Critical Reaction (11 page)

“Two months until trial?” Emily asked after another interval of silence.

“Two months to trial,” Pauline repeated. “Unless you can get an extension. But final expert reports are due in a few weeks.”

The thin lawyer turned away from Emily toward Ryan. “Now I’ve got a question for you. Kieran’s mostly focused on knowing what he might’ve been exposed to. But if you could prove serious radiation exposure, how much do you think his case is worth?”

“Two million,” Ryan said, the words out of his mouth automatically. “Give or take half a million. That’s with a decent, unbiased jury. It also assumes serious evidence to support exposure and likely long-term health effects.”

Their drive back to town was as quiet as the preceding night. When they reached Pauline’s small office building, she stepped out of the sidewalk with her computer and case, then leaned back into the open passenger-side window.

“There’s something else you ought to know,” she said, staring across Emily to Ryan. “The day I withdrew from the case, as I was leaving the courtroom, Covington’s lawyer made an offer to settle.”

Startled, Ryan matched her gaze. “
After
you withdrew?”

“Yep,” she nodded. “Fifty thousand dollars. Kieran turned them down, by the way. Since you hadn’t asked about it, I assumed Kieran didn’t mention it. That’s why I hesitated to tell you.”

This made no sense. “Why would they offer a settlement when he’s on the ropes?”

The lawyer smiled. “I thought you’d find that interesting.”

The slender lawyer turned up the sidewalk carrying her computer and files. As they drove away, Ryan was left with the impression that each hand was full of a burden big enough to overwhelm her.

Poppy opened his eyes as he felt the bed creak and heard Suzy’s footsteps padding into the bathroom. He glanced at the clock: eleven a.m.

Working the late shift, it wasn’t often he and Suzy shared the bed for so many hours together. He hoped his rough sleeping these past months hadn’t kept her awake again last night.

He hadn’t had this much trouble sleeping since his first extended operation in the Navy aboard the USS
New Jersey
. He
hadn’t expected discomfort on the ship—it wasn’t like he was in a submarine. But after growing up in the open country of eastern Washington, even a battleship seemed confining.

He’d brought back three things from his tour with the navy: satisfaction at his service, complete disinterest in ever sailing the ocean’s surface again, and his nickname—a shortening of “Popeye” that a midshipman slapped on him after he’d gone up three weight classes to win a boxing competition for the ship. The name followed him home when another local boy returned from the
New Jersey
to Hanford a year after Poppy.

No one but Poppy recalled the name’s origins, but Poppy didn’t mind. He remembered its source with pride. Besides, he’d never been that crazy about “Pat” anyway.

Poppy rolled to his feet and headed toward the living room. The headache was mercifully absent this morning. Even his chest felt clearer than it usually did when he awoke.

He picked up the paper from the front stoop and ambled back to the dining room table. His computer was there and Poppy opened it to check his emails.

Amidst the junk mail was an email from Covington headquarters. Poppy opened it.

He had sent a total of five emails to Covington HQ the past eight months. The first had been a respectful note about more testing to see if he’d picked up radiation in the LB5 explosion. That one had gone completely unanswered. Poppy’s second went further, also asking whether he was going to be interviewed about what he’d seen and heard that night. When that one and a couple others were ignored, he’d dropped the courtesy a month before, reminding “to whom it might concern” of the gunshot his partner had fired that appeared nowhere in the newspaper reports about Covington’s investigation report.

This was the first reply. Oddly, it appeared to have come from the Covington Personnel Office.

Dear Mr. Martin—

Thank you for the information you have shared in your emails these past months. Please be assured that your perspectives and experiences that night have been fully considered. . . .

He skipped to the bottom.

Regarding further radiation testing, the study completed by top nuclear experts has confirmed the absence of a radiation release at LB5 . . .

Nothing about interviewing him about that night. No mention of his repeated questions about Lew’s gunshot. No offer of examinations. Just more bureau-blather.

He looked at the bottom of the email. There was no name assigned the message—just “Covington Nuclear Human Resources.”

So who was even dealing with this mess?

Poppy spent the next fifteen minutes preparing a reply. If they thought he was going to stop bugging them based on an email like that, they’d know better soon. He finished the note, read it quickly, then pushed Send.

“Hon, get dressed,” Suzy said as she came into the dining room. He looked up at her from the computer.

Prettier than ever, he thought—even with worrying about him. “And wipe that scowl from your face,” she finished, smiling. “You’re taking me to lunch.”

With an effort, Poppy smiled back. She deserved it, he thought.She needed a respite from this as much as he did.

For a moment, he wondered if he should’ve sent the email so quickly, whether he should have thought about it for awhile. But no. He’d been pussyfooting with these guys long enough. Now they’d know for sure he wasn’t going away. Not without
some answers. Besides, the email was gone; he couldn’t bring it back.

“I’m fine with that, long as you’re buying,” he said, standing and walking toward the bedroom to change—and swatting her gently as he passed by.

CHAPTER 9

Ryan sat in his room for half an hour after they returned from the drive around Hanford, leaving Emily alone. At last, he rose, grabbed his bags, and headed downstairs to load them into the Avalon—before returning to her door and knocking.

“Come in,” her voice called through the door.

