Until I Saw Your Smile (51 page)

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Authors: J.J. Murray

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“You were amazing,” Matthew whispered.

“I know,” Angela whispered. “I amazed myself.”

“Mr. Filardi, is the defense prepared to present its case?” Judge Pedroia asked.

Filardi didn't move. He didn't seem to be breathing.

“Mr. Filardi?” Judge Pedroia asked.

“The defense requests an adjournment until tomorrow, your honor,” Filardi barely whispered.

“Court is adjourned until nine tomorrow morning,” Judge Pedroia said. He banged his gavel, the courtroom erupted in noise, and reporters streamed quickly toward the exit.

Matthew stood, pulled Angela to her feet, and hugged her. “You did it!”

She kissed him tenderly. “
We
did it. I couldn't have done any of it without your coaching.”

“You did most of it on your own,” Matthew said.

“So I improvised a little,” Angela said. “You do it all the time. Let's go celebrate. I want some pizza, and I'm buying.”

After wading through a massive throng of reporters and cameras, Matthew saying, “No comment” every two steps, he and Angela took the slowest walk in the history of Brooklyn from the courthouse in downtown Brooklyn more than two miles to Mezza Luna on Havemeyer.

“Look at you,” Matthew said. “You're practically dancing as you walk.”

“I have lots of reasons to dance, Mr. McConnell,” she said, smiling in the sunlight. “I'm in the sunlight for the first time in four years.”

While they waited for their pizza at Mezza Luna, Matthew pointed out the “Breaking News” line moving across the bottom of a little TV. “ âBombshell Testimony in Blizzard Rapist Case,' ” he said. “That makes you the bombshell.”

“I dropped a few bombs in there, didn't I?” Angela said.

“You sure did,” Matthew said.

“And not one of them was an F-bomb,” Angela said.

“Because you're a lady,” Matthew said.

“I
can
be,” Angela said.

As a “Breaking News” banner sped across the screen, the scene on the TV shifted from the studio to a bank of microphones on stands in front of the Kings County Supreme Court building.

“Oh look,” Angela said. “Isn't that Filardi?”

“Yes,” Matthew said, “and he's looking green.”

Angela smiled. “Green is
not
his color.”

“Mr. Filardi! Mr. Filardi” several reporters shouted.

“Why did Warrick change his plea to guilty?” a reporter asked.

“We
got
him,” Matthew said. “Yes!”

Only Filardi's eyebrows, forehead, and receding hairline were visible above the microphones. “My client has changed his plea,
not
because of the flimsy evidence against him, but because the media have already convicted him of crimes he could
not
have committed, and I've said all along that my client could
never
get a fair trial in Brooklyn . . .”

“He never said that,” Angela said.

“It's damage control,” Matthew said. “Filardi blew the case so he has to hand out the blame to save face.”

“So,” Angela said, “what do you think Warrick will get?”

Matthew shrugged. “I'm sure Warrick made a deal, but if the judge sticks to the guidelines, he should get a
minimum
of twenty-five years.”

“Sounds good to me,” Angela said.

The second the pizza arrived, Angela tore into a slice, the sauce dripping from the corners of her mouth. “I'm so hungry,” she said.

“I can see that,” Matthew said.

She put her finger on a slice. “You want that slice?”

“No.” He smiled. “It's yours.”

Angela folded it, biting off nearly a third. “We need to go on power walks often. I don't want to get too big.”

“You'll never get too big, Angela,” Matthew said. “In fact, I think you could use a few more pounds.”

She sipped from her Coke. “I hope it's not too cold next March.”

“Yeah.”
She's certainly being random today. It must be the stress.

“You know, we should have had sausage and anchovies on this pizza,” Angela said.

Matthew blinked. “I didn't think you liked sausage or anchovies.”

Angela smiled. “I
know.
But I suddenly
do.
Isn't that amazing?” She picked up, folded, and bit into another slice.

“Yeah, it's amazing.” Matthew started his second slice.

“I like Angel for a name, don't you?” Angela asked. “It's what my mama calls me sometimes. I think it would be the perfect name for our daughter, don't you?”

“I like it,” Matthew said. “But what if we have a son?”

“Oh, I'm pretty sure we'll have a daughter first,” Angela said. “But Angel would be a good name for a boy, too, right?” She sat back and patted her stomach.

“Angela, are you all right?” Matthew asked.

Angela wiped her mouth with a napkin. “No. I'm afraid I've developed another condition.”

Oh no!

She smiled. “This condition has a pretty quick cure, though.”

“What condition?” Matthew asked.

“I'll be healed of this condition in March, Matthew,” Angela said. “I only hope I don't have to close the shop for more than a few days.”

Matthew blinked.
She's eating voraciously, yet she's worried she'll get big. She told me her future daughter's name. She keeps mentioning March, which is about . . . nine months away!
“Angela, are you . . .”

“Due in March? Yes.” She smiled. “We're going to have a baby, Matthew.”

Matthew stumbled out of his chair, helped Angela to her feet, and hugged her. “We're going to have a baby!”

Angela pushed him away and sat. “Hey, I'm not done eating. Get me a slice with anchovies and sausage on it. Oh, and banana peppers and pineapple if they have it.”

Matthew couldn't eat another slice, but he watched Angela eat three more.
There's a little angel named Angel inside her right now. I hope she likes anchovies.

“When did you find out?” Matthew asked.

Angela looked up. “I think I knew a few days ago,” she said. “You thought I was throwing up because I was nervous about the trial. I wasn't nervous about the trial at all. And my period's been late, so . . .” She sipped her Coke. “What do you think?”

