Escape (39 page)

“This is fine.” I took a breath and, holding the cold pack, slowly straightened. I was still vaguely light-headed, but it didn’t get worse, and when I looked at James, I saw that his eyes were heavy-lidded but open. Passing the ice to the nurse, I put my arms over the bed rails and held his hand.

Shortly after seven Wednesday morning, he was wheeled to his own room, and once the nurses had settled him and left, I climbed carefully onto the bed with him and fell asleep.

When I woke up, my parents were there. My mother was on her feet and beside the bed in an instant. “Hey,” she whispered with a teary smile.

I looked quickly from James to the heart monitor to the IV. The nurses had to have been checking, but I hadn’t heard a thing. Everything looked right. He continued to sleep, but his fingers were holding mine now, rather than being held. Here was my sign.

Reassured, taking care not to disturb him, I levered myself up. “How’d you guys know to come here?”

“You’re all over the news,” Mom scolded softly, “and we were absolutely not staying away. I know you wanted your space, but this isn’t a time for people who love you to give you space.” Mocking emphasis on those three words. “Once we had a look at James, we called his folks to tell them he was okay.”

“They are not happy with this,” Dad said, coming alongside her with a very large frown.

“They were worried, your father means. That must have been one awful scary time for you.”

“For James,” I said. I sat sideways, keeping my hand in his. “I was outside the whole time.”

“What was he doing in that house?” Dad asked. “Why not the cops? It was their job.”

“Roger, hush.”

“I’m just trying to make sense of it, Claire. There are too many pieces here that we just don’t know. Aren’t
you
concerned? Emily looks like she’s been through the wringer.”

“
Roger. Please
. First things first.” Mom moved my hair back from my face. “How are you feeling?”

I seesawed my free hand. My stomach was iffy.

“Roger, we need something to eat. There’s a coffee shop downstairs. Make yourself useful.”

James’s lids moved. I leaned closer. “James?” With some effort, he opened his eyes. “Hey,” I said softly.

His smile was lopsided.

“How do you feel?”

“Thirsty,” he croaked. I held water while he sipped from a straw, but even when he let it go, his voice was raspy. “What happened?”

“Jude broke in—”

“After. Did they get the guy?”

“Yes.” I told him what I knew, but Dad knew more. He had made himself useful in this, at least, pulling the strings that he had as a prosecutor in Maine.

“I talked with the state police. He’s being held in Concord on kidnapping charges. His real name is Anton Ellway. The gun was registered to him. Why in the hell were you two there?”

I held off the question with a hand. “Is he talking?”

“Not yet. He’s waiting for his lawyer. They said his being at Lee Cray’s house is part of a larger case. What larger case?”

“Who’s the lawyer?” James whispered.

“I don’t know.”

“Can you get the name, Dad?” I asked. “It’s important for Lee’s case.”

“
What
case?”

I was suddenly too tired, too nauseous to say. Stretching out on my back beside James, I closed my eyes and focused on breathing.

I heard Mom’s voice. “They’ll tell us later, Roger. Right now, I
need you to go to the coffee shop. Buy us something sweet, like a coffee roll, and maybe some of those cheese-and-cracker things.” I heard corridor sounds, muted only when the door closed again. Mom’s hand was light on my head. I opened my eyes to excited eyes and a smug smile.

“You. Are. Pregnant. Don’t try to deny it, your face is different, and it has nothing to do with whatever happened in that house. I won’t tell anyone, certainly not your father, who is driving me
crazy
with his talk of safety and responsibility and”—she imitated his growl—“doing your own job and not someone else’s.” Her voice danced again. “How far are you?”

I glanced at James, whose smile was crooked, though possibly from the pain pump? I chose to believe not.

“March, I think. I haven’t been to the doctor yet—and don’t go ballistic on me for that, Mom, there’s no need for me to go yet. I take this very seriously, I know what I feel, it’s my body, my baby—”

“Shh. I never went to the doctor until seven or eight weeks, and you and your sister were born just fine.”

“Dad will see it as one more lapse of responsibility.”

“Dad is having trouble letting go.”

“I’m thirty-two.”

“And about to be a mother.” My mother beamed, before asking archly, “Are
you
telling him right now? Because I certainly am not. You’re right. It’s your baby, your body. It’s your life. If he can’t see it the way I do, that’s too bad for him. You’ll tell him when you’re ready and not a minute before.”

She actually sent Dad home. He didn’t much like that, especially since he hadn’t gotten the answers he wanted, but she was firm in our defense, arguing that James was groggy, I was exhausted, and hospitals were her thing. Once he left, she was in her element, pampering us in ways I
so
welcomed that it scared me. I might be thirty-two and
expecting my own child, but I loved having my mother there. She befriended the hospital staff, ensuring James attention. She brought us water, Jell-O, and toast. Taking our car, she shuttled to and from Bell Valley for my laptop so that James could skype his parents, for clothes so that I could change, and for Vicki Bell, who brought chocolates from Amelia and a huge vase of green hydrangeas from the inn.

Lee sent enough baked goods to feed every nurse on the floor, not that we needed raisin nutmeg scones or even Mom to draw attention to James. His heroism had preceded him. Add good looks and blue eyes, which were well open by Thursday, and the staff was checking in on him all the time. Once they had him up and walking, he cut back on pain meds. I could see him wince when he moved, but he wanted to be clearheaded.

That served him on two fronts, first with the police, who came by to question him about what he had seen, done, and heard in the house. I was his lawyer, prepared to filter his words, though it turned out that wasn’t necessary. He was amazingly coherent, given what he’d been through.

Likewise Thursday afternoon, when we talked with Sean. I was propped on the pillows beside James, our ears sharing the phone as we listened to the news.

