Looking guilty, Chris closed the distance between them to hug her. “No, Mandi. She’s good, and I love her. You, too.” He tapped her nose with a forefinger that probably smelled like tuna, but she giggled. “Now be a good kid.” He lightly spun her toward the kitchen. “Get your snack and go back to bed.”
She would have given Griffin an argument, guaranteed. Josh at five was still manageable, despite his tendency to worry about everything; but with Mandi he no longer seemed able to connect.
“It’ll be time for school before you know it,” Chris added.
“I hate school.”
That didn’t bother Chris. “So did I. Par for the course.” As she went into the kitchen he lowered his voice. “You think she was standing in the hall, listening?”
“Probably.” He hoped not, especially the part about Rachel. Griffin said no more until Amanda came back with a banana and a glass of milk. He didn’t look at her when she drifted down the hall, didn’t want to ask himself why. The spray of freckles across her nose made him yearn for simpler times when she’d been the little girl who worshipped him. “Good night, baby.”
“I’m not a baby,” she said. “Night, Uncle Chris.”
“Keep taking those Gorgeous pills.” He grinned at Griffin. “Man, I don’t envy you in another few years. Scrawny boys ringing your bell day and night. She’s going to be a beauty, Griff.”
“She already is.” Like Rachel.
He walked Chris to the door, but his brother-in-law lingered without opening it. He gazed at Griffin’s forearm and the smeary tattoo he hadn’t seemed to notice before.
“That’s a great look for you,” he finally said, then let himself out into the night.
Shaking his head, Griffin locked up. He didn’t envy his brother-in-law, having to make adjustments to his new marriage with Bronwyn. She’d been born strong-willed, bent on getting her way, but he’d never seen a happier couple the day they married—except for him and Rachel long ago.
He shut off the lights and went to his room. Never mind the talk about Sunshine Donovan. Divorced now, was she? Yet Chris’s words stayed with him. Every night Griffin looked forward to his few moments of quiet time, to his solitary thoughts. And every night he ended up wishing he wasn’t alone with them.
Maybe for the rest of his life.
AS IF IT were her first day in court, Sunny gazed at her sister-in-law’s classroom filled with middle school students. She’d only been home for a week. Why had she let Bronwyn talk her into taking part in Career Day?
Sunny had never been much of a speech maker. Funny, for a woman who earned her living by performing in front of a jury. But in a courtroom, before making a motion to the judge or examining a witness, she had plenty of time to prepare.
Now she shuffled her notes. And rubbed at the ache in her lower back. Her dad’s sofa bed was living up to its reputation.
What could she tell these kids about her dedication to a legal process that had recently failed her? She still believed wholeheartedly in the law, but the Wallace Day verdict had shaken her confidence.
Bron’s students had listened raptly to the minor league ball player now squeezed behind a desk in the front row, and to the bulky city police officer next to him. Would they listen to her?
As if in answer, a pair of spitballs sailed across the room, and all at once she knew how to begin.
“Good morning,” she said. “It seems we have some future felons in our audience today.” She leveled a look at two lanky boys in the rear who were obviously the culprits. “No more missiles, gentlemen,” she said with a smile and a pointed glance at the police officer.
A few kids laughed. The boys turned red.
Sunny set her watch on the teacher’s desk in front of her. She had twenty minutes to sway this jury, and the oversized timepiece with its thick band of multicolored glass beads would keep her on track. Sunny had bought it one weekend down in SoHo. She liked to wear it as a contrast to her usual prim business suits—today, a subtle navy blue pinstripe.
“So you want to be a lawyer,” she said and heard a few snorts from the class. “I hope in the next few minutes you’ll discover how exciting a career in law can be.”
From the back of the room Bronwyn gave her a thumbs-up, her bright hair turned to copper in the sun that flooded through the windows behind her.
Sunny took a deep breath. She surveyed the students, distracted by a girl with dark blond hair and what looked to be a permanent frown, then hit her stride. This was what she did best. By the end of her presentation, the knot in her stomach had loosened. She checked the watch.
“We have a bit more time. Any questions?”
The faces looked uniformly friendly now, except for that girl in the center row who slumped in her chair, and for an instant Sunny froze. That sweet, heart-shaped face reminded her of Ana Ramirez, lost forever because of Wallace Day. Yet this girl seemed familiar in another way, too. Wondering why, Sunny leaned against the desk and chose a towheaded boy, who posed the first question.
“How much money do you make?”
“Not nearly enough.” The boy smiled, but the girl didn’t. “Seriously, as a government employee, I don’t get the big bucks like a defense lawyer, but I make a good living.” She named a figure range typical of lawyers coming out of school to take their first jobs, then a larger span for established attorneys. “My advice would be to aim for Law Review if you want to command a higher starting salary.”
“What’s Law Review?”
Sunny explained the importance of third year and the prestige attached to the journal, especially at the top law schools. “I was editor at Harvard. Anyone else?”
The girl’s hand shot up.
“Aren’t all lawyers crooks—and liars?”
“A common misconception,” Sunny answered to mild laughter from the other students. The classic joke ran through her mind. What do you call a group of lawyers at the bottom of the ocean? A good start. “I won’t deny there are some bad apples out there, but for the most part, lawyers are decent people who happen to love debating fine points of the law.” She smiled. “And winning.” Although that sometimes meant going over the top when you lost.
The lunch bell rang, ending Career Day’s morning session. Sunny thanked the kids for their interest, and a smattering of applause followed. Not bad for a woman who’d slept twelve hours a day for a week and refused to take any phone calls—including Nate’s—except, finally, at her mother’s insistence, Bronwyn’s.
“You need to get back in the saddle,” Bron had claimed. “Talk to my class. They’re bound to be easier than that jury in New York. You can’t sit in your parents’ house waiting for the cuts to heal.”
That had been enough to make her say yes. She couldn’t continue to fret over Nate either, about what they’d once had, what might have been. She had to pull herself together sometime, and the classroom forum had made a simple start. Satisfied, she gathered her note cards, which she hadn’t consulted as much as she’d expected to.
As the room emptied and the students filed past, a few kids even stopped to thank her until Bron ushered the last child from the room toward the cafeteria. The cop and the ball player had already left.
In the hallway Bronwyn linked her arm with Sunny’s. “Fabulous. Thanks for coming.”
“I enjoyed it myself.” To her surprise, she had. Sunny stifled a yawn. “Guess I’ve had