No Legal Grounds (10 page)

Sam whirled around.
The church was a sea of faces, probably two thousand or more. He was here somewhere.
“What is it?” Linda said. The music stopped and the worship

leader was wishing everyone a “blessed Lord’s day.”
“He’s here.”
“No.”
Sam gave her the note. She looked at it and closed her eyes. “Oh, Sam.”
“This is too much.” He looked around again, but saw only the

He took Linda’s arm and joined the human stream heading toward the doors. The moment they hit the foyer the voice came. “Sammy!”
Nicky Oberlin was wearing a coat and tie and an exaggerated

smile.
Linda gripped Sam’s arm.
Sam told himself to take it easy. He didn’t want a repeat of what

Yet his outrage was palpable. This was a denigration, an insult, a slap.
“This your wife?” Nicky said, putting out his hand.
Linda froze.
“I’m Nicky, Sam’s friend from way back. Great to meet you.”
One of the church greeters, Tim Wade, a tall, friendly man, put his hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Morning, Sam, Linda.” He looked at Nicky.
“I’m a friend of Sam’s,” Nicky said. He shook Tim’s hand.
“Welcome to Solid Rock,” Tim said.
Sam wanted to shout at Tim, at the whole church, as if Satan himself had shown up. But he also knew that was probably what Nicky wanted.
“Yeah, an old, old friend,” Sam said. “From college. Good old Nicky.”
Nicky barely flinched.
“Hope you come see us again,” Tim said.
“Love to,” Nicky said. “You have a real nice church here.”
“Nicky’s searching,” Sam said. “He really needs the Lord.”
The slightest flicker of tightness in Nicky’s cheeks.
“We have a class for newcomers,” Tim said. “Tuesday night. Basics of the Christian faith.”
“Nicky would love that!” Sam smiled at him. “Why don’t you come, Nicky?”
“I might have to take a rain check on that, Sammy. But maybe you and I could get together real soon. Yeah. For sure.”
He smiled and started to back away.
“Bye,” Tim said amiably. “Thanks again for coming.” Then to Sam, “Nice fella.”
“You have no idea, Tim.”
Linda put her head on his shoulder. She was trembling. “Let’s get Max and go home, Sam.”

Sam found the note taped to Heather’s door.
I had to go. I’m not driving, so don’t worry. I’ll call you later. H.
“Look at this!” He screamed it. Linda came running up the

stairs.
“What’s wrong?”
He handed her the note.
“I wish she hadn’t,” Linda said.
“Wishing is one thing. Now what?” Now what indeed. His head

was already squeezed by Nicky’s little game. And oral arguments were coming up in the FulCo case. Why did Heather have to be this way now?

“I’ll try calling her,” Linda said.
“Good luck.”
“She said she’d call us. At least she said that much.” “Always looking for the bright side.”
“We have to.”
He wanted to scream at her then.
No, we don’t.
Why? Because

He went downstairs to the study and shut the door. His study was neat and in order. It was a place he always felt he could regroup. Calm down, think things over.

Monday morning, Sam was more determined than ever to get lost in legal research. The upcoming hearing on the government’s FRCP 56 motion for summary judgment in FulCo was the biggest moment in his legal life.

Ever since he’d been sworn into the bar, Sam indulged a little fantasy about arguing before the Supreme Court someday. It was a very long shot, of course. Not many lawyers ever get that opportunity.

If only he could. It would epitomize everything he believed about the glory of the law. The chance to stand in front of the highest court and argue, putting all his mental powers to the test, for a principle of constitutional law. He’d be standing where Thurgood Marshall stood when he argued
Brown v. Board of Education.
He’d be standing in the presence of the marble frieze depicting the Manichaean forces of good and evil in conflict, and the representation of Moses with the tablets.

Order from chaos. Light from darkness. The grandeur of American jurisprudence.
Well, even if that never happened, he could represent every client with the zeal demanded by a life in the law.
Ten minutes into his pursuit of glory he got a call. Doreen told him it was a woman named Mary Grant.
Mary.
He paused a moment, his pulse quickening. No time to prepare.
He picked up. “Hello?”
“Sam?” Her voice was soft, a little girl’s voice coming over a walkie-talkie.
“Yes, it’s me. How are you?”
“Bet you never expected to hear from me, did you?”

