Custody (26 page)

Kelly grabbed the suitcase she’d stashed in the judge’s chambers and headed out to her car. She stopped at a gas station, filled the tank, and, fortified with a twenty-ounce Diet Coke and a bag of M&M’s, blasted down Route 7 to the Mass Pike and then east for three hours.

As she drove, her mind reeled from thought to thought. She had wanted to be a judge; she’d secretly wanted to be a judge for years, but only now was she realizing that along with the power came a staggering weight. It was one thing to be a lawyer, representing clients with the
best scholarship, mental agility, and hard work possible. Quite another to be a judge, whose decisions were final, who looked out at so many couples who had once (“Press rewind”) gazed upon each other with loving eyes—eager to promise one another the moon—and granted that couple a divorce.

It forced her to think seriously about her own life. She was engaged to one man and in love, or at least infatuated, with another. What the hell was she going to do? What would Judge Spriggs do?

Mentally she divided a paper into fourths, with Jason on one side and Ernest on the other.

Jason was handsome, kind, wealthy, intelligent, and also a lawyer, a real plus, because he and Kelly would always be able to share their work.

Ernest on the other hand was not even yet divorced. He was a father. With just those two facts the complications for difficulties multiplied enormously.

Jason had no children yet, but wanted them with Kelly. Jason didn’t consider Kelly a statue on a pedestal: he’d seen her angry, and grieving, and grumbling around in sweatpants during a period, and he still loved her. His mother loved her. They had friends in common.

And yet she’d never been able to tell Jason about her own background, about René and the way he’d stolen Kelly’s inheritance. Why had she been able to talk about it with a man whose real name she didn’t even know? How was it that she felt she could be more truly herself with Ernest than with her own fiancé? Something was lacking in her feelings for Jason. She’d always known this, and shied away from the knowledge, unwilling to examine it, telling herself to be grateful that a man as clever and sexy and bright as Jason thought he loved her.

But Ernest—just the
thought
of Ernest made her
shiver
. The sight of him made her heart leap with joy, and simply sitting with him, hearing his voice, looking at him, satisfied her deeply. He woke up her body. He woke up her spirit. When she was around him, her whole being resonated with a childish satisfaction laced with adult desire. And kissing him had been—such a
surprise
—as if something enormous sleeping within her had awakened. As if magic really did exist.

For Jason, she had well-articulated arguments, clear-cut lists of facts supporting his appeal to her.
Words
.

The arguments for Ernest came not with words but with the fluency of the senses. She didn’t so much
think
of him as remember him with all her body. And it was Ernest she wanted to remember, not Jason. Flicking the SEEK button on the radio, caught on the hook of love songs, it was Ernest whom she, helplessly, happily, thought of.

So, Kelly,
Judge MacLeod
, she declared, where is all this taking you? In the privacy of her car, as the summer darkness slowly fell, staining the sky with endless variations of blue, she let herself dream. No one would be hurt by her dreams, after all. No one would ever know.

What if she broke her engagement with Jason? He would be hurt, but he’d recover. Jason was a survivor, always. Handsome, wealthy, clever. He’d be surrounded by women in a flash. He wouldn’t suffer long.

And then—and then Ernest would divorce his wife. He and Kelly would—this was only a fantasy, after all—marry.

No. She was going too far, too fast. She had to slow down. She’d think simply of
seeing
Ernest again, only that.

And only that was enough to make her smile and stretch herself all up and down, her body luxuriating in the memory of his kiss like a cat curling up in the warmth of the sun.

Carmen Cruiz entered Dr. Lawrence’s office with her head held high. A small woman in her forties, wiry and thin, she wore a navy blue suit and no ornaments except a gold cross around her neck. She settled into her chair and glared at the psychiatrist, communicating with every bit of body language she possessed that she was not even slightly amused to be here.

“Thank you for coming in, Mrs. Cruiz,” Dr. Lawrence said. “We’re all grateful for your help. Would you like some tea or coffee?”

“No, thank you.” Her feet were planted flat on the floor, her pocketbook gripped tightly on her lap with both hands, as if she suspected he might try to snatch it from her.

“I assume Mrs. Madison has explained to you why we’ve asked you to speak with me.”

“You are trying to take her daughter away.”

“Oh, no, that’s not the case at all, Mrs. Cruiz. What I’m supposed to do is to find out what would be best for
Tessa
. I am to investigate Tessa’s situation and find out what her best interests are.”

“Tessa’s best interests are to be with her mother.”

Lawrence leaned back in his chair. “You are fond of Mrs. Madison?”

“Very.”

“You’ve worked for her”—he looked at his notes—“for ten years?”

Carmen nodded.

“And for Dr. Madison, too, of course.”

She shrugged.

“What can you tell me about Dr. Madison?”

She curled her lip. “He is a man. What else do you need to know?”

“Well, what I’d
like
to know is how Dr. Madison is as a father.”

Carmen shrugged. “Not good.”

“Not good?”

