An Accidental Life (2 page)

Both Peter and Jude did have had one thing in common though, a deep certain faith in a God who reaches down and touches our lives. Peter lived his faith through his work, and his relationship with her. But he would never give up his demanding career to take primary responsibility for a child, she knew. He just could not.

As a rule Rebecca avoided children—they were generally a nuisance. But Luke was an exception. After the war in Southeast Asia, Luke had somehow found his way to New Orleans and into Amalise’s and Jude’s hearts.

Reaching down into the closet, she picked up the shoes she’d brought to wear tonight. Then, closing the closet door, she sat down in the chair to put them on.

Yes, Luke was a special kid. Unusually bright—she wondered what his IQ would be if Amalise ever had him tested. She slipped one shoe on, fitting it over her heel. The twelve-year-old was brilliant, Rebecca thought; he had a fascinating talent for understanding logical connections. She slipped on the other shoe. Standing, she strutted in a circle, trying out the shoes. The heels were higher than the ones she wore to work, but they were stylish.

But children were such a responsibility.

Glancing at her watch, a slim diamond Patek Philippe that Peter had given her for her birthday last year, she saw there were still a few minutes left. She walked back to her desk and sank down in the chair behind it as the thought thrilled her once again: she’d made it. She smiled in the empty room. Rebecca Downer Jacobs was a partner in the firm of Mangen & Morris, L.L.P.

Rebecca spun the desk chair around and around, exhilarated, thinking how things change in life over time. She wished her mother could see her now. It suddenly struck her that they hadn’t spoken in over a year, and she made a mental note to try to remedy that. Mama and her new husband, Anthony, had moved out to California a few years ago, to San Francisco. And there, the two seemed to have forgotten that she even existed.

Well, so what. That was nothing new. She was tempted to leave things just as they were—to let Mama go. The bond between them was smashed long ago—the spinning chair stopped and the images flashed before her eyes: her little sister Elise’s pink bike on the sidewalk before her, suddenly swerving off down the driveway. Elise had loved the feel of swooping down that driveway, the steep slope leading into the street, and sometimes she’d throw her arms out to her sides, balancing, and . . .

Ah, no. No. Not tonight. Holding onto the edges of the chair seat she closed her eyes and forced the thoughts away. Not tonight. This was a night to be happy, a night for celebration, a night to share her success with Peter.

Still the memories came, as though they’d been waiting back there in the darkness for just this moment, and they reeled on through her mind. The screaming brakes, the sickening sounds, the pink bicycle blurring, and then . . . everything, everyone just disappearing.

She opened her eyes, looking off, unseeing. Mama had turned to stone after that day when Elise had died—consumed, completely consumed with her own grief. And there was something else to this. Rebecca had seen it in her eyes; even at the age of ten, she’d known. The accident was her fault. She was riding right behind her little sister; she should have seen the car coming; should have realized what might happen.

She was responsible for Elise when they were out together.

She remembered standing in the front room of the dark house a few days later. Elise was gone. The little sister she’d loved so much had simply disappeared. A neighbor was with her then, Mama was somewhere else. After Elise died, Mama was always somewhere else. Rebecca never knew where.

God had taken Elise, the woman had said.

And, oh, how she’d hated God for that.

She rotated her thumbs as the resentment built and burst through her carefully constructed wall. When that happened, Rebecca was an expert at rebuilding. But for now she let herself think of how nice it would be to call Mama out in California and dangle this shining new success before her.
See Mama? Elise may be gone, but I am here. I am here and look at what I’ve done! I’m a partner in my law firm, and after that?
Who knows . . . maybe politics, or maybe Wall Street, or maybe she’d just hop on one of those shuttles and shoot for the stars.

Elise is gone. But I am here.

Perhaps she would make that phone call.

And then, she shook it off. She’d never been able to compete with her mother’s memories of Elise, and year by year Mama had made that more and more clear, as though in Mama’s eyes, Rebecca’s each success was an affront, a deliberate slap at Elise’s unfulfilled potential.

Rebecca bit her bottom lip as the memories stirred feelings that she thought she’d buried long ago. Turning back to the desk, she pulled her calendar toward her. Next week she was scheduled to talk with the CEO of Roberts Engineering, a new client she was bringing to the firm. The company was considering an investment in a gold mine in Nevada. It occurred to her for the first time, that as a partner in the firm, she could now open the file under her own name.

She closed the calendar book and pushed it away. She fixed her eyes on the rows of books across the room, directing her thoughts, reminding herself again of what she’d achieved; that she and Amalise were the first women partners ever in the firm, and that her name was probably being mentioned at cocktail parties around town tonight.

And that Peter was probably now waiting downstairs.

Feeling better, she stood. She walked down the well-lit hallway toward the elevator. It was Friday night. Her own secretary, Rose Marie, was gone, but a few of the secretaries were still at their desks, and she told each and every one good-bye and to have a nice weekend. They’d all celebrated together earlier, when the news had spread about Rebecca and Amalise.

Partner. She tried out the word.

Rebecca stepped into the elevator, pressed the button, and gazed at her reflection in the metal doors as the elevator descended. There was no limit to what she could accomplish if she worked hard enough. And already the worry that had haunted her earlier was submerged beneath the possibilities that lay ahead.

2

Antoine’s Restaurant, established in 1840 and
located in the heart of the
Vieux Carré
—the French Quarter—is an elegant, busy, and colorful reflection of the city’s past. As always, when Rebecca walked through the ornate doors opening from St. Louis Street, she was transported.

