Twisted Justice (7 page)

As soon as Steve pulled into the driveway on Davis Boulevard Saturday evening, he knew it was bad timing. “Shit,” he mumbled as he carried the twins' duffel bag past the familiar car parked in front of him.

“What'd you say, Dad?” Kevin piped.

“Nothing.”

“Grandma and Grandpa are here,” called Natalie excitedly as she ran ahead.

“Laura, we have to talk,” Steve said as soon as there was a moment of privacy. The kids had charged into the house amid hugs and kisses and now crowded around their grandparents.

“Not now. My parents will be leaving soon, and then I need to spend time with the kids before they go to bed.”

“You'll have all week with the kids. Please, this is important.”

Laura sighed. “Okay. For a few minutes.”

Laura went over to her mother and whispered in her ear. Peg Whelan looked much younger than fifty-nine. She was trim and shapely with strawberry blonde hair naturally highlighted by the sun. Turning toward Steve, she nodded, but Steve saw the start of a frown in place of her usual sunny smile.

“Where you going, honey?” asked Carl Whelan as he juggled Natalie and Patrick on his lap. He was a tall man, distinguished looking at sixty-five with gray hair just starting to recede. Gentle by nature, he had always been supportive of Steve, but now he glanced coldly at his son-in-law.

“We're going out for just a few minutes,” Laura said, approaching the front door.

Neither of her parents had yet spoken to Steve. The look of disapproval in Peg Whelan's eyes had a chilling effect making him feel deep remorse. The Whelans had always treated him like a son, and the truth was that Steve was much closer to them than to his own family — his dad — back in Traverse City, Michigan.

Laura was the oldest of the three Whelan siblings and the only one living in Florida, just an hour and a half away from her parents' home in Sarasota. Janet, two years younger, lived with her professor husband in Paris, and the Whelans saw her only one week a year, in Paris or Sarasota. So far, they were childless and the whole family knew that Janet was becoming increasingly desperate to have a baby. Ted, the youngest, now thirty-one, was a Jesuit missionary priest stationed in Uganda. Although so proud of him, they also
worried about him as Idi Amin's dictatorship in Africa turned more and more ruthless.

Both Steve and Laura's dad were die-hard Detroit Tigers baseball fans — had been all their lives — and that shared passion gave Steve a sense of belonging in the Whelan family. Not that they got to see much of the Tigers anymore, but whenever possible Steve and Carl would take the kids to Bradendon for spring training. Suddenly, Steve realized if he lost Laura, he'd lose the Whelans too.

“Looking forward to seeing Billington play soon,” he said to his father-in-law, but Carl acknowledged Steve's awareness of the baseball player's move from Cincinnati to Detroit with only a shrug.

“Let's take a ride over to the park where we can talk,” Steve said to Laura as they stepped outside.

“All the way to the park?”

“It's just a couple minutes away, c'mon.” He took her arm and led her to the Ford Fairlane. To his relief, she stepped in when he opened the door. “We'll get some ice cream.”

As he parked under the shade of an old willow at the park, Laura broke the awkward silence that had filled the car. “So did you go to Busch Gardens?”

“Yeah, but the kids didn't have a great time. Not like when we've been there before. I've been thinking a lot and really —” he reached over and touched her knee, “we owe it to them to stay together.”

“The kids'll be fine,” Laura answered, removing his hand. “But what are you going to do about getting a job?”

Steve stared openly at his wife. “You know, I guess I can even understand why you did it. You had a good reason to be totally pissed at me for what I did.”

Laura stared back. “Did what?”

“Come on, I know you told George.” Steve had apologized for doing it with Kim, and now he expected an apology from Laura for getting him canned. “He sort of let it slip.”

She frowned. “I can't believe you just said that. I haven't spoken to him in months. And I can't believe you'd make up a lie like that.”

“Look, have it your way. I'm fired, okay? I need to come back home and start looking for a job.”

“My God, Steve, you think this is some kind of game? This is our life. I agree you'll have to find a job, but I've decided to talk to a lawyer about a permanent separation and divorce. You'll get visitation rights for the kids. I'm not even asking for child support.”

