The Good Nearby Page 30

  When Matt Breezley had called her yesterday, saying one of her clients had been arrested, she’d been of no mind to handle it. But today, with Sarah awake and better . . .

  She sat at the desk in the kitchen, got out her address book, and called Matt at home. He’d be able to give her an update.

  Matt answered after the second ring. “Matt, Gennifer here. About my client . . . just checking in.”

  “How’s your daughter?”

  “She’s much, much better. Thanks. That’s why I’m call—”

  “Don’t worry about work, Gennifer. I got it handled. Cory Roberts has already met with Mr. Lamborn and—”

  “Lamborn? Mick Lamborn?”

  “Your client. He was arrested yesterday for assault and—”

  Gennifer stood up. “He was arrested for assaulting my daughter!”

  “No . . .”

  Was that all he could say? “We can’t defend him! He nearly killed Sarah.”

  “It’s too late,” Matt said. “Cory’s got it handled. He appears before the judge tomorrow and—”

  “You’re not listening to me, Matt. The firm cannot represent him. He’s scum. He’s a repulsive person. He’s evil.”

  “He was your client, Gennifer.”

  The knife Matt had just thrust collapsed her breathing.

  “I know this is odd, Gennifer. It’s downright bizarre. But the point is, he was your client and he asked for you. We handled it. Bottom line? The man deserves a defense.”

  “He deserves nothing. He deserves to die.”

  “I know you’re upset. And I understand why you feel this way, but—”

  “I can’t do this anymore.”

  “You don’t have to see him, Gennifer. Cory will handle it.”

  “I quit.”

  Dead air hung between them. Gennifer was as shocked by her words as Matt must have been. Just to make sure she’d said them, she repeated them. “I quit. I resign.”

  “You’re upset. I under—”

  “I’m more than upset. I’m disgusted—at myself more than anyone. And I’m tired, Matt. I’m sick and tired of defending guilty people.”

  “Guilty people need defending, to make sure they get a fair—”

  She laughed sarcastically. “Fair? What we do is fair? We go out of our way to win, to find loopholes, and then we congratulate each other when we get our clients off on a technicality, when we should be sharpening the key to lock them up, away from the society and the rules they abuse.”

  “You sound like a prosecutor.”

  Then it hit her. The next logical step. A step she had never even considered before, yet one that seemed perfect and good and right.

  “Thank you for the career advice, Matt. You’re absolutely right. I’ll call the DA’s office tomorrow morning, first thing.”

  “Don’t be crazy, Gennifer. You’re nearly a partner. At the DA’s office you’ll only make a pittance compared to what you make now.”

  “Do no harm,” she said.

  “That’s a doctor’s motto.”

  So it is. “Well, now it’s mine.”

  She hung up and sat immobile. What have I done?

  Suddenly, she heard slow and steady clapping. She turned and saw Douglas standing in the doorway. “Bravo!” he said.

  “I quit my job.”

  “Good for you.”

  “Really?”

  He hugged her and whispered into her ear, “I’m very proud of you.”

  His words helped. They helped a little. But still . . .

  What had she done?

  * * *

  The anniversary brunch for the Thompson family was to be in the Gardenia Ballroom—the small ballroom—tomorrow. Before heading there to check on the table setup, Talia stopped by her office to get the two posters she’d had made to put on easels that would direct the guests from the lobby to the celebration.

  As it was Sunday and her office was officially closed, she had to use her key. She found the posters behind the door and gave them one final proofing: Bennie and Margery Thompson: 50th Anniversary Brunch.

  The wife’s name leaped out at her, leading her thoughts back to the Margery she’d left at home. Taking care of her family. Her stomach tugged. Again.

  Talia shrugged it off as an overreaction, locked up the office, and headed to the ballroom.

  The room was abuzz with men setting chairs around tables, and women employees setting the lavender tablecloths with the hotel’s silver-trimmed bone china. The silver with the lavender was an attractive combination.

  Missing were the centerpieces. Being a brunch, they needed to be delivered by this evening.