“I think it's amazing,” Matthew said.
Well, it is.

“I hope she doesn't come out weighing twenty pounds,” Angela said. “Are you happy?”

Matthew nodded. “I don't know if I've ever been happier.”
Wow. I'm going to be a father. But first I have to be a husband.
“I hope you don't mind if I planned something for later.”

“What are you planning?” Angela asked, grabbing his hand. “I hope it involves whipped cream.”

“I planned a little trip,” Matthew said.

“Where?” Angela asked.

“To visit your parents,” Matthew said.

“To visit . . .” Angela blinked. “That's not a little trip, Matthew.”

“I know,” Matthew said. “Our plane leaves from JFK tomorrow at seven
AM
. I booked the Presidential Suite at Barcelo Punta Cana. Your parents are meeting us there.”

Angela dropped her current slice. “What about the shop?”

“We'll have to close for a week,” Matthew said.

“A
week?
What about my customers?”

“They'll understand,” Matthew said, “and so will you if you let me tell you the rest.
My
parents are already down there.”

Angela squinted. “Why are you parents in the Dominican Republic, Matthew?”

“They'd like us to get married in their presence,” Matthew said.

“If it's okay with you. On the beach at Punta Cana. It's all set up. All we have to do is get there. What do you say?”

Angela smiled. “You're marrying me on the beach?”

“Yeah,” Matthew said. “Outside in the sunlight. Is that okay?”

Angela's eyes filled with tears. “Okay? Of course it's okay.” She leaned across the table and kissed him. “When?”

“We'll arrive at Punta Cana around noon tomorrow, so by three o'clock tomorrow, we'll be married. Unless you want to wait a few days.”

Angela shook her head. “No, tomorrow will be fine.” She squeezed his hand. “You planned all this for me?”

“I planned all this for us,” Matthew said.

Angela rubbed her stomach. “And Angel will be there with us.” She leaped to her feet. “We have to go make a sign for the shop.”

“Okay,” Matthew said. “What will it say?”

A few hours later, the sign was complete. Angela and Matthew stood on the sidewalk looking at their handiwork:
WE ARE ON OUR HONEYMOON
!
SEE YOU ON THE
7
TH
!

“Do you think we should have included the date?” Angela asked. “That might give people some bad ideas.”

“The shop will be fine,” Matthew said. “The good people at the Ninetieth have promised to roll by and check out the shop a couple times a day.”

Angela headed to the door, but Matthew pulled her back, holding her close. “Stay out here in the sunset with me. We have to practice for when we get to the beach. I want to watch all the sunrises and sunsets with you while we're down there.”

“I can't wait to get to the beach,” Angela said. “I wish I could walk on the water in all directions at once.”

I'd love to see that. Walking in all directions at once has to be the greatest freedom imaginable.

She looked into his eyes. “Thank you for freeing me, Matthew.”

“You were always free, Angela.”
Always.

“You provided the key,” she whispered. “You gave me love.”

And you, my sweet, tough woman, turned my love into peace.

Chapter 39

T
he four-year-old girl slid into the middle booth as Christmas music filled the coffee shop. “Daddy,” she said, her big brown eyes and tan-as-sand skin shining, “why do you sit way back here?

You can see the snow
much
better from the big window.”

“I have a nicer view from here, Angel.” Matthew winked at the love of his life serving coffee at the counter, as the line of customers snaked around tables all the way to the door.

“Isn't the snow pretty, Mommy?” Angel asked.

“It's beautiful, Angel,” Angela said.

“Can I go play in it?” Angel asked. “
Please?
”

“We'll all go out and play in it later,” Angela said, ringing up another order. “We'll make snow angels and build a snow family on the sidewalk.”

“When?” Angel asked.

“Tonight after we close,” Angela said.

“Oh, I think we can go out as soon as I finish my breakfast.” Matthew ate his third apple turnover. “And now I have finished my breakfast. Go get your coat.”

Angel scooted to the kitchen.

Matthew peered through the backward letters of Smith's Sweet Treats and Coffee Shop at the faded “For Sale or Lease” sign on the empty red and yellow building across the street, its taped-up front window disappearing as the snow thickened.

He smiled at Angela, the woman who smelled like coffee, pastries, and lemons. “Should we put the baby in the snowwoman's arms or let him stand alone?”

Angela rubbed her stomach. “At the rate he's growing, he's going to be born standing up.” She helped Angel with her coat and hat. “I wouldn't be surprised if he came out of me and started running.”

Matthew left the booth as Angel scampered to the front door.

“Come on, Daddy!” she cried.

“One sec,” Matthew said. He approached Angela and kissed her. Then he knelt in front of her. “Matthew Mark Junior, I have so many stories to tell you about women, and I pray that one day you will find yourself a woman who will give you the kind of love that sets you free.”

Postscript

As you have probably noticed, I am not an expert in the law, so I offer my deepest apologies to purists of that noble profession.

I grew up watching
Perry Mason, Night Court, Matlock, Ally McBeal, and L.A. Law,
and now I enjoy
Harry's Law
and
Law & Order
and all its many acronyms. Any mistakes I've made in courtroom procedures and various points of the law are entirely my own. I doubt any judge would have allowed much of Angela's testimony, no matter how dramatic or entertaining it may have been.

It was, however, an
extremely
enjoyable scene to write.

KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by

Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018

Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

ISBN: 978-0-7582-7728-2

eISBN-13: 978-0-7582-7730-5
eISBN-10: 0-7582-7730-X
First Kensington Electronic Edition: June 2014