Lawyer for the Dog (10 page)

Of course this is a question both Henry Swinton and Michelle Marvel already know the answer to, because by then they will have taken my deposition.

I had a dog for a while when I was young.

And what happened to that dog?

My mother gave him away.

She gave your pet away?

Yes. My father died, and she had to go back to work. She told me she didn't have time for a dog.

You were how old at the time, Ms. Baynard?

Twelve.

Old enough to help with the care of a dog, wouldn't you say?

I suppose so.

So the truth of the matter, Ms. Baynard, is that your mother gave the dog away because she felt that neither she nor you could manage the dog, isn't that right?

I can't tell you what my mother felt.

Nevertheless, Ms. Baynard, she determined that it was best for the dog not to continue to live in your household, correct?

It was a very difficult time. My father died suddenly, finances were tight, and my mother had to go back to work.

Did you love your dog?

Of course. I adored him.

And if you don't mind my asking, Ms. Baynard, how old are you now?

Forty-nine.

So it's been thirty-seven years since your mother gave your dog away, and in all those years you've never had a dog, is that correct? In fact, you've not owned any other kind of pet during all that time!

I shared a kitten with my roommate in college.

You
shared
a kitten? What exactly does that mean?

She was a stray. We fed her.

And what happened to that cat?

At this point, I imagine, I turn to Joe Baynard, desperate for him to put a stop to this, but he's not paying attention.

She ran away.

So you are asking the court to accept your report as to Sherman's welfare, based on this paltry experience with animals, Ms. Baynard?

*   *   *

I'm safe in my office now, not sitting on the witness stand in family court, but I can feel sweat collecting on my forehead, the hot tide of panic rising from my neck to my cheeks. I can come up with lots of excuses why I've never had another pet. After she gave Brownie away, though I begged, my mother said, “No more dogs.” In college, at USC, no animals were allowed in the dorms. Then there was law school, when my classes and studying and part-time job took all my energy.

After I moved to Charleston, newly married, I was too busy learning how to be a real lawyer. Joe wanted a dog. His uncle bred Boykin spaniels, spirited hunting dogs with silky brown coats. We could have our pick of the next litter, he said. Maybe next year, I said.

After we separated I came close. I thought it would be nice to come home to a dog instead of the empty apartment. I even checked out a book from the library,
Choosing Your Dog: A Hundred Popular Breeds
, and perused its pages, trying to imagine myself with a standard poodle (but so much grooming!) or a golden retriever (too big!) or maybe something smaller, maybe a terrier (too feisty?). “Don't obsess over it so much,” said my friend Ellen. “Just go to the shelter, pick a dog you like. It isn't so hard, really.”

Then why did it seem so hard? Was I really so much busier than other people? Or was I afraid I wouldn't be able to be a decent pet-parent? Afraid to commit to a long-term relationship? Now I have another excuse: my mother. Still, I feel my doglessness is somehow indefensible, a defect that indicates some deeper character flaw.

Gina comes back to my office to remind me that Ellen is coming in five minutes. “You gotta read that case from Tennessee,” she says. “Where the wife said she should have custody of the dog because she would keep him away from … how did she put it? ‘Ill-bred bitches.' And she took him to her weekly Bible class. The husband, he said he should have the dog because he'd taught him some good tricks, like riding on the back of his motorcycle.”

“So, who won?”

“Joint custody, with the dog moving every six months. But then the wife moved to Texas, so it was a real mess.”

“This is giving me a headache.”

“You'll figure it out. You're a great lawyer, so you'll be a great lawyer for the dog. Hey,” she smiles wickedly, “I like the sound of that. Maybe we should change your sign outside:
SARAH
BRIGHT
BAYNARD,
J
.
D.,
LAWYER FOR THE
DOG
.

 

No Secrets

“I meant to tell you this on the way home from the book club meeting, but the Jello emergency got in the way,” says Ellen. We're having lunch in the room that doubles as my library and conference room. I have to move several stacks of papers to one side of the table—ongoing research projects, appeal briefs, depositions waiting for review. Thank goodness Gina knows where to find things, including the files I sometimes leave in the trunk of my car.

“What's up?” I ask Ellen.

“I don't want to complicate your life…” she begins, “… but I thought you should know. It's about Joe.”

“
My
Joe?”

“Well, if you want him, I guess.” She laughs.

“I didn't mean it that way.”

“Maybe you did.”

“Stop.”

“Okay, I guess you don't want to know any more…”

“But you're going to tell me anyway, right?”

“I won't force it on you,” she says.

“Like hell you won't.”

“Whoa, girl. You're still pretty raw after all this time, aren't you?”

“I'm not raw, but I don't understand why you came all the way over here to tell me something you could just as well have told me over the telephone.”

“Just thought you might want to talk about it,” Ellen says through a bite of her sandwich.

“What's there to talk about?”

“Don't you want to know the gossip?”

“Not really.” But of course I do.

“He left Susan.”

“I heard they were separated.” Why am I being so cagey with my best friend?

“I guess it's out, then.”

“Another woman?”

“Not the Honorable Joseph Henry Baynard III. In a way, though, it's even worse. The idiot tells Susan he's in love with someone else. He tells her he hasn't
done
anything, but he's in love. He actually asks her to help him ‘work through it.'”

“That went over well, I'm sure.”

“Yeah. She went ballistic. And of course you know who everyone thinks the other woman is.” Ellen smiles a wicked smile, as if she's caught me.

“I have no idea.”

“Oh, don't pretend to be so dense.”

“
Stop it!
” The sound of my own shouting shocks me.