The huge restaurant was like a woman, she thought; queen of a Mardi Gras Krewe. There were thirteen dining rooms in Antoine’s; some were large and opulent, some small and intimate. Some of the rooms hid secrets, like women do. She looked up—the sparkling crystal chandeliers were the queen’s crown; the wall of mirrors and the embroidered silk panels alongside, her robe. The crisp white linens covering the tables, her mantle. And the flowers and candles, and the long-stemmed crystal, rows of shining silver forks and knives and spoons of every size, those were her jewels.

To her left in the large front room, just before a mirrored wall, Rebecca saw the many partners of the firm and their wives gathered around a long table. Raymond caught her eye and gave her a victory sign. She smiled and waved.

Clarence, their usual waiter, ambled up and caught Rebecca’s hand in both of his and said how happy he was for her tonight. Rebecca’s face lit with a smile. On any given night if a line had formed on the sidewalk outside, she knew that Clarence would meet Peter and her at the side door in the alleyway and let them in.

Peter’s hand warmed her back as Clarence guided them toward the table. Sitting just before the front windows looking out over St. Louis Street, Doug Bastion, the managing partner of the firm, put his napkin down and stood as they approached. Beaming with excitement, Rebecca glided toward the group. Hands extended, Doug was first to greet them. Through the windows behind him lights from the streetlamps and passing cars cast a ghostly glow in the fog, even though spring was now drifting into summer.

Amalise and Jude had already arrived, and they sat across the table on one side of Doug. Places on Doug’s other side had been saved for Rebecca and Peter. At the opposite end of the long table, Alice Bastion, Doug’s wife, was holding court. And in between were the men that Rebecca and Amalise had worked alongside as associates for the past six years and their wives.

Catcalls, congratulations, and high fives rose as Rebecca and Peter arrived. Everyone stood to greet them. Preston’s wife came down from the other end of the table and hugged Rebecca tight. Raymond slapped her on the back, and pumped Peter’s hand. Across the table Jude called out something that made Peter laugh, and Amalise gave her that look.

We’re the silver girls—our dream came true.

Rebecca tipped her chin, a little nod. From a distance she could hear the clarinet and sax and drums of a second-line band moving down Royal Street toward the square.

As Clarence took her coat and Rebecca and Peter were seated, Doug remained standing. He lifted his glass and tapped it lightly. For Rebecca, the thin, bell-like tone sounded a new beginning. But as calls of “Speech! Speech!” arose so did the half-formed worry that she’d been holding at bay for almost a week. The question came unbidden—what if that tinkling sounded an ending, and not a beginning.

She shook off the vague fear. Not tonight. Beneath the table Peter rested his hand on her knee, and her husband’s touch was warm and comforting. She turned her head and smiled.

Doug clanged the spoon against the glass again and gave a little speech welcoming Amalise and Rebecca into the partnership of the firm.

From someone at the far end of the table: “Did I hear we’ve now got girls in the firm?”

There was laughter all around.

Raymond stood and raised his glass. “A toast, please, to our lovely new partners!” He took in both Amalise and Rebecca with his eyes as he said with a grin, “On your first day with the firm, Preston and I took you to Bailey’s for lunch to welcome you. Do you remember what I said that day?”

Rebecca glanced at Amalise; they both shook their heads.

He laughed. “Well, you can’t say I didn’t warn you, but guess what, girls. You’ve now reached the bottom of a whole new food chain.”

Groans and laughter erupted. Amalise met Rebecca’s eyes, and Rebecca saw a reflection of her thoughts. The competition is never over; not really. But Amalise didn’t care as much as she, Rebecca knew.

After the toasts were finished, everyone talked and laughed, as always, Rebecca loved the chatter, the noise, the ambient hum of a crowd—the music of her life. Exuberant, triumphant, she turned to Peter, smiling and lifting her face for his kiss, forgetting all about that fear in this moment.

He slipped his arm around her shoulders and leaning close, whispered, “Enjoy this night, Beauty. You’ve earned it.”

As the kitchen doors burst open and a platoon of Antoine’s tuxedoed waiters marched toward the Mangen & Morris table in double lines, each waiter balancing a silver tray at shoulder level, Clarence appeared at Peter’s side. A hand slipped a plate of steaming Gulf oysters before Peter just as Clarence whispered in his ear—“Telephone for you, Mr. Peter.”

He nodded, and with a longing long at the Oysters Rockefeller, folded his napkin and placed it on the table near his plate.

“I’ll be right back,” he said to Rebecca. She looked at him and nodded.

Clarence led Peter to the small office and left him there. Peter took the phone, said hello, and heard the voice of Fred McAndrews, detective first class, homicide division, known as Mac. Mac was the detective he preferred to work with on cases. Mac got right to the point. Peter listened.

“Who signed the warrant?” he asked when Mac had finished. He turned, sitting on the edge of a desk as he spoke, studying the array of photographs covering the walls of the little room. Framed sepia shots of family over the years, and some of diners, celebrities he supposed.

“Judge Florant.” Mac sounded tired, beaten down. That was unusual—Mac was usually unflappable.

“She made the complaint this morning?”

“About nine or ten, I guess.”

“You moved fast.”

“Yeah. Her story was pretty convincing. And it was exigent circumstances. We had to get out there before they moved the body.” Peter heard him blow out his breath. “Still, they’d already put it in the freezer.”

“Any idea how long it was in there?”

“Other than what the complainant told us, no. Not yet anyway.” Seconds passed. “There’s no way to tell. Stephanie says after it thaws, she’ll try to fix a time line. But, you know, all around this is a very strange situation.”

Peter’s voice was harsh. “You got that right.” It was hard to believe, in fact. Good that Stephanie Kand had gone along with them. She was the best forensic pathologist in the Parish coroner’s office in his opinion. No question she’d do a thorough job. If anyone could work out the mystery, Dr. Kand could.

“Sorry to bust in on the party,” Mac said. “I know this is a special night.”

“I’m glad you called. Keep me informed, will you?”