“I think I would have.”
“And would you have been able to do that if he’d told you about the forgery?”
The Monet lithograph on her wall was a square shadow with little glowing pinpricks where the light hit bright color. “No.” It could be said that she presented different forms of truth, and left out incriminating evidence when it suited her client’s case to do so, but Juliet McNeil never knowingly lied. “It’s his first offense. I’d have gotten him off with nothing more serious than a light probation term.”
“And a damaged reputation that would’ve been hard to recover, at least professionally. Not many people trust their charitable contributions to a crook.”
James had said something similar when she’d come unglued on him late that afternoon. Just what she wanted, a client who tried to outmaneuver her. When would she ever fully grasp the fact that in her world, it was always each man for himself?
“What happens now?” Marcie asked a couple of minutes later.
“I expect the D.A. to drop the charges. He’ll never get a class-two felony out of this. James’ll be charged with numerous counts of forgery and get his hands slapped.”
“And what about Blake Ramsden?”
Glancing out the window at an ocean she couldn’t see in the dark, Juliet held tight to the phone with a sweat-slick palm. “I suspect he’ll be charged with a class-two felony.”
“You think Schuster will do it?”
“Yeah. That’s one thing you can count on Paul Schuster for—he’ll take up any case he thinks he can win. Even more so because he’s going to be driven to get a win out of all the months he’s spent on this. Hell—” she chuckled without humor “—knowing Schuster, he’ll probably figure out a way to make it look like he knew that Blake was guilty all along.”
“Except for the little matter of having wasted the state’s money to press the charges against Eaton in the first place.”
“Who knows.” Juliet couldn’t remember a time when she’d been so tired. At least not since she’d been eight and a half months pregnant and hauling herself out of bed before dawn to get to work.
“Is he guilty?”
“How do I know?”
“You’re usually pretty tuned in to these things.”
“As I proved with my adept handling of the Eaton James defense,” she mumbled.
“No one’s right all the time.”
She sighed, fiddling with the bottom hem of the almost threadbare T-shirt she was wearing. “I don’t know if he’s guilty or not.” She finally gave in and let herself think about the situation head-on. “My heart tells me he’s not, but logic tells me he probably is.”
“I sure wish I’d met this guy!”
“Why?”
“He’s the only man who’s even got close enough for your heart to hear.”
Juliet took the next three minutes listing several men in her life who’d been closer to her than Mary Jane’s father had ever been.
Marcie mostly let her get away with this small refusal to face the truth as she saw it. Juliet hoped that meant her twin wasn’t really sure about the state of Juliet’s heart. Because she couldn’t afford, in any way, shape or form, to have her sister right on this one.
“Do you think there’s a chance Blake Ramsden will call you?”
Marcie’s question was another one she’d been trying—without success—to avoid. “I don’t know,” she said.
“Do you want him to?”
“I don’t know the answer to that, either.” Part of her did. If he was charged, as she knew he would be, he’d need her—if she could convince Eaton James to sign a waiver allowing her to represent Blake. Not only was she one of the most successful defense attorneys in the state, she had an intimate grasp of the details of this particular case.
And she wanted to be there for him.
He’d given her the most precious gift of her life. Just because he didn’t know that didn’t mean she didn’t owe him something in return.
Maybe even, because of that secret, she owed him.
And another part of her, the frightened, lonely part, wanted him to stay as far away from her and her happy little life as humanly possible.
MARY JANE DIDN’T GET scared that often. Which was why when she did get scared, it really scared her.
Something was up that was worse than anything at school or stupid people who didn’t like her. All weekend her mother had done normal stuff with her. She hadn’t cried, or asked for time alone, or forgotten that she’d promised to take Mary Jane for ice cream after they cleaned the bathrooms this week. She just hadn’t argued. Even when Mary Jane had brought up some of the craziest things she could think of, just to get her mother talking.
What if Mom was sick? The thought made her feel as if she was going to throw up. What would happen to her if something ever happened to Mom? She could go live with Aunt Marcie in Maple Grove, of course, which wouldn’t be all that great, but it wouldn’t be horrible like going to an orphanage. But no one would love her like Mom did. No one.
No one would think she was the most special thing on earth. Or tell her about important things even though she was just a kid. No one else, not even Aunt Marcie, would argue with her about things that had no answers like whether or not a chicken came first or an egg.
They’d all say she was just a kid and wait for her to grow up.
Turning over in her bed, Mary Jane bunched up the pillow and squeezed her eyes shut. Tomorrow was Monday, and school was even worse when she was sleepy.
She was being dumb. Mom wasn’t sick. If she was, she’d tell Mary Jane for sure. Besides, she’d had lots of energy and made Mary Jane clean the bathrooms twice while she scrubbed the kitchen floor, even though they hadn’t spilled anything.
Feeling a little better, Mary Jane was almost asleep when she remembered that still didn’t tell her what was wrong.
It must be really horrible.
It had to be or they would’ve talked about it. The only other time Mom hadn’t talked to her at all was when her grandma had died. Mary Jane had been really little, only about three, but she could still remember. Mostly she remembered that summer when she was going into first grade and had asked her mother what Grandma had died of and her mother had talked a lot but never really told her. Only, Mary Jane hadn’t figured that out until later.
Someday she was going to ask again. Maybe. When she was bigger.
So who died? It couldn’t be Aunt Marcie. They’d just talked to her on the phone that afternoon. And there wasn’t anyone else who mattered that much. Was there?
Her stomach hurt and Mary Jane turned over, but that didn’t help. She thought about the book she’d been reading, about the horse and the race and how Bonnie was going to win the race and get to keep her very own horse. But then she remembered that Bonnie didn’t have a mom and that made her scared all over again.
One time, on a night before the first day of school, Mom had told her to count sheep when she couldn’t sleep. Mary Jane hadn’t wanted to tell her she didn’t see any sheep when she closed her eyes.
Maybe they were having trouble paying their bills and they’d have to leave the cottage on the beach and Mom didn’t want to tell her because she knew how much Mary Jane loved living on the beach. But at school once, when she’d told a couple of the kids where she lived, the one girl, Corinne, who was mostly nice to her, had said that it cost a lot of money to live on the beach.
She