“Oh, honey … I didn't realize…” Ellen drops her sandwich, comes around to my side of the table, and bends down to hug me. “I thought you…”

“You thought what? That I'd be delirious with joy?”

“I thought you'd want to know. Haven't you wondered why he got you involved in that dog case?”

“He's appointed me on lots of cases. All the judges appoint me. It's a pain in the ass, but I do a good job.”

“But this case … He went out of his way to give this dog a lawyer.”

“The case is tying up his court. He's hoping I'll help settle it.”

“You aren't thinking rationally. If the case is really driving him crazy, why would he insist on hearing all the motions himself? He's the administrative judge, he can assign the motions to other judges, but instead he's keeping the whole case for himself.”

“I hadn't really thought about it. Maybe because it's such an unusual case?”

“That's bullshit, and you know it. He's still in love with you and he knows if he calls you and says,
Sally, I'm still in love with you and I need to see you
, you'd tell him you're not interested, so he involves you in the case from hell, gets you into his courtroom for a dozen motion hearings and a trial and then, who knows…”

“He doesn't need to play games like that,” I say. “He was just here yesterday, as a matter of fact…”

“What?”

“… but he didn't say anything about being in love with me.”

“The man has
some
pride,” Ellen says. “What was he doing here, then?”

“He was delivering a motion that was just filed.”

“Right.”

“I know, it was pretty lame, but I just think he's going through a bad time. He's having a mid-life crisis, not thinking straight.”

“He told his wife he's been in love with you since the divorce. He never
stopped
loving you, in fact.”

“What an idiot,” I say, but I feel something I haven't felt in a long time. I push it away. It's too dangerous.

“And after he confessed, like the gentleman that he is, he moved out the next day.”

“Where are you getting your information?”

“She told her sister, and her sister's best friend is my—”

“Never mind. If it's true, he'll get over it. They'll work things out. They've been together for what … sixteen, seventeen years? What about the kids?”

“The boys are away at some boarding school. The same one Joe—”

“St. Paul's.”

“Yes.”

“He had no right to involve
me
. There's nothing going on between us…”

“He made that clear to her. But of course she doesn't believe him. Looking at the case from her point of view—”

“It isn't a
case
—”

“Okay, looking at the
situation
from her point of view, you're already involved. Maybe it was a long time ago, but it's not as if the whole thing is a figment of her imagination, is it?”

“So, I'm innocent, but I've already been convicted.”

“‘Innocent' might be a stretch,” she says. “You'd better stick with ‘not guilty.' There's a difference.”

We finish our lunch, quiet for a while. Then she looks at me with those unwavering blue eyes of hers. “You haven't really said how you feel about him.”

“I feel sorry for him.”

“That's all?”

“That's
all
.” But she knows I'm lying. The truth is, I don't understand what I'm feeling. I just know it's dangerous. “I guess I need to get out of the dog case.”

Ellen looks at me suspiciously. “Assuming you want to discourage him.”

“Of course I do. I'll make a motion to be relieved.”

“You think you can put this on the record?
Your honor, I move to be relieved as guardian ad litem for the dog because it has come to my attention that you are in love with me.
No, that won't work. Where are you so far, in the case?”

“I've reviewed the pleadings, interviewed Mr. and Mrs. Hart, spent some time with the dog, done some research. I'm driving out to talk to the vet this afternoon.”

I can practically hear the gears shift in Ellen's brain. “Yeah, interview the vet. Get him to say that all this back and forth—this split custody—is bad for … What's his name?”

“Sherman.”

“Right. Get him to say that Sherman, like all dogs, needs consistency. Then maybe you can move to bifurcate, get an expedited trial on the issue of who gets the dog. Yes, that makes sense: a short trial on the dog issue, which would be separate from the rest of the stuff, the property division and alimony and all that. You only need to be involved in the dog issues. It'll save the parties money, too, since they won't be paying you to sit around through hours of depositions and days of trial.”

“That's a good idea.”

“But you realize this doesn't solve the whole problem,” Ellen says. “It just gets you through this one case sooner. Limits your exposure to Joe, assuming that's what you want.”

“
Of course
it's what I want.” But I can't look her in the eye.

“I hate to bring this up,” Ellen says, “but you haven't done anything to encourage this, have you?”

“Absolutely not.”

“No secrets from me, right?”

“No secrets.”

“Because you know you can talk to me.”

“Ellen…”

“Okay, okay.” She stands up to go. “I forgot to ask … What kind of dog is it, anyway?”

“Miniature schnauzer. Very cute. Smart, too. Want to see a photo?”

“Sounds like you're falling in love.”

“He's a nice dog, but it's still crazy for them to fight over him, don't you think?”

“I'd fight over Hershey.”

“Come on, you mean it? He's a dog, not a child.”

“Tell you what, Sally Baynard, you get yourself a dog, let him work his way into your heart for a couple of years, then try to imagine life without him.”

 

Not Too Much Pressure

If you're a woman past forty it's risky to look at yourself in the rearview mirror, especially on a late afternoon when the slanting sun accentuates every wrinkle. Who
is
that woman? I never get used to seeing her, the one who pretends to be me.

The real me, the one I always expect to see, is about twenty-five. Her eyes are clear and bright, so green they startle you. Those eyes are brimming with energy and optimism, as if there is nothing she can't do, nothing she can't handle.

My friends say, “You look great for your age,” and yes, I still have the nice thick brown hair (with only a few streaks of gray) and the good skin and the trim figure (okay, the thighs could use a little work), but I'm not that spunky woman who graduated from law school second in her class, ready to fight for the rights of the underdog, that woman who had as much heart as brain, and who would give it all for what she believed in—including Joe Baynard.