  Talia started flipping pages on her clipboard to get the phone number for the florist, when a woman appeared, pushing a cart of floral arrangements.

  “Just in time,” Talia said.

  “Sorry,” the woman said. “We’re running late.” She let go of the cart, stood erect, and extended her hand. “Hi, I’m Margery, from Candlelight Florists.”

  Margery?

  Talia discovered that upon hearing the woman’s name, she’d withdrawn her own hand. With effort she extended it again and made the proper greetings.

  “How do you like the arrangements?” Margery asked.

  A single carnation in a cheap vase would have elicited a compliment from Talia. Fortunately for the Thompsons, the centerpieces were lush and lovely. “You did a great job,” Talia managed. “Go ahead and set them.”

  Two Margerys in the span of ten minutes. If that wasn’t a nudge, Talia didn’t know what was.

  She had to get home. As soon as possible.

  * * *

  Margery was sad to leave. After dinner, Nesto had suggested they play Scrabble. He couldn’t believe she’d never played before. So they’d played two games—and Margery had even won one with the word quieted. They’d laughed when Nesto had tried to use Portuguese words. She loved hearing another language. She’d taken Spanish one year in high school, but couldn’t remember anything much beyond, “Hola! Mi nombre es Paco.” She admired people who could speak more than one language. Nesto even taught her how to say, “I won the game” in Portuguese: Eu ganhei o jogo.

  “It’s sleeting out there,” Talia said, shaking off her coat before hanging it up.

  “Be careful,” Nesto said.

  Margery put on her coat and glanced out the window toward a streetlight. Diagonal slits of rain were coming down hard. She shivered. To leave this warm and cozy place . . . at least she wasn’t sleeping in her car anymore.

  Nesto stood to see her out. “Thanks for the games,” he said.

  Margery smiled. “Eu ganhei o jogo.”

  He laughed and held up one finger. “Somente um jogo. Just one game. I won the other one. This session is tied. We’ll play again.”

  “You’re on.” She opened the door. “Night.”

  Suddenly—or as suddenly as Nesto could move—he came toward her with arms wide.

  Margery accepted his hug.

  He pulled back. “Good-bye, Margery. Deus seja com você. God be with you.”

  Amen.

  * * *

  Talia waited until Nesto returned to his recliner. When he was settled, she pounced. “What was all that about?”

  “What?”

  “The hug, the Portuguese, sharing what were obviously inside jokes?” She pointed to the Scrabble board on a TV tray. “Since when do you play Scrabble?”

  “I’m tired of TV.”

  “You should be in bed.”

  “I was having fun.”

  “I don’t think I’m going to have Margery come anymore,” she said.

  “Why not?”

  “You heard my mother talk about what happened to Sarah. Margery’s husband is guilty. He was arrested. He’s been arrested before.”

  “That’s not Margery.”

  “Close enough.”

  Nesto shook his head. “She’s sweet.” He put a hand on his heart. “She has a good heart. I like her.”
>
  “Obviously.”

  Nesto looked at her, confused.

  Talia picked up a stuffed bear with blue ears. “I saw how chummy you two have become. It makes me think . . . I mean . . . are you two . . . ?”

  She knew it was a stupid—if not a horrible—question, but since it had slipped out she wanted him to answer. To deny everything. To make her feel better. Wanted. Needed. Desired even.

  Talia was glad Nesto took the effort to stand and come to her. Considering he’d left his perch to hug Margery, it was the least he could do.

  He pulled her into his arms. “I love you, Talia. Margery is like a little sister. A friend. She needs a friend.”

  The feel of his arms pressing her close made all the doubts of the day fade away. She leaned her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. “Sorry. I’m just tired. So very, very tired.”

  They stood a moment, swaying just a little, two becoming one. Talia was willing to stay there a long, long time. She missed feeling close to him. Truly close.

  Then Nesto pulled back and lifted her chin with a finger. “I know how to make everything better. Want a cookie?”

  That was not what she had in mind.

  Nesto pulled her toward the kitchen. “Margery made them.”

  Talia couldn’t win.