“Divorce? Laura, c'mon, it doesn't need to be this way.”

“Yes it does. Now that I've had a couple of weeks to think about it, I realize that we've been living two separate lives for I don't know how long. You at the station. Me at the hospital. We've been avoiding each other for years. We never make love. Sex, maybe, but love, no. The only thing we have in common is the kids, and I know I can be a better mother if I'm on my own. Besides the way you feel about the twins — Anyway, it's fine with me to keep alternating weekends, but we'll have to go to court and get the whole thing finalized.”

Steve's face tightened. “Sounds like you've got everything figured out. Except for me. What about me?”

“Please stop.”

“Laura,” Steve went on, “we've been married for fifteen years. We have five kids who need two parents. I'm living in a dump, and I have no job.”

Laura sighed. “Look, we're not getting anywhere with this. Just take me home.”

“C'mon, we need to talk about this. Let's take a walk, get an ice cream.”

“I don't want any ice cream. If you won't take me back, I'll walk.”

Steve's face clouded as he turned the ignition key. “Promise me one thing. No more talk about a lawyer. The least you can do is give me some time to find a job. Cut me a little slack here.”

“No,” she said through clenched teeth. “I need to move forward with my life now.”

“Laura, please. Don't back me into a corner.”

Alone in the small apartment all week long, he'd had plenty of time to think. For the first time in his life, Steve had had to do his own household chores and the place was a mess. Dirty dishes scattered about, the same unwashed sheets on the bed. There was a mildew smell in the closet and that circle of scum building in the bathroom sink. After lying around watching mindless TV all day, each night he'd gone back to the Bayside Saloon.

Midweek, he'd stopped by the newsroom to pick up his belongings. That prick George had been “in a meeting,” and “couldn't be disturbed.” Kim was packing up her side of the office, too busy with her plans to move to Atlanta that weekend to even have lunch. What a bitch she'd turned out to be. Last night Steve had driven by her place thinking that maybe he could get her to change her mind. Kim hadn't even been home. So where was she? With that “dangerous” boyfriend of hers? The one he was supposed to be so scared of? Well, he wasn't scared. Pissed, yes, but not scared.

That morning, Steve had stopped at the Barnett Bank. No questions asked, he had withdrawn all but $942 from his and Laura's joint savings account — $51,942. Guess she hadn't gotten a lawyer yet. He took the money as cash in hundred dollar bills, placing most of it in a safe deposit box under his name only. Steve and Laura had been one of those rare, lucky couples who never argued over money. They spent what they needed to maintain the household, a little extra for Steve's “television” clothes, and they rarely entertained. Although Laura's income exceeded Steve's, they both
contributed to their combined savings and checking account and wrote checks as needed against the healthy balance.

Laura picked up the phone on the first ring when Steve called the following Friday night. “I'm coming for the kids tomorrow at eight,” he announced, not even giving her a chance to say “hello.”

“No, tomorrow's not your day.”

It always annoyed Steve when Laura used that brazen tone of voice. “You had them last Saturday. Besides, we're going to the beach tomorrow for Dad's birthday.”

“They see plenty of your family. I've made plans. It's only fair. You have them all week.”

“You know our agreement. Alternate Saturdays and Sundays every other weekend. Right?'

“No, not ‘right'. ‘Our agreement' was your decision. Who are you to make ‘our' decisions?”

“Please, Steve, don't give me a hard time. You know it's fair.”

“Not seeing my kids is fair?” Steve knew his voice was rising, but where did she get off sounding so goddamned sanctimonious. He was standing at the kitchen counter and he felt like slamming his fist, but the place was so cluttered with dirty glassware he'd have sliced his hand. So he raked one hand through his hair while gripping the phone with his other. “What I know is that they want to see me more.”

“Of course they want to see you.”

Laura was trying the “let's everybody be reasonable” move now. She was a pro at that one, trying to make him out to be a fool who couldn't do shit.

“We have to give them some sense of structure, some kind of reliable schedule.”

