The Things We Cherished (36 page)

There had been no suggestion of a farewell dinner—despite the acquittal, Roger’s death left them with little to celebrate and so they’d parted hurriedly the previous evening. “I’m sorry not to be coming to the airport with you,” Jack said to her when Brian had gone to confirm their flight reservations. “There’s just so much work to catch up on—”

“I understand.” In truth, she knew it was more than that—the awkwardness that had descended between them over the past few days had seemed to thicken and calcify, and she cursed the things that remained unsaid between them.

“Good luck,” he added quietly. “I mean, with Marquan’s case and all.”

“And to you,” she replied stiffly, not quite sure what she meant, or what his life would look like now that the all-consuming work of defending Roger had ended.

Brian stepped off the elevator then, interrupting them with a complaint about difficulty getting through to the airline. Jack and Charlotte stepped apart. Then the brothers shook hands and mumbled something about perhaps seeing one another over the holidays, the ice between them loosened but not quite thawed. Then Jack had turned and walked out of the hotel, shoulders hunched. Charlotte watched, the gnawing feeling in the pit of her stomach growing as she fought the urge to run after him. She looked back down the terminal now, wishing he would appear as if in the movies.

“It’s too bad,” Brian said, interrupting her thoughts. She looked up at him, puzzled. “About Jack, I mean.” Her breath caught. Could he possibly know? “I guess the past few days helped a little, but it sucks being estranged from family.” For Brian, the statement qualified as profound. Charlotte relaxed slightly; he was not talking about her. “It’s just that he’s so closed off from the world. Damaged goods.”

She opened her mouth to protest that nothing could be further from the truth. But there was no point. “He liked you back then,” Brian added. “Funny, huh?”

So Brian knew after all. “He mentioned.” She swallowed. “But it was no big deal.”

“No, I mean he was crazy about you. And when I broke up with you, he was furious.” Charlotte’s mind whirled. For all the time she had spent with Jack in recent days and all that he had told her, she had not known, had never even suspected, that the rift between the brothers had actually been about her. But she’d known about their
falling out prior to Brian’s ending their relationship, so it couldn’t have been the breakup that angered Jack. More likely he discovered that Brian was seeing Danielle behind her back and was infuriated by the betrayal.

She considered pointing out to Brian the half-truth still imbedded in his explanation, then decided it was not worth the effort. “So he was mad at you about me?”

“Enough to not speak with me for almost a decade.” Suddenly the picture was clear. Jack hadn’t disliked her, as she’d originally suspected—the opposite had, in fact, been true. He liked her too much but had kept his distance because anything more was unthinkable. And his aloofness all of those years ago was his attempt to stay away from her, to mask his feelings out of loyalty to his brother. But when Brian had callously cast her aside for Danielle, Jack had seen it as a personal betrayal and more than he could bear or forgive.

I should go back, she thought, suddenly seized with the impulse to run to Jack. But what would she say? It was all so long ago, and their case was over now. She had her own life and it was time for her to return to it. An announcement came over the loudspeaker then, calling her flight. “I’ve got to go.” She picked up her bag.

“Thank you,” Brian said with more sincerity than she had ever heard him speak.

For a moment she thought he might try to hug or kiss her and she was more relieved than disappointed when he did neither. “Good luck,” she managed. “I mean, with the baby and all.”

She turned, and this time did not look back.

PHILADELPHIA
,
2009

Charlotte set her bags down in the entranceway. Instantly, Mitzi was at her feet, purring as she rubbed up against Charlotte’s legs in equal parts recrimination and greeting. Charlotte picked her up. “Yes, I missed you too,” she said in a soothing voice as she walked into the kitchen, noting with relief that the dry cat food was still half full and the water bowl the neighbor had changed remained unsoiled. She freshened the water and opened a can of wet food.

Leaving behind a satisfied Mitzi, she walked into the living room. As she looked around, a wave of warmth washed over her. The renovated row house, with its high ceilings and exposed beams and brick, had been a labor of love, a six-month project on which she spent every spare minute and dollar. The results had been well worth the effort: it was the perfect home, comfortable and airy, with sunlight dancing across the hardwood floors.

Charlotte sank into the overstuffed blue chair by the fireplace, curling her legs beneath her and picking up the pile of mail that had accumulated during her absence. Sadness welled up in her unexpectedly. Despite her love for the house, being back here felt, well, hollow somehow. There was much to be done, of course—laundry
from the trip to be washed and groceries purchased, and tomorrow she would be in the office at the crack of dawn to make sure that Kate Dolgenos was doing everything she should to help Marquan. It seemed to pale, though, in comparison to Roger and Magda and the decades-old mystery they had solved, like something right out of a novel. But that had been a moment. And life couldn’t be all moments, could it?

As if on cue, Jack appeared unbidden in her mind. What was he doing now? Was he still clearing up the aftermath of the Dykmans case or had he returned to other matters in his private practice? Was he bored too?

She took out the business card he had given her shortly after her arrival in Munich, considering. There was an e-mail address and she thought about dropping him a message saying hi and … what exactly? They had not left things at a keep-in-touch kind of stage. She recalled the night they spent together, the looks they exchanged, and the quiet understanding they seemed to share. Yet a business card was all that remained, maybe because their lives had pulled them in two different directions or because things were too complex. No, a casual e-mail message would be too much and at the same time not enough.