“Actually, I know why you’re calling, Mary.”
“What?”
“I’ve already heard from Nicky Oberlin.”
There was a pause on the line. “Is that his name? He never gave

me a name. He only whispered over the phone. He knew all about us. He said I should ask you why he was calling. Told me where you were. It freaked me out. I’m really sorry. I never would have called. I’m so sorry — ”

“I don’t know what he wanted. I feel really strange talking to you.”
“It’s a very strange set of circumstances, Mary. Are you doing all right?”
“You mean in general? I can’t complain.”
He wanted to ask her about the boy. His boy. But the words wouldn’t come.
“Sam, I don’t think I can talk to you about this over the phone. I never expected to see you again and I don’t want to drag you into anything. But I need to know what to do. If he calls again.”
A thousand scenarios blistered Sam’s brain. Quickly, before he could change his mind, he said, “If you’d like to come in and meet with me, I’m sure that would be all right. The police need to know about this.”
“I don’t want any involvement with police; I just want this to go away.”
“Then come down to my office and — ”
“I don’t have a car. I mean, my car’s in the shop. I suppose I could have Caleb drive me. He lives — ” She stopped suddenly. “That’s his name, by the way.”
Caleb. A strong biblical name. Sam took a moment to catch his breath. “How . . . what’s he like?”
“He’s a great boy. Boy? I can hardly believe he’s twenty-eight.”
“Did you ever tell him about me?”
“Sam, can we not do this over the phone? I feel so . . . I don’t know.”
“Let me come to you, then.”

Sam tried calling Linda as soon as he was on the 10 freeway heading east. She didn’t answer and he didn’t leave a message. This was not an item he wanted to disclose via recording. She’d understand. He hoped.

Mary lived in a modest home on a tree-lined street in Loma Linda, a little residential city in San Bernardino County. The house looked of early seventies vintage, with a two-car garage, red-brick chimney, and wooden fence to one side. Not luxury, but certainly comfortable.

Knocking on the door, Sam felt as nervous as a high school freshman picking up his first date. Though their relationship, such as it was, was a thing of the distant past, the memory of it had returned with a force that he wished would go away.

She answered the door. She looked almost exactly the same. Her chestnut hair was worn short. The blue eyes were immediately familiar. If anything was different, it was the small but visible worry line just above the bridge of her nose.

Inside, the house was cozy and well lit. The walls were decorated with water colors and other paintings. “Did you do these?”
“Yes.”
“They’re nice.”
“Thank you.”
“You sell them or anything?”
She shook her head. “They’re just for me.” She looked around, her eyes not landing anyplace. “This is really strange. I’m so sorry I brought this on you.”
“You didn’t. It was Nicky.”
“I keep thinking I’ve heard that name.”
“He was at UCSB with us. Same dorm. Nicky Oberlin.”
She frowned. “I have no recollection.”
“He knows all about us, though.”
“Is he dangerous?”
“I think it’s just mind games at this point.”
“It’s working. Can I offer you something to drink?”
She brought out some iced tea and while she poured it, Sam readied the words that had been nervously bouncing around his throat.
“I have to apologize, Mary. It’s been a long time, but I was lousy to you. I’m really sorry.”
She looked at him, and thankfully her eyes were full of understanding. “What did we know back then anyway? I mean, that was a crazy place to be. You’re so young and they throw you together in coed dorms. We all felt free for the first time and . . . But it all worked out for the best.”
Sam said nothing. His mouth was dry.
“I had Caleb. And then I met Steve Grant and we got married. He was a good father. A great father. We were very happy together.”
“Were?”
“I should have mentioned. He died last January. Heart. He worked for the school district. Construction.”
“I’m sorry.”
Mary nodded.
“Did you have any other children?”
“Just Caleb.”
“Tell me about him,” Sam said.
“Oh, he’s great. Married, with a lovely little two-year-old daughter. They live over in Upland.”
His granddaughter. He tried to swallow. Couldn’t.
“He does what his dad did,” Mary said. “Good with his hands. But you know what he does early in the morning, before going to work?”
“What?”
“Writes. He wants to be a writer.”
“No kidding.”
“He’s really good.”
“I think that’s fantastic, Mary.”
She said, “This Nicky, what does he want from us?”
“It’s me. For some reason he wants to force his way back into my life. He’s just using you to get at me. Threatened to tell my wife about you.”
“She never knew?”
Sam shook his head. “She does now.” He paused. “Does Caleb know?”
“No, Sam. I met Steve six months after Caleb was born. I didn’t want Caleb to know. I wanted him to know only one father. Do you think that was wrong?”
A small crevice cracked open inside Sam. “Not at all.”
“Thank you.” Mary seemed relieved, deeply, like fear of his answer had been bottled up inside her all these years. “He loved his father very much. They were so close.”
For the next twenty minutes, Sam labored to reassure Mary that the law was on their side and would be utilized to the full if need be. If Nicky contacted her again, she was to make notes of the time and the content.
But Sam was certain he wouldn’t be calling again, that his purpose was to get in Sam’s own head.
Mary did seem reassured by then, and Sam chalked the effect up to his legal training. The point wasn’t always to win cases and motions. Sometimes, just thinking issues through with someone was all they needed.
When the time for parting came, it brought a certain awkwardness. Would he see Mary again? Would they stay in touch? Would that even be a good idea?
What would Linda think about it? He would soon find out, because he was going to tell her about the meeting when he got home.
A back door slammed.
Then a voice: “Mom?”
Mary looked at Sam. “It’s Caleb.”

