of that peculiarly mature blend of tolerance and innocence with which she normally approached life.
“And I think someone might be framing him for a crime he didn’t commit,” Juliet continued. She’d always told Mary Jane the truth. In the end, it was the one thing the child could count on and Juliet wasn’t going to let her down. Their entire relationship was built on that trust. “If he doesn’t find a way to prove that, he could spend the rest of his life in jail.”
Juliet waited. Continued to watch her daughter’s bent head. The child was hugging one upraised knee, the remains of her chocolate-chip cookie still clutched in one hand. Little bits of melted chocolate oozed through her fingers.
“Why does it have to be you?”
She could hardly make out the mumbled words.
“Because I’m familiar with the case. Because he trusts me. And because I’m one of the best defense attorneys in the state.”
“I don’t want you to.”
“I know, sweetie, and I thought about that,” Juliet said, hurting, as she watched her daughter struggle. “But there’s no reason this can’t work out just fine for all three of us.” She’d worried about finding the right words, but in the end, they just started to flow.
“How many times, in the past eight years, have you met any of my clients?”
Mary Jane glanced up. “None.”
“Okay, so percentages say you don’t have a whole lot to worry about there. If you’ve never met one of my clients, and they’ve never met you, why should this time be any different?”
“I guess…”
“Now,” she hurried on when Mary Jane took a breath as though preparing to argue. “Second, there’s me.” The little girl looked scared again. “For eight years, my life has been very, very blessed because of you. Sometimes I start to feel a little guilty about that.” The admission wasn’t easy. “Because Blake Ramsden doesn’t even know about you and has never had a chance to be happy knowing you.”
The girl’s face paled. “You said you weren’t going to tell him about me unless I—”
“I’m not planning to tell him about you,” Juliet interrupted. “But right now, his life isn’t happy or blessed at all, and if I can help him, if I can win him his freedom, then I’ve sort of paid him back. Do you see that?”
Mary Jane’s nose crinkled. She ground her chin against her knee. Marcie reached over, ran her fingers through Mary Jane’s curls. “You don’t have anything to be afraid of, sweetie.”
Mary Jane raised her head. “Kind of like a life for a life?” she asked Juliet, her tone a little less defensive.
“Kind of.”
“I still don’t like it.”
“I know.”
“You promise you won’t tell him about me?”
“Not without telling you first.”
Mary Jane didn’t look satisfied, but after staring intently for a long moment, she didn’t argue the point any further.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
MARCIE STARTED loading empty sandwich wrappers into the canvas bag they’d brought with them. Mary Jane continued to sit, now hugging both knees.
Thinking about the man who was her father?
“Is there anything you’d like to know about him?” Juliet asked, just in case.
Did the child ever wonder what kind of person Blake was? Whether he was smart? Or liked dogs?
“So you’re sure he didn’t do it?”
Leave it up to Mary Jane to find the most difficult question. “I don’t know, sweetie, but I don’t think so.”
The little girl nodded. “I don’t think so, either.”
She leaned over to the edge of the blanket, opened her hand and dropped the cookie she’d been holding. With a quick brush of her hand, she jumped up.
“Can I go look for shells now?”
Feeling there was more she should say, Juliet just nodded. And Mary Jane ran off.
“That went surprisingly well,” Marcie said, lying back on the blanket and closing her eyes.
Outwardly, Juliet agreed with her sister. But as she watched her daughter strolling listlessly by the water, her heart told her differently. This wasn’t over yet. Not by a long shot.
ON MONDAY, Blake went to the pound and picked out a puppy. A Labrador-greyhound mix—pitch-black with a long nose, pointed ears that stood upright and looked too large for its small head and a skinny tail that hung down almost to the floor. He’d toyed with the idea all weekend. It was a positive move, manifesting his belief that he’d be free to raise the pup. He’d accepted the January speaking engagement, too.
Buying a puppy was something he’d often thought about since returning to San Diego—he liked the idea of having something to come home to at the end of a long day. Or to spend time with on weekends