  * * *

  The evening spent babysitting at the Sozas’ had been the perfect end to a great day. How come some days seemed so full, while others sped past as if they were empty? All days did not contain twenty-four hours.

  She smiled as she drove toward Gladys’s. This had definitely been a thirty-six-hour, twenty-four-hour day. The odd thing was that it had become extraordinary because of one decision. When she’d gotten up this morning she hadn’t planned to go to church. Neither had Gladys. Yet because King had called, because Gladys had let herself be talked into it . . .

  Margery’s life had changed. Forever. It truly was a God thing.

  The sleet pinged against the windshield. She turned the wipers on high just in time to see—

  A car coming fast on her right.

  Braking.

  Sliding.

  A tree! No! Not a tree!

  She turned the wheel but had no control.

  No, no! Yes! I’m going to hit. I’m—

  Pain.

  Then nothing.

  21

  Even when I walk through the darkest valley,

  I will not be afraid, for you are close beside me.

  Your rod and your staff protect and comfort me.

  PSALM 23:4

  Graduating high school, getting married, and having a baby in one year was a lot to handle. Most people would’ve spread it out a bit. But I didn’t mind all of it happening together. Not when the year was 1996. That made it perfect and put a sparkle star on each and every event. As if God wanted it that way.

  Mick wanted to wait to get married until we graduated, so it was planned for the day after. Nothing fancy. Mama said we didn’t need any rigmarole, so I wore the graduation dress that I’d found on sale at Penney’s for 70 percent off and got a bouquet at the grocery store. The ladies at the store were real nice, and put a red ribbon around it to match my dress. I baked a cake and bought a tube of red frosting so I could make curlicues around the top. I tried making some flowers, but they didn’t work. I wrote Mick and Margery and made the outline of a heart. It was pretty. I also got some Hawaiian punch and pretty, matching paper plates, cups, and napkins.

  Neither Mick nor I belonged to a church, so we got married at the courthouse. I wished I’d kept going to Susie’s church, but I’d never been back since her funeral. Mama was supposed to be at the wedding, but she didn’t show up. Mick’s mom was there. And Suzy from school came but she didn’t stay for cake. Her family was in town for her graduation so she had stuff to do.

  But big or little, it worked, and we were married. Me, a married woman, just like Grammy and I had dreamed. Mrs. Mick Lamborn.

  An hour later, Mick pulled us into the parking lot of the Wonder-Fall Inn. Mick said they had a pool, a hot tub, and free food and drinks during happy hour. That sounded good. I just wanted to relax. The baby was due in seven weeks and it was moving around a lot, like it was excited too.

  When we got our room key, Mick opened the door, but I didn’t go in. I wanted him to carry me over the threshold like I’d seen them do in the movies.

  “Don’t be dumb, Marg. With the baby you’re heavy.”

  He was right so I followed him inside, but he got the suitcases. The room was kind of pretty with a framed picture of a mountain above the bed. I went to the window. “Look, Mick! A balcony.” I opened the door and went out. There were two white plastic chairs. I turned back to Mick. “Want to go swimming?”

  Mick didn’t hear me because he was on the bed, flipping through channels. I had to go back inside and ask again. “Want to go swimming?”

  “They have HBO,” he said.

  “Swimming?”

  He looked at me, his eyes scanning my belly. “What are you going to wear?”

  I’d gotten a maternity swimsuit at the Nearly New Shop. “A swimsuit.”

  Mick’s lip curled. “In public?”

  My heart skipped. “Pregnant women wear swimsuits, Mick. All the time. Demi Moore even went naked on a magazine cover a few years ago. She looked beautiful.”

  “You’re not her.”

  He might as well have slugged me in the stomach. I sank to the edge of the bed.

  Mick popped to his feet. “Now, don’t go getting all moody on me. Just because I made a little comment about you not being as pretty as some movie star.”

  He was right. I was being too sensitive. Nobody was as pretty as Demi Moore, and I had gained a lot of weight with the pregnancy. If Mick wasn’t in the mood to be romantic on our honeymoon, I had only myself to blame. He’d wanted to wait until after the baby was born to be married. I was the one who’d insisted we do it first—so the baby had a proper last name. I should have been glad he’d agreed to marry me in the first place. He wouldn’t have had to. So sometimes, it did seem like he really, really loved me.

