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Authors: Elizabeth Marx

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Binding Arbitration (9 page)

BOOK: Binding Arbitration
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I arrived under the shelter of the giant oaks at the sprawling gate, where Big Al, the handy man, met me. “It’s been too long. Your dad’s out on the back patio, I think.” He took off his Cubs hat and scratched his head. “Do what you can with that face before she sees it.”

“I already did something with it.”

His laughter went deep into his chest where it rumbled around. “What’s the other guy looking like?”

“That’s the problem. It wasn’t a guy.”

Big Al rubbed his chin, before nodding me through.

When I reached the front door, I rang the bell and after several moments, my father swung the door open. He stood at the threshold in starched boxers and a crisp ruffled apron. His chest hair stood out around the edges, making him look like some butler in a BBC comedy show. He searched the veranda. “I was expecting your mother.”

“If you thought it was Mother, why didn’t you answer the door?” I stepped into the front hall.

“Umm... I’m the butler.”

“I don’t think protocol allows for answering the door in boxers, Jeeves.”

“What’s with the bruising and scratching?” He examined both sides of my face, before we continued to the kitchen.

As I was about to respond, my mother flew in through the back door. She had on a transparent top which revealed a white lacy bra Victoria’s Secret couldn’t have made any sexier. A short black skirt stood out around her waist with about twenty rows of ruffles under it, and fishnet stockings stopped just above her knees with red ribbon laced through the tops and tied in a bow. She was teetering in six inch, red stilettos. I couldn’t pull my eyes away fast enough.

A flush leapt across her cheeks but she recovered quickly, smiling in my direction, then glaring at my father in turn.

“Son, this is Frenchie. I just promoted her to downstairs maid.” He elbowed me in the ribs like one of the guys in the locker room, eyebrows working up and down in conquest.

“Aidan, your visit is so unexpected.” Her flush pooled in her cheeks before creeping down her neck.

“I guess you would say so.” I looked back at my father. “So this is what you took early retirement for.”

“Among other things.” He winked at my mother. “Then, of course, there’s golf.”

“Michael Banford Palowski,” She nervously played with the ruffles on her matching apron. “You couldn’t have called me, and warned me he was coming?”

“I didn’t know he was coming until he came, Frenchie.”

“You stop the double entendres.” She stepped toward me.

“This is serious, look at his face! What happened?”

“If you think I’m having this conversation with Frenchie and Jeeves, you’re both crazy.” I backed away, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. “I’m going out onto the patio and I want you both appropriately dressed.”

Heading for the French doors, I heard my father say, “Yes, let’s go slip into something more comfortable, Frenchie.”

My mother yelped. “Michael, when you and I are alone, I’m going to make you pay for this.”

“You listen to me, Frenchie, when we’re alone next, you’ll be smiling from crown to stilettos.”

I heard their bedroom door slam shut. I barely made it to a chair. I threw my head back taking in the clear blue sky. Thank goodness I didn’t show up ten minutes later, or I might have found Frenchie riding the Eiffel Tower.

My dad reappeared wearing chinos, a white linen shirt, and sandals. He had an opened bottle of wine and handed me a glass.

I took a swig of wine. “Great timing runs in the family.”

My mother appeared, wearing a sundress with an embroidered cardigan sweater tied around her shoulders. My father and I both looked at her and burst out laughing.

“What?” she asked.

My father grabbed the little red crown that she had neglected to remove from her hair, placed it on the table and slid the third glass of wine toward her.

Dad spoke up, “Why don’t you start by telling us what happened to your face?”

I squared my shoulders “I broke off my engagement today.”

“Thank heavens.” My mother drew in an audible swig of wine. “I told you he’d figure it out on his own. Aren’t you glad we didn’t butt in? Aidan wouldn’t make that kind of a mistake.”

“Why don’t we let him talk, before we decide?”

I rubbed my hand across my temples, gathering my thoughts. “Dad’s right. I did come to tell you about Vanessa. But that’s not even close to all of it and not nearly as important as what else I have to say.”

“It can’t be all that bad.” Frenchie gulped wine.

“Dammit, Kat, let the boy speak.”

I swallowed down the lump in my throat. “I have a son.”