Then she heard Brian’s words, telling her that his brother had feelings for her years ago. Why hadn’t Jack said anything? Well why, more to the point, hadn’t she? In her mind she saw that moment in the hotel bar the other evening, when she could have owned up to how she felt. She wanted to blame it on the interruption, the fact that Brian had arrived before she had a chance. But there was always a way if one really wanted something. No, the truth was she simply hadn’t been brave enough.

It’s too late now, she decided, setting the mail aside. What’s
done is done. Standing, she pushed the thoughts from her mind and set about unpacking and fitting back into the life that she had chosen.

Charlotte stepped out of the Criminal Justice Center and walked to the corner. A sharp breeze gusted down the street, sending leaves and a piece of crumpled newspaper flying. She drew her coat more tightly around her midsection. It was early November now, more than a month since she had returned from Europe, and the air had an unmistakable feel of the impending winter.

She crossed Market Street and made her way toward the office, still thinking about the hearing she had had that morning for Laquanna, a fifteen-year-old accused of drug possession. The girl was undoubtedly guilty, but if there was only some way to get her a reduced sentence in some sort of rehabilitative program …

She walked into the office, still lost in thought. “Whoa!” Doreen cried, as Charlotte collided with her, sending the stack of files she was carrying flying in all directions.

“Sorry,” Charlotte mumbled, stooping to pick up the scattered papers. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Shocking,” Doreen replied, a note of humor in her voice. Charlotte’s absentmindedness when focusing on a case was legendary. She had once accidentally walked into a toilet and broken a toe while preparing for a closing argument in a trial.

Charlotte handed the papers to Doreen, who promptly passed them back again. “I was just taking these to your mailbox,” she said.

Charlotte groaned. Her colleagues might have covered her cases while she was gone, but the mountain of paperwork they’d left behind for her was taking forever to clear. “Thanks.” She started down the hall.

“Wait, there’s—” Doreen began, but Charlotte continued on, lost in thought.

Charlotte stepped into her office and stopped short as a tall figure caught her eye. Someone was there. Her breath caught. A male visitor sat in the chair across from her desk once more. Only this time it wasn’t Brian.

“Jack,” she gasped.

He stood up, unfolding himself in a way that was unmistakably familiar from his brother’s earlier appearance. “Hello, Charley.”

A strange sense of déjà vu came over her. It was more than just the reminders of Brian’s earlier visit, she realized. She had seen this. She pulled the image from a haze of dreams, half buried in the jet lag of the days following her return. She didn’t believe in prescience, but in the dream she had envisioned Jack sitting exactly like he was now. She had woken up shaken by the vividness of the image, telling herself that it couldn’t happen. But now he was actually here, a fact that was almost unfathomable. What, she tried to recall from her dream, had he wanted?

“I don’t understand,” she managed. “What are you doing here?”

“Just passing through because of a case,” he replied. His words echoed Brian’s weeks earlier, but with Jack, the excuse seemed even more highly implausible. Was he serious?

No, of course not. Jack had no business that would bring him to Philadelphia. Her mind raced. Perhaps a personal matter had brought him back to the States. “Is your family all right?”

“Everyone’s fine.” She waited for him to offer an alternative explanation for his visit, but he remained silent, his gaze holding her own. No, he had come to see her. Her stomach tightened.

A wave of conflicting emotions washed over her then, surprise and confusion and curiosity mixing with the fact that she was, well, genuinely glad to see him. The tiny office space suddenly seemed
too cramped to hold both of them and everything she was feeling. She didn’t want to run away from him, as she had when Brian came looking for her. But she needed air.

“Is there somewhere we can get some coffee?” he asked, sensing her discomfort.

She nodded, setting the papers down on her desk and gesturing for him to follow. She could feel the curious stares of her coworkers as they walked through the office and they wondered about this tall, attractive man, the second such visitor to the normally solitary Charlotte in recent months. She stole a glance upward at Jack. His eyes were clearer and he seemed less haggard than she remembered, as if a weight had somehow been lifted. And the stubble that usually covered his cheeks and chin was gone as well. “You’ve shaved,” she remarked abruptly.

He half smiled. “I thought it was time for a change. How did Marquan’s case go?”

“Really well,” she replied. “Better than expected. Kate Dolgenos did a great job and Marquan got four years in a decent facility, followed by parole. They’ve got a vocational training program there so he should still be able to graduate high school on time if he really applies himself.” If. There were still a hundred roadblocks between Marquan and a happy ending.

“That’s great, though you’re being too modest. I’m sure you had a lot to do with the result.”

Neither spoke further as they stepped out onto the street, stopping at the hot dog vendor. As Jack handed her one of the Styrofoam cups, she couldn’t help but contrast the dark bitter brew with the foamy lattes they had enjoyed in Munich weeks earlier. But he took a sip, not seeming to notice. “Roger’s name was cleared,” he said.

“I know. I saw the story in the press.” The article had been brief,
just a mention that a document had been found exonerating Roger posthumously. It had seemed so inadequate—there was no reference to Magda or the clock or all of the passion and heartbreak that underscored the tale. A secret history left for only a few of them to know.