Odd. He was always so careful to mark where he was. He’d called her but didn’t leave a message. Odd again.
She tried to shrug it off. But shrugging didn’t do it. Yes, he was under a lot of stress. He had the big case coming up,

Then there was that whole thing about his having a child. It bothered her, though she knew it shouldn’t. He was right about their not disclosing the past. She’d had a couple of things she wasn’t anxious to share with him.

But she’d never had a baby.
Forget it, she told herself. She just didn’t want the cool gap between them to grow into a distance. Sam was probably off doing something related to work, so she would do the same.
She called her business Badger Baskets. She’d always loved badgers for some reason, even as a kid. Badger in
The Wind in the Willows
was her favorite character. She rooted for the University of Wisconsin. She had two Badgers T-shirts, a couple of Badger mugs, and of course, a stuffed Wisconsin Badger mascot.
Linda made gift baskets, putting the kind of care and design into them that brought her a steady clientele. Today in her shop — a shed in the back that they’d turned into a nice work space — Linda was about to get started on one of several baskets for Mrs. Rooney at church. She was the wife of Hal Rooney, the football coach at Chatsworth High, and every year she made sure to send a nice big basket to each member of the Los Angeles Unified School Board.
It was a good gig for Linda, and she always went all out.
But as her hands unspooled the ribbon and cellophane, she saw them shaking. What was that all about?
She closed her eyes to calm herself.

Sam’s breath almost left him, not in a rush but in a slow, tightening reflex in the chest. The realization that he was looking at his own son almost rocked him off his feet.

“Just came to grab a couple of books.” He looked at Sam. “Hello.”
“This is Mr. Trask,” Mary said. “This is my son, Caleb.”
Caleb’s handshake was firm. He had a pleasant, understated smile and blue eyes like his mother, active with intelligence and humor. He was Sam’s height, with broader shoulders and short, wheat-colored hair.
Sam had to fight to keep emotion off his face.
“Mr. Trask is a lawyer,” Mary said.
Caleb frowned. “Something wrong?”
When Mary hesitated, Sam said, “Someone we both knew back in college has contacted us with a proposition, and I’m handing out some free legal advice.”
“You knew Mom in college?”
“Yes. We were in the same dorm.”
“Cool. A blast from the past.”
“Your mom speaks very highly of you.”
“That’s what moms are for.”
“Says you’re into writing?”
Caleb grinned. “Ah, I just hammer away. Trying to learn. You know.”
“What writers do you like?”
“I’m a little eccentric; I like some of the older writers.”
“Why is that eccentric?”
“I don’t know. I’m supposed to be postmodern and cynical. But I don’t respond to that. I like William Saroyan.”
“
The Human Comedy
?”
“Yeah! You know him?”
“I read that book in high school. My English teacher loved it.”
“And his short stories, especially in
My Name Is Aram.
In fact, that’s what I’m here for, Mom. We had a paperback copy of it.”
Mary said, “Check the bookshelf.”
“Right. Nice to meet you, Mr. Trask.”
He shook Sam’s hand again and went off to the next room.
“You did a great job,” Sam whispered. Then: “I better go. When this matter gets resolved, I’ll let you know.”
Mary nodded, and Sam thought for a moment she might be ready to cry. But she took in a breath and said, “Thank you so much for coming.”
Caleb bounded into the room, holding a paperback. “Got it. Thanks. Call you later, Mom. Nice to meet you, sir.” And with a wave he was gone.
Sam hardly knew what to say next. “He’s obviously a good boy. Man.”
Mary nodded.
“And rest assured, I’ll do everything I can to keep Nicky Oberlin out of your life.”
That was the least he could do for the woman he’d wronged and the son he’d never known.