Their eyes were huge. “Where? When?”

“It happened in college.” I swirled the wine in my glass wishing it was alphabet soup with words. “I met a local girl in Bloomington. She was so beautiful. She still is. We formed an odd friendship, which was all she wanted, and of course I had a girlfriend. Things changed, and I wanted more, but when that didn’t happen I was determined to forget her, even though it felt like I lost my best friend. I wanted to be with her. That was the summer I went back early to IU to condition for football. I wasn’t all that interested in football, but it got me closer to her.”

“Who is she?” My mother asked.

“Elizabeth. Libby.”

“I don’t remember a Libby.” Mon interrupted.

That’s because I didn’t talk about her, but I thought about her. Constantly.

“I was able to stay away from her for two days before I broke down and went to go see her at the Waffle House. Our friendship resumed most of the fall, but occasionally I would slip up and hit on her. She resisted me, making it all the more challenging.”

Neither of my parents spoke, but my mother’s hand was permanently pressed to her chest.

“I came home for Christmas break. I lasted a couple of days before I drove back to school.”

“I remember that,” mom whispered.

“I found her that night in a bar with her friends. We had both been drinking, one thing led to another. It was the first time in months I slept in peace. And it wasn’t because of the alcohol, I was ecstatic that I’d finally claimed her.”

“Why didn’t you introduce us?” my father asked.

“Honestly, I was afraid that I couldn’t hide what I felt for her from Mom. It didn’t matter anyway. She told me that the whole thing was a big mistake, and she couldn’t see me again. I begged her to give me another chance but she refused to listen.

“One day, I found her behind the Waffle House, where she worked, retching. I tried to help her, but she told me I’d done enough. I didn’t understand what she meant, but then she told me she was pregnant. It was February, and I knew I was going to be called to triple A as soon as I graduated. I wasn’t thinking straight, I told her to get rid of the baby.”

“Oh, Aidan why would you do that?” My mother paled.

“I thought about the majors, about your disappointment in me. But mostly I thought I couldn’t concentrate on baseball, if I had a screaming infant and a wife at home. Libby was enough of a distraction. I didn’t think I could take more.

“I thought I’d convinced her. I made an appointment, but she never showed. When I went looking for her, everyone said she moved back home and they refused to tell me where that was.

“I didn’t see her again until graduation day. I thought she was a smart cutter with aspirations to get out of southern Indiana, but she graduated
summa cum laude
. I watched her walk down the aisle alongside me, five months pregnant, with her head held high.”

“Son, why didn’t you go after her then?” My father asked.

“I was so torn up inside I didn’t know what to do, I was ticked she’d hidden from me right under my nose. I was mad that she didn’t need me. I was angry that she was still more beautiful than any woman I’d ever seen. But I ignored her, the only person who I’d ever cared about more than myself.

I looked up at my mother, who was crying. “I saw her. There was something about her. She was standing across the street under an oak tree in a yellow, old-fashioned dress. I remember thinking she looked lost. I couldn’t imagine why a pregnant girl was all alone on her graduation day. Oh my God, after all these years, when I think of your graduation, I remember how beautifully sweet she was.” She put her hand over her mouth.

“A few weeks after I started in the majors, I received papers asking me to forfeit my parental rights.”

“Aidan,” my father said, his lips thinned to a line.

“Baseball was my passion, but that day, it lost some of its luster. It was the first time I considered what its achievement might cost.

“I figured Libby was going to give the kid away. I signed the papers and sent them back. I never confided in anyone about it, except for David.” I burned my copies of the papers, but I can still taste the ash in my mouth. “I tried to forget. Sometimes, I think I have, but over the years it hasn’t hurt less.

“Yesterday, Libby asked me to meet her.” I put the snapshot on the table. “She kept the baby, a boy. His name is Cass. He needs a bone marrow transplant.”

“Have you seen him?” Dad asked as he eyed the photo on the table, but refused to reach for it.

“Not yet, but I intend to. I don’t know how long it will take before the media catches the story, but I wanted you to hear the truth from me.” There was a solemn silence for a full three minutes before my mother spoke.

“What’s wrong with him?” My mother asked looking away from my father’s ashen expression.

“Leukemia.”

“We could be tested, too,” my mother said.

“The donor pool comes from parents or siblings.”

“Son, I don’t mean to sound crude, but are you sure he’s your son?” my father asked.

My mother picked up the photo. “He looks just like Aidan when he was boy.” She passed it to my father who hesitated before taking it. “He looks like Andy, too. He’s beautiful. But why didn’t she come ask you for help all these years?”

“She didn’t want my help. Didn’t need it either. She’s a big-time attorney in Chicago.”

My mother and father exchanged glances.

“I should’ve found them, made sure Libby was okay and that the baby was in a good home, but I was just a little boy with a bat and a ball and a game to play.”

“You’re entitled to more than just a game,” Mom said.

I looked both my parents in the eye. “I didn’t behave the way you expected me to. The longer I let it go, the heavier it hung over me. It’s the only thing I’ve been ashamed of.”

My father clapped my shoulder. “Every decision has costs, every action consequences, but inaction often leads to remorse.”

“I am going to set this right with her. I want to know him. It’s not right for a boy not to have a father. But until I can get this sorted out, I need you to learn two simple words. ‘No comment.’”

My father hesitated searching my mother’s face.

She nodded to him silently.

“I’m not going to tell you what to do because you’re a grown man, and you know right from wrong. I’ve made mistakes in my life, too. Things that hurt your mother, things that were hard to forgive, but that forgiveness started when I told her I loved her. Maybe you should start there, too.”

I looked up from my hands. “It’s not about love, Dad.”

“It’s always about love: love of the game, love of self, love of a woman.” He shook his head. “Start with I’m sorry. It’s the best advice I can offer. If you’re lucky, maybe she’ll forgive you someday.”

I willed my mother to tell me what mistakes my father referred to, but she looked me squarely in the eyes before saying, “No comment.”

I looked at the ump in my mind’s eye. He straightened his bow tie, further ignoring me by practicing the hand signals that secured his induction into the Hall of Fame. I prodded him with an elbow, he looked up and smiled through his mask.
No comment, kid, no comment.

 

8

DISCOVERY

Discovery: the methods used by parties to a civil or criminal action to obtain information held by the other party that is relevant to the action

Elizabeth

The cars and pedestrian traffic raced past me with clamoring horns, hurried conversations, and hectic footsteps traversing the Magnificent Mile. I dragged myself over the Chicago River, admiring the Parisian inspired bridge houses and reminded myself it wasn’t as if I was headed for the guillotine.

The twinkle-lights adorning the leafless trees danced on the evening breeze. Every store along the way displayed the latest fall fashions. People walked quickly here in the city, eager to reach their Friday evening destinations. Occasionally, you’d see people with Chicago guidebooks looking completely lost; they would stare up the length of a sky scraper, as if the answer to their logistics problems were at the top. I’d climbed to the top of these buildings through education and hard work, but was that going to be enough to save my son from the precipice on which he was teetering?

The fresh air helped clear my head and strengthen my resolve not to lose my temper. The opposition wouldn’t have called for a meeting, if they weren’t willing to offer some kind of concession. But I couldn’t help feeling like a chicken with her neck stretched across the chopping block, the edge of the shiny blade perched at my jugular.

Aidan had acquiesced to supplying a blood sample. I prayed with equal measure that he’d be a match and that I’d find another anonymous one. I was running out of options as quickly as Cass was running out of time.

I reached the Omni and was relieved; my new red patent leather heels weren’t broken in for walking that far, and my feet were throbbing. I glanced at my watch, as the bellman opened the door and ushered me in on the tip of his hat.

The 737 restaurant was in the corner of the building, with floor to ceiling windows overlooking Michigan Avenue. The modern interior was layered with mahogany accents and a neutral décor. The marble bar top was a sharp counterpoint to the lighted glass liquor shelves stacked a story high behind it. I ordered a glass of Shiraz and enjoyed the view, perched at a high-top table.

I felt the presence of someone and looked up to see a tall man pulling out the stool next to me. He was in his mid-thirties, in a tailored to perfection Brook's Brothers suit.

BOOK: Binding Arbitration
13.07Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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