  But other times . . .

  Mick went in the bathroom and I started to unpack. I’d splurged on a fancy baby blue nightie with lace around the neckline and hem.

  I heard the toilet flush and Mick came out.

  I held the nightie in front of me. “Do you like it?”

  He blinked once, then reached for the remote, turning the TV off. “How about some dinner?”

  * * *

  The restaurant was full so we put our name in. Mick wanted to wait in the bar. The stools were a little uncomfortable, but I liked the low lighting and the rows of glasses and decorative bottles.

  “Two beers,” Mick told the bartender.

  “Can I see some ID, please?”

  Mick flashed him a look. “Don’t give me a hard time. We’re on our honeymoon.”

  The bartender’s eyes skirted over my belly.

  Mick pointed a finger at him. “Don’t.”

  “I still need to see IDs.”

  “Just give me and the lady a beer, okay?”

  The bartender calmly wiped the inside of a glass with a towel. “She’s pregnant. She shouldn’t be drinking.” He nodded toward a sign on the wall that warned against drinking during pregnancy.

  I put my hand on Mick’s arm. “Come on. Let’s go wait in the other room.”

  “No!” He shoved my hand away, but in doing so, made me lose my balance.

  I tried to catch myself, but the heel of my shoe got hooked in the rung of the stool. It toppled and I ended up on the floor.

  Belly first.

  A second after the pain, I thought, The baby!

  Mick was at my side, yelling at the bartender. The bartender yelled for a doctor. People gathered round.

  I rolled to my side. Mick took my hand. “You’ll be okay. You’ll be okay.”

  But the pain of the contraction told me different.

  * * *
>
  “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Lamborn,” the doctor said. “Your daughter died a few minutes ago.”

  Daughter? The sedative made everything hazy. Dreamy. I hoped it was all a dream . . . the ambulance, the spinning lights, the gurney. The doctors in masks. The kind eyes.

  The pain. Oh, the pain.

  But no baby’s cry. No happy, “It’s a girl!”

  The baby had been born and they’d stolen her away, leaving me behind. “Mick? Where’s the baby? Mick? What’s happening?”

  Mick held my hand, but he had no answers. His eyes were panicked and sad.

  The doctor patted my hand. “She was born too early. Her lungs weren’t well enough formed. I’m so, so sorry.”

  Born too early. Born to die.

  No! Not her. Not her. She was born, then died. . . .

  And it’s 1996. It’s supposed to be a good year! This can’t be happening.

  I’d never seen Mick cry. I didn’t like it. He was the strong one. He couldn’t cry.

  “I’m so sorry, Marg. So sorry.”

  I turned my face away from him. Sorry wasn’t enough. Sorry wouldn’t bring our daughter back.

  “We can have another baby,” he said.

  Though I knew that was true, I didn’t want to hear it. Only time would take care of the ache that carved me out inside. Only time would let me see beyond the pain of now and think about any kind of tomorrow.

  Suddenly, Mick dipped his head against my hand. He began to sob.

  He needs me.

  How odd.

  And yet the idea absorbed a bit of the ache and gave me strength. Mick needed me. We were man and wife. And though it would take a while to mourn our daughter, we could have another baby.

  There was plenty of time for that.

  Everything would be all right. We had the rest of our lives ahead of us.

  22

  Oh, how great are God’s riches and wisdom and knowledge!

  How impossible it is for us to understand his decisions and his ways!

  ROMANS 11:33

  “King, Margery’s not home yet.” Gladys heard a shuffling and jumbling of the phone and imagined King sitting up in bed. She gave him a moment to collect himself. But only a moment.

  “What time is it?”

  “Twelve twenty—AM.”

  “And she’s not home?”

  Gladys tried to be patient. “That’s what I said. I’ve been waiting up, but I fell asleep. I just woke up and she still isn’t here.”