“Not good! How can he be
good
? He is leaving his wife! Mrs. Madison cries all the time. Tessa worries. No. He is not good.”

Dr. Lawrence picked up a pencil and studied it, as if trying to gauge its length. “Any other reasons?”

“That is enough.”

With great deliberation, he lay the pencil down. Folding his hands on his blotter, he leaned toward Carmen, fixing her with a stare. “You have an unusual position in this matter, Mrs. Cruiz. You have known this family for many years. You work right in the heart of the house. You have seen Tessa grow up. You’ve seen and heard many private things.”

“That is true.”

“Your opinion will be of great help to me. That’s why you must be fair and honest.”

Steadily she met his eyes. “This is what I know: Mrs. Madison is a saint. A
saint
. She works very hard. She keeps her house very clean, her clothes very clean. She loves her daughter, Tessa. She is a good mother to her. You should not take her daughter from her.”

“Dr. Madison loves his daughter, too, doesn’t he?”

Carmen didn’t reply.

“You think he doesn’t love Tessa?”

Carmen sniffed.

“What makes you think he doesn’t love Tessa?”

“If he loved Tessa, he wouldn’t leave Mrs. Madison.”

Dr. Lawrence stifled a sigh. “But do you have any other reasons? Have you ever seen, for example, Dr. Madison hit Tessa?”

Carmen studied her shoes. “No.”

Dr. Lawrence looked at his notes. “All right. Tell me about Tessa.”

“What about her?”

“Well, what is she like?”

“She’s a good girl. She obeys her mother.”

“Do you have children, Mrs. Cruiz?”

“No.” She polished the snap on her purse with her thumb. “I was married. My husband drank. When I was pregnant, my husband hit me. I lost the child. Mrs. Madison came to the hospital. She took me into her own house until I recovered. She helped me find a new place to live. She helped bring my sister here from Mexico to live with me. She found a job for my sister.”

“You live with your sister now?”

“Yes.”

“So you’re divorced?”

“No. I do not believe in divorce. I’m a good Catholic.”

“I see. Your husband—”

She shrugged. “He moved away.”

“When did you last see him?”

“Maybe five years ago.”

“Well, Mrs. Cruiz, I think that’s about all. You’ve been most helpful. Thanks for coming in.” Dr. Lawrence rose.

Carmen Cruiz rose, too, but stood her ground, facing the psychiatrist. “Dr. Lawrence. Please. Please do not take Tessa from her mother. It would not be right.”

“It’s not my decision to make, you understand, Mrs. Cruiz? I’m only one person, speaking in the interests of a child.”

“The best interests of Tessa are to remain with her mother.” Leaning forward, Carmen Cruiz declared vehemently, “A daughter must be with her mother.”

Dr. Lawrence smiled a professional smile. “I understand your concern, and I appreciate the time you’ve taken to speak with me.”

Mrs. Cruiz turned sharply on her heel and left the room, muttering as she went.

Randall sat in his office, trying to decide what to do with what was left of this beautiful summer day. His last patient had come and gone, he’d taken care of ordering prescriptions, and from the
reception area he heard Pam shutting and locking up the file cabinets, humming as she went.

As he slipped off his white lab coat and pulled on his jacket, he heard the office door open and then Pam’s cry of delight. Almost immediately came the scent of lemon. Groaning, Randall quickly pulled on his lab coat, settled at his desk, and got busy at the computer.

It was Lacey, he knew. It had to be. Pam adored Lacey, who always found time to talk with her, who remembered her children’s names and ages and habits as well. Laughter floated from the front room. Then a knock came at his door and Lacey peered in.

“Randall?” She wore a tight flowered summer dress. “Pam told me it was all right to come on in.”

“Of course,” he replied. “I’m just finishing up some paperwork.” He rose, staying behind the desk.

In her hands Lacey held a magnificent lemon meringue pie, its peaks a whirl of glossy white. She set it gently on his desk. “I had the day off,” she said, looking up at him girlishly through her eyelashes, “and I felt like baking, and I remembered how much you like lemon meringue pies—”

“That’s kind of you, Lacey, thank you.” He tried to be polite but restrained.

“You know I love to cook, Randall.” She smiled seductively. “In fact, I’ve got a leg of lamb in the oven right now.”

“I’m afraid I’m buried with work. I’ve got to visit my father this evening,” Randall told her.

She didn’t blink. “Well, then,” she responded cheerfully, “you’ll have someone to share the pie with.”

He stared at her with admiration and irritation, searching for the perfect words that would make her leave without hurting her feelings.

She actually laughed. “It’s only a
pie
, Randall. Don’t look so grumpy!” She went out the door and then looked back in, her luscious pink lips glistening with a smile. “I’ll call you next week. Maybe then you’ll have time for that drink.”

Saturday evening Kelly slipped into the passenger seat of Jason’s red Saab convertible. “Hi.” Leaning over, she kissed his cheek. “Hey. Look at you. What a great tan!”

“Unlike some people I could name who can’t find time to step outside on a gorgeous summer day.”