Forever Beach (4 page)

There were no words.

“Pete, your mama's going to someplace to get help. Someone will look after her.”

He seemed to crumple, too tired and malnourished to argue. He let Reesa lead him to the ambulance, but he wouldn't let go of that loaf of bread.

I
lona Cartwright dropped her files into her briefcase and snapped it shut. It felt good to win. Fortunately she usually did. Actually fortune didn't have much to do with it. She was good. She worked hard for her clients. Harder than most of them understood. And harder than some of them deserved.

Today's clients, armed with hugs and tears and thank-yous, had already left the courtroom, and the next case was ready to take their place.

“Nice work, Counselor.”

Ilona nodded an acknowledgment to Barry O'Doul who was up next. She didn't much like Barry, all show and not enough jurisprudence for Ilona's taste. She'd seen him work a jury until they were completely befuddled and doing it without one proven fact. All he lacked was a top hat and ringmaster whip.

He exuded confidence, like he had a case all wrapped up before he even entered the courtroom, but beneath the show, there was almost always flaky evidentiary support.

Ilona didn't have that problem.

“All yours,” she said and slid her briefcase off the table.

Another pro bono case cleared. Another family reunited, at least until they fell on the next hard time or got deported. But her work was done.

The only decision she had to make now was whether to go back to the office before she went home and what wine to have with dinner while she read over the brief for her next divorce case.

It was going to be a circus. Lots of money on the table. Several houses to haggle over. Lies and innuendos volleying back and forth. Her client had sued for the divorce, the husband had countersued. And the fun really began.

He was a piece of work; then again so was his wife. At least there were no children to suffer.

Ilona didn't like either of them very much. She would do her best for her client regardless. But she wouldn't lose sleep over the verdict.

She ran into Josie Green, the caseworker for the Sanchez family who had just been given their children back.

“I don't know how to thank you,” Josie said.

“They clearly had the right to reunite their family. Let's just hope they don't let us down.”

Josie nodded seriously. She was young, white, fired up with good intentions. Ilona gave her eight months. People like Josie with their zealous enthusiasm burned out faster than the ones who didn't really give a shit. Too bad really, but it was the nature of the job.

The elevator came, and the two of them crowded in with the other attorneys, clerks, and caseworkers who were finished for the day or just going out for a smoke.

The smokers got off on the first floor to huddle around the ash cans outside the entry door; the others rode all the way to the parking garage.

“Well, thanks again,” Josie said.

“My pleasure.”

Josie climbed into an ancient blue Hyundai.
Pitiful,
Ilona thought as she walked to the end of the ramp and beeped open her silver Mercedes. She placed her briefcase on the passenger seat, slipped out of her linen jacket, laid it neatly on top of the briefcase, and slid into the driver's seat.

Two blocks later, she hit the afternoon sun and rush-hour traffic. She didn't have time for traffic. It always put her in a bad mood. On a whim she made the next left turn and drove east. She'd take the ocean road to her condo even though the route took her closer than she liked to her old home. If you could call it that.

All the wealth that money could buy and not one damn drop of love or compassion or kindness anywhere. That was okay. Ilona had made them pay for the privilege of adopting her. She'd worked them for clothes, toys, cars, four years of college, and a law degree from Yale.

Once they started paying, they couldn't very well stop. And they were proud of it. She had the pictures to prove it, and so did every newspaper and magazine on the East Coast.

“Here's to you . . . Mom and Dad.” She lifted her hand in an imaginary toast. She'd have a full-bodied cabernet with her filet tonight in their honor.

S
ARAH FELT PRETTY
depleted when she drove away from the beach. The prospect of going to court again was daunting enough and the fact that she'd blown off Wyatt made her feel
guilty. And sad. They'd known each other for years. Were good friends. Lovers. She was pretty sure she loved him, but did she love him enough to jeopardize her life with Leila?

Especially if she had to go to court. They'd be looking at everything about her, question everything she'd ever done.