Steve couldn't help grimace at the thought of being excluded by his in-laws. He'd always had a good time with the Whelens. The old man was a sports fan, and Laura's mom had offered him unconditional love. Something his own mother never had. “Okay, you
want ‘structure'? So let's give them structure. Let's all go down to Sarasota together — as a family.”

“That won't work. We all have to adjust to us living separately.”

He didn't have to take this kind of shit. “If you won't agree to have the kids ready, you give me no choice. I'll just call the boys separately. They'll come with me.” Steve knew they would. They loved to fish off the bridges. Maybe he'd even rent a boat. “If you want to take the girls to your mother's, I don't care.”

“Just this once.”

Steve thought he was hearing things. Laura? Backing down?

“I'll switch my on-call schedule. And if you take the boys, you take the girls. They'd be heartbroken if they thought you didn't care. Aren't they going through enough already?”

“Aren't we all?” Steve countered, still congratulating himself on his victory. “You're the one who kicked me out. It's still not too late to do what's right.”

“I am doing what's right. I have an appointment with a lawyer next week.”

“No lawyer, Laura. I mean it.” Steve could feel hot anger implode in his chest. How dare she threaten him? “We don't need a lawyer.”

“I think we do. At least I do.”

Steve looked around at the clutter, the overflowing trash can, the dirty dishes piled in the sink. Hell, he'd married Laura when he was only twenty-one. Before that he'd lived at home. How could he be expected to live by himself? Maybe for a few days, but forever? No, a divorce sounded so final. A divorce was out of the question. The best way to handle Laura was through the kids. She'd never give up those kids, even for an overnight. And they wouldn't give up him. That he knew, especially little Patrick. The kid was only eight years old and already he was complaining about Laura's treatment.

“And another thing,” Steve said to move the conversation to territory he could manipulate. “You gotta stop being so strict with
Patrick. He said you wouldn't let him watch
Starsky and Hutch
last week.”

Laura sighed. “Let's not start using the kids as pawns, okay? It'll only make things worse.”

“Fine for you to say. You're the one making things worse.” Steve slammed down the phone.

Rolling over to turn off Tammy Wynette's “Stand by Your Man” piping through the clock radio at seven the next morning, Laura was surprised to find herself alone in bed. Since Steve had left, she had usually awakened to find that Natalie or Patrick or both had crept in beside her. Pleased that the kids must be doing better, she lingered under the covers until seven forty-five before heading to Mike and Kevin's room. The kids would need a decent breakfast before Steve picked them up. Once she woke them all, she'd make waffles, a favorite weekend treat. The door to the boys' bedroom was open, the two twin beds empty and unmade. She sighed, knowing as usual that she'd have to send them back up to make their beds. Why even try to make them make their room look neat? She wondered what had gotten them up so early; on weekends those two never got up before nine.

Laura crossed the hall to the girls' frilly pink room. Pushing aside the pile of stuffed animals they so loved, she found both canopied beds empty. A few pieces of clothing were scattered about and she stopped to pick them up. It was odd; the girls usually made their beds first thing. Patrick's small cubbyhole room, decorated with Miami Dolphins paraphernalia, was also empty. That was strange. Funny, she couldn't hear the television on downstairs.

“Where is everyone?” she called. But there was not a trace of sound. She called out again, louder. No response.

Had Steve said he was picking them up before eight? She remembered last night's conversation, decidedly unpleasant, but Steve had specified eight o'clock. And what would they do so early anyway? Laura was already anticipating a tough day at the hospital. She'd called a colleague last night for a last minute switch of
schedules and learned she'd be covering for four staff surgeons today on top of other duties. As she wandered downstairs, Laura reviewed her day: rounds on at least thirty post-op patients, admitting any surgical cases that came in through the ER, supervising all emergency operations. And, she recalled, she'd agreed to meet with that attorney, Sam somebody, at Roxanne's insistence, but against her own better judgment.

Laura walked through every room downstairs. No sign of breakfast in the kitchen, no blaring television, no scattered toys. She headed out the front door, scanning up and down the street for any sign of her children or for anything unusual. She did note that the front door was unlocked. Certainly she'd locked it last night, but, of course, Steve had a key.