Emily was seated on the window seat. Her face looked drawn. Her bag, he saw, was still unpacked at the end of the bed.

Ryan worried at the sight of it. “Why isn’t your bag in your car, Emily? We’ve got to check out.”

“Go ahead,” she returned.

“You’re coming, right?”

“No.”

His stomach lurched. “Come on, Emily. You can’t be serious. This is a killer of a case. We’d just be prolonging this kid’s agony by taking it on.”

He saw now that his daughter’s eyes wore the placidity of a decision. “His name’s Kieran, Dad. And I already extended my stay at the B&B. I’m calling Frank tomorrow to take my vacation, plus a leave of absence. I understand what you’re saying about Kieran’s case. You don’t have to represent him. But I will.”

“Don’t be idiotic,” he shot back. “You can’t represent him in this, of all cases.”

“Take a look at my diploma,” she said. “And I’ve been in a courtroom before.”

“For two years. In criminal cases.”

She sat silent.

“Why? Why do you have to do this?”

The defiance in Emily’s eyes became something harder. “Because he was there for me when Mom was sick,” she said softly. “When nobody else was. Nobody. And by the way, Mom thought a lot of Kieran.”

“Carolyn met Kieran?” Ryan asked, startled.

Emily shook her head. “No. But we talked about him a lot. When she was in the hospital.”

The room emptied of oxygen. Ryan felt an agony of anger and sadness flowing into his chest and face; he knew that Emily could see it too.

What did she know about that time?

“Good luck,” he said.

He slammed the door shut behind him and took the stairs to the first floor in a haze. Pavia was there, behind the counter. The proprietor looked disturbed; he’d heard the door slam, Ryan thought distantly.

Ryan sat for half an hour in his Avalon, the engine running, while the hot sun’s reflection glinted in the chrome rimming the dusty hood. His mood tilted back and forth on a sharp edge between anger and guilt. Emily didn’t understand what those last two years had been like. He’d barely had enough emotional strength for Carolyn. He’d used every drop on the woman he loved. There was none left over for Emily. Now he wouldn’t be shamed into taking this miserable case to appease her—or to honor what Emily claimed Carolyn thought of Kieran.

When he finally looked at the car clock it was after two. He reached to put the car into gear.

Instead, he turned off the engine. Grabbing his bags, he climbed the front stairs to the B&B, returning to Pavia, who looked up at Ryan with anxious eyes.

“I want to keep my room for another day. That okay?”

The hotel owner nodded.

Ryan headed back upstairs to his room. He was going for a run.

He weaved through the hot air and the busy foot traffic on the path through River Park. Blurred flashes of color from joggers and runners passed by as he pushed his pace faster and faster, the sweat burning his eyes, each breath coming more quickly after the last.

A side path approached on his right, heading up a steep hill. Ryan took it, ignoring the resistance of his burning thighs. He pumped his arms, driving up the slope, gasping out a cadence, until just as his legs were wavering, the path flattened onto an open hilltop with a thick copse of trees visible on the far side.

His hands dropped to his knees as he staggered to a halt, gasping deep breaths until his shoulders eased back and he could stand up again.

The hilltop was empty except for two people near the ridgeline to his left. On a bench, a woman sat with a stroller at her side, looking away from Ryan. The other was a red-haired man with a runner’s build in white running shorts and a T-shirt gazing off at the vista of the southern horizon.

It was the woman who kept his attention. Her sundress was crimson. Blond hair fell to just beneath the line of her jaw, ending in a light curl—like Carolyn used to wear it. From behind, she might have been a young Carolyn, arriving at their Seattle law office on a warm summer day.

The sight of it jolted Ryan so soon after his argument with Emily. His thoughts went to the years right after graduating from law school. He’d never really planned to have a law partner, he recalled, unable to imagine tying himself to someone with a say on how he practiced. He’d get a job with a good firm, learn the ropes, start his own solo practice.

But Carolyn had arrived, and she’d spoiled it all. From their first days together out of law school, they made career decisions together he never would have made on his own. Even taking on tough, messy cases because Carolyn insisted it was the right thing to do. Like Emily was trying to force him to take Kieran’s case right now.

Emily could tell him all day long to go back to Seattle. But then she’d take Kieran’s case and Covington and its lawyers would bury her alive. Then it would be his fault. She’d already made it clear it was his fault for not being there when Carolyn was sick. And he knew she was really charging him with much more than that.

This mess and his guilt were tangled lines and he couldn’t find the ends to unravel them.

Standing on the hill, the conditional surrender eased over him like a whisper. Alright, he told himself: he wouldn’t go home the way things were. He wouldn’t be dragged into this case—not this way. But he’d help. He’d protect her from the worst of it. Advise her. Write the checks to sustain the case.

But that was all.

He looked again at Carolyn’s ghost on the bench. It was Carolyn who’d spoiled it all. She’d become his partner in law, his partner in life. Terrified at the prospect of losing her, he’d made a mess of her final time with him, ignoring her pleas that he hold something back for Emily and for himself. And now that she was gone, he couldn’t remember how to practice law without her. Do most anything without her, really.

He turned away from the woman and began a slow jog back down the hill toward the Winchester Inn.