She knew their first commandment was to reunite the child with the birth family.

She could just hear them accusing her.

“Do you have men friends stay over?”

It wouldn't matter that it was one friend, who was a good guy, who saved lives when he wasn't running his dive business. And who would love both her and Leila if she gave him half a chance.

“Do you drink?”

Not how much. Just yes or no.
Just the occasional glass of wine or beer. I never get drunk and never enough for me to neglect my duties.

“Have you ever taken drugs?”

Not since I got out of child services, Your Honor.

Too bad women didn't have to answer those questions before they had babies.

She took a deep breath. She could see Sam's face like he was sitting next to her. Don't let your anger trip you up or bite you in the ass. Don't worry about the then or the what-ifs.
Fix the now.

Maybe she was overreacting.

Karen had left a note on the door:
Sarah, we're in the backyard, come on in.

Sarah opened the door and walked down the hall to the playroom now empty of girls but occupied by fourteen-year-old Rory, who was intent over the controls of a NASCAR video game.

She didn't interrupt his concentration to say hi, but opened the sliding glass door and stepped out onto the brick patio, where Karen sat in a lawn chair while Tammy, Bessie, and Leila, dressed in swimsuits, splashed in a plastic pool.

“You don't mind, do you? Rory wanted the television, and the girls hadn't been out all day.”

“It's fine,” Sarah said, smiling. Leila was wearing one of Bessie's swimsuits, and it sagged nearly to her knees.

Karen poured Sarah a glass of iced tea and motioned her to the second lawn chair. “Did you get in touch with Reesa?”

“Yeah.” Sarah took a long sip of the tea and set it on the table.

“What did she say?”

“She was in the middle of removing three children from their home and couldn't really talk. She just said that it might go to court, and if it did, I would probably need to get a better lawyer.”

“Did she think it likely that it will go that far?”

Sarah shrugged, not looking at Karen but at Leila laughing and splashing with the others. “Just that it's best to be prepared and that she knew someone who might consider taking our case. Someone expensive.”

“So no Randy?”

Sarah shook her head.

“Who did she recommend?”

“She didn't give me a name. Her police backup came. She said she'd call.”

“Bless her,” Karen said. “I couldn't do it every day. Several times a day. Several days a week.”

“I couldn't either. But you do good work.”

Karen laughed slightly. “I'm a good listener and hand-holder.”

“Right. You know you do more than that.”

“Maybe. But nothing close to what Reesa does. I don't know how she stands it.” Karen looked out to the pool. “Five minutes, girls.”

“Leila looks so happy,” Sarah said.

“That's because she is.” Karen put her glass on the table and leaned toward Sarah. “You've done what you can for today. Try to relax. Things will work out.”

Sarah sighed. “From your lips . . .”

“Yep, and to prove it, I found some hamburger in the freezer so we won't be stuck with mac 'n' cheese. Stu's picking up rolls and chips on his way home.”

Sarah felt like she should say they had to get home. She should cook something healthy that neither of them would enjoy nearly as much as burgers with the boisterous Wolcotts.

“And don't say that you can't stay, because you can. And better to be with this family circus than to brood over stuff you have no control over.”

Sarah knew Karen was right. She felt so helpless sometimes. Like all she could do was sit around and wait and she was capable of so much more.

“I saw Wyatt.”

“Recently?”

“While I was gone.”

“Good for you. Did he stop by the shop?”

“No.” Sarah hesitated. She didn't know why she'd blurted out that fact. Now she'd have to explain, and she didn't even know how she felt or what had happened. “I parked down by
the beach. He knocked on the car window while I was sitting there.”

“And?”

“Seems like I do nothing but piss him off.”

“And push him away.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do? I don't want any hitches until Leila is adopted. After that we can see what might happen.”

“If he's still around.”

Sarah's stomach lurched. “What do you mean? Is he thinking about leaving?”

“Not that I know of, but he may move on to someone who actually wants him.”