“I hate it when the media shows up,” Sean said. “It’s hard to get an unbiased jury when the whole world watches a crime unfold. But it worked for us here. Your gunman wanted to make a statement. You told the police, the police told the media, the media told their viewers. One of those viewers didn’t want a statement made. Normally he’d work through channels, but he panicked, figuring there just wasn’t enough time. So he called your guy directly.”

James smiled. “Albert Meeme.”

“The call came from his phone. The cops are talking with him now. He’ll try to shift the blame, but he’s done that once too often. This time, the charges are too serious and there are too many people involved. Rocco Fleming wants to talk. Duane Cray wants to talk.
And the other brother? Here’s the best part. He claims not to have known his brother was working with Meeme. He’s taking the trust fund to another firm, and he wants to make a settlement with Lee.”

“Yessss,” I whispered, and though Sean went on, I was too elated to hear. When my dad walked in, I jumped off the bed.

“Important call?” he asked. He knew the basics of the case by now, and though he was marginally appeased, there remained an unsettled something between us. He was so familiar to me, with his plaid shirt and bald head, that the unsettled something hurt.

But here was good news to share. Excited, I held his hand and told him what Sean had said. He was nodding by the time I was done.

“This is good.” He spoke levelly. “I’m glad you were able to help her. It makes the deviation worthwhile.”

“Deviation,” I repeated, thinking,
There it is
,
so fast
,
the unsettled something
. “It’s a little more than that, Dad. We’ve actually been able to help someone.
You
know how good that feels. You do it in your work all the time, but James and I don’t.”

“That’s the trade-off. You’re in New York. The prestige alone makes up for warm and fuzzy.”

“Uh. I don’t think so.”

He ran a hand over his scalp. “You’re still on that? I thought a good rest would do it.”

“It did,” I said with determination. “It’s made me realize that I was right to leave. I’m done with Lane Lavash, Dad. I resigned.”

He stared at me, then glanced at James. “Does he know?”

“Of course he knows.”

“He didn’t tell me.”

I almost laughed. This was part of the problem, wasn’t it? “Should he have? Isn’t that something between him and me? He’s my husband, Dad. I’ve been married for seven years and have lived away from you for a lot longer. I’m not … just … your little girl. Speaking of which, I’m pregnant.”

I popped it on him just like that. It probably wasn’t the best time,
but what time would have been better? I knew where he stood. He had already told me what happened to female lawyers who had kids.

But his eyes lit, and for a minute he seemed to forget. For a minute, he was my father, loving this new turn, excited to become a grandfather again. “Pregnant? That’s
great
news, sweetheart!” Then his eyes rounded, and his chin rose. “Ahh. So
that’s
what all this is about. I knew there had to be something. I suppose it makes sense. You take a leave, have your baby, get your child care set, then go back. They’ll see you differently, but hey, you want a family, I do get that. Like I say, it’s a trade-off.”

I smiled. “I actually think I’m getting the best part of the deal.”

“Will Lane Lavash take you back part-time?”

“I told you,” I said, my smile curious now. “I resigned.”

He seemed startled. “For
good
?”

“Yes.”

“Where will you work?”

“I don’t know.”

“What are the possibilities?”

“I don’t know.”

“Shouldn’t you? These are important questions. You need a plan, Emily. Good things don’t just happen by themselves. You seem lost.”

I wasn’t lost. Oh, I had been. But no more. I’d found my path. I might not know the exact twists and turns it would take, but that was part of what I’d learned. Options changed. Needs changed. I could wing it a little. The important thing was seeing the overall picture. The forest.

“Your husband, though, is not lost,” Dad was saying with confidence. “I’m sure he’s thought it all out. Ah, James. Off the phone.” He went to the bed, hand extended. “Congratulations, Daddy. Your bride just told me the news. How’re you feeling?”

I suddenly wondered that, too, and I didn’t mean physically. The last time James and I had talked about what to do and where to live had been before his firm’s freeze on partners. I hadn’t broached it
since then. We’d been having too good a time together to let anything intrude.

But we couldn’t avoid it forever. James’s firm knew what had happened this week, but they expected him back. I hadn’t wanted to push.

Dad would. Absolutely. My instinct was to hang back and listen, but this concerned me. When Dad was passionate about something, he stopped at nothing—a trait I had always admired but feared now. He wouldn’t hesitate to try divide-and-conquer here.

As I approached, he was grinning, warning James about the emotions of pregnant women and things like cravings and sudden tears. Then he grew serious. “You’re looking good, son. You have your color back. I’ll bet the ribs are still sore. That’ll take a while. How’s your firm doing with all this?”

James was neutral. “They’re putting up with it.”

“Well, they should. What you did was remarkable, looking down the nose of a gun to negotiate with that guy. I bet you’re anxious to get back.”

James opened his mouth to respond, but Dad didn’t give him the chance.

“We think about crime in New York, but what about here? You could have been killed. An inch over or up and that bullet would have hit something vital. You were very lucky, son. I would not want to think about a repeat of this. Nor do your folks. They told me
that
in no uncertain terms. They’ll be thrilled when you’re back in New York.”

James opened his mouth again, but Dad barreled on. “I have to agree with them. You may complain about your practice not being relevant, but a dead lawyer isn’t relevant to anything—”

“Except people who write jokes,” I cut in dryly. “Dad—”

“That is not funny,” he scolded. “Would you have rathered this come out another way, because it could easily have. And now it isn’t only about you. It’s about a baby, whose father is lying here in this bed because he was putting something that
felt
good over something
that is far more important in the larger sense. I suspect you were a big influence on him in that.”

Stunned, I was searching for a comeback when he said to James, “See what I mean about pregnant women and emotion? You’ll have to put up with that for a little while, I’m afraid. But I gotta tell ya, what happened here makes you appreciate the civility of your firm. Hell, it makes you appreