“Yes.”
Juliet didn’t like that uncertain note in her sister’s voice. “Don’t get cold feet now, Marce. You’ve said a thousand times this is what you want.”
“I know.”
“The baby is just a catalyst making it happen.”
“I know.”
“And if you want to get married someday, San Diego has lots of men to choose from.”
“For a woman with a newborn child?”
“For anyone.”
They chatted for another couple of minutes about the logistics of the move. Juliet could see only good in Marcie’s decision. They’d never had any difficulty living together. Marcie would finally begin the life she’d always wanted and Juliet could quit worrying that her sister was going to end up like her mother someday. And she’d have help with Mary Jane.
She’d never felt more in need of the latter than she did right then.
“How are things going with Blake Ramsden?” Marcie asked just as Juliet was starting to feel relaxed enough to sleep.
She kicked at the sand. Watched the moon’s glow bob out on the ocean. Wished the waves would kick up enough of a breeze to cool her heated skin.
“As well as can be expected,” she said, telling her sister about the plea agreement Blake had rejected. And that she thought he’d done the right thing.
“So,” Marcie pressed, “you’re doing okay?”
“I don’t know.” Juliet admitted to her twin what she wouldn’t have told anyone else. “I think so, and then he’ll say something and I get this horrible guilty feeling.” She dug a little tunnel in the sand with her toes. “I think he’s lonely, Marce. He bought this puppy….”
If she hadn’t known all the reasons it would be a mistake for her to fall for Blake Ramsden, she might have been tempted when he’d been sitting there chuckling over the dog’s having chewed a corner off the cupboard when Blake had locked him in the kitchen while he’d showered on Monday night.
“He got the dog from the pound. Named it Freedom because that was what they both needed. The puppy needed freedom from its cage and imminent death, and so does he….”
She had to stop before she did something stupid. Like start to cry.
“Sometimes I think it’s cruel of me not to tell him about Mary Jane,” she added when she could.
“How many days has it been since Mrs. Cummings called?” Marcie asked.
“Two. Mary Jane has failed three math tests in a row.” It would be a cause for concern with any child. And with a child who could blurt out the answers to math problems in class before her teacher even had time to write them out on the board, it was especially worrisome.
“Is she doing it on purpose?” Marcie asked.
Juliet tried to concentrate on loosening the knot in her stomach. “Obviously,” she said. “The question is why, and what to do about it.”
“What does Mary Jane say?”
“That she’s not doing it on purpose.”
“She’s never lied to you before.”
The sky was black, with shades of navy and gray where the moon shone through. So much out there—unseen.
“I don’t think she’s lying now. She’s somehow convinced herself she can’t do the math,” Marcie added.
“We had her talk to the school counselor and Mary Jane answered all her questions like a happy, normal, well-adjusted kid.”
“What does Mrs. Cummings say?”
“That Mary Jane is troubled about something.” Juliet had been trying desperately not to think of her most recent phone conversation with the elementary-school principal. She’d suggested that Juliet look into some kind of special-education class that worked with children one-on-one to determine the extent of Mary Jane’s needs.
As if her daughter wasn’t already segregated enough by her differences from the other children.
“And you think she’s troubled about her father?”
Juliet didn’t know what else to think. “School’s always been a bit of a struggle, you know that,” Juliet said. “She’s too smart for her grade, too outspoken for her age, and she bores easily. But she’s always taken that in stride. It never really seemed to bother her, until the past few months—ever since the first conversation about her father came up again. She seems to have lost, at least to some degree, her sense of security.”
“Which is why you can’t tell Blake anything about her,” Marcie said. “Obviously Mary Jane comes first. And introducing a huge change into her life certainly isn’t going to enhance her security. Besides, for now, Blake needs something else from you far more than he needs to know that you had his baby eight years ago. He’s a client and should remain that way if you’re going to do your job and set him free. You tell him about Mary Jane now, and there’s no way you’d still be able to keep him on as a client. Things would be too personal.
“Think of it this way, Jules,” Marcie continued. “It’s not going to do him a hell of a lot of good to know he has a daughter if he’s locked up and can’t see her anyway.”
“Yeah.” She’d already told herself all the things that Marcie said. Still, the validation helped.
“Maybe after the case is over, and third grade is over, and I’ve been living there for a while, Mary Jane will be feeling secure enough for you to tell Blake about her.”
Maybe. But that thought struck as much terror in her heart as anything else.
ON FRIDAY, two weeks after his arraignment, Juliet was back in Blake’s office.
“I met Fred Manning coming up in the elevator,” she told him, holding the back of her black silk skirt down as she took her usual seat on his couch. It was beginning to seem routine, all in a day’s work, having her there.
She had a “usual” seat.
Careful, buddy, Blake warned himself. If there was one thing he knew, it was that it would be suicide to get too comfortable with Juliet McNeil. She was his attorney. Nothing more. They’d both decided to leave it that way before he even knew he needed an attorney.
“Fred’s a good guy,” he said now. “He’s been with us for years. My father hired him straight out of law school.”
“I know.” Juliet smiled. “He told me. He thinks the world of you.”
Blake shrugged, glanced around him at the mementos that were helping him more than his staff would ever know.
“Lee Anne does, too,” Juliet added. “I get the feeling pretty much everyone around here does.”
He took the chair adjacent to her, uncomfortable with the turn of the conversation. “They’re a good group.”
“It’s important, Blake.” Her gaze was dead serious as she looked him in the eye. “We’re going to need every single one of them as character witnesses. I don’t care if it takes six months to parade them all through court, we’re going to paint a picture of you the jury will never forget.”
Okay. He’d handle the embarrassment. It was a small price to pay.
“I have a list of all the things I’m going to need,” she continued, pulling a typed document from her satchel. “This and anything else you can think of that might show any connection at all between your father and the other Semaphor board members, James, or any of James’s