“Well . . .” Sarah sort of wanted him. But she was sure it would cause trouble. Trouble that she didn't need. Besides, she needed to give her total attention to Leila right now. “If it happens, it happens. I can't deal with it right now.”

Karen moaned and flopped back on the lounge chair. “What is wrong with you? You can't keep yo-yoing him in and out of your life like this.”

“I'm not.”

“Of course you are. Both times they sent Leila back to Carmen, you let Wyatt back in, and then you pushed him away when she came back to you. You have room in your heart for a lot of love, girl. It's not going to run out if you love Wyatt, too. We all need a support group. Even you. Wyatt is ready and willing to be part of that group.”

“Wyatt rescues people for a living.”

Karen sat up. “Is that what this is all about? You think he's hanging around you because he thinks you need rescuing?”

Sarah smiled. “No, we . . . we get along. It's just that Leila was so freaked out by him when she first came.”

“She was afraid of all men and most women and children when she first came. She's resilient.
She's
expanded her horizons.”

They heard a car door slam. Tammy and Bessie climbed out of the pool. “Daddy, Daddy.” They ran toward the patio.

Leila watched for a minute, and she climbed out, too, but her legs were so short it was a struggle before her little body wriggled itself onto the grass and followed after the girls.

A little piece of Sarah's heart broke.

Stu came onto the patio still dressed in jeans and his work boots. Tammy and Bessie glommed on to each leg. “Daddy, Daddy.”

“Hey, girly girls.” Stu leaned over to give them a hug, saw Leila standing close by. “Hey, Leila.”

Leila dipped her chin, suddenly shy.

Sarah instinctively leaned forward to go to her.

Karen stopped her.

Stu held out one hand. “Gimme five.”

Leila ran forward, slapped his hand.

Sarah glared at Karen. “If I didn't know better, I would think you had planned that timing.”

Karen shrugged and looked innocent. “No more excuses. All right, girls, go get your towels and get dressed for dinner.”

Stu came over to kiss his wife, said hello to Sarah.

“Groceries are on the counter. Let me change, and I'll start the grill.” He slid the door open. The girls ran into the house and he followed them.

Karen pushed out of the chair and began gathering the tea
things. “Maybe this thing with Wyatt isn't about Leila at all, Sarah. Maybe it's about you.”

R
EESA PULLED UP
to the curb in front of her house and turned off the engine, but instead of getting out, she just sat. What a hell of a day.

Attacked by a mother, who screeched and fought and had to be restrained while they removed her children, children she had ignored until they were close to death.

Mary, Mother of God, what was the point?

She didn't understand why someone who didn't bother to take care of her children was so crazed to keep them. Only she did know. They were desperate. It was what they had, what they knew, the only thing that kept them connected to a world spun out of control, what made them feel human.

Most days Reesa could understand. On the days when good floated to the top of the bad, when she felt like she had more energy, more compassion. That she was actually making a difference.

But today had been rough. Really rough. And the two families she had helped to reunite earlier this week were nothing but a dim memory, fading fast. She tried to conjure up the image of their smiling faces, the mothers' tears and words of gratitude, but all she could see was that little boy and his loaf of bread. And the spew of obscenities flung at her by the addict mother.

She got out of the car and trudged up the embankment to her home.

Sometimes she hated this job. More and more she hated this job. Maybe she should apply for a job in a school. Help kids who at least had school to look forward to. Where they came to
her office and she didn't have to show up to their homes with a police escort.

Michael was always griping about the hours she put in, the low pay, the toll it was taking. He needed more attention, especially since he seemed to have parked it on the couch as a way of life.

Tonight she was so damned tired, so sick of seeing the underbelly of families, the marginalized, the desperate—she felt desperate herself, and that was no way to face life. Or to help others with their lives.

Reesa stopped with her hand on the doorknob, took a deep breath, let it out slowly, concentrating on driving the resentment out of her thoughts. She needed to lighten up. She was making a difference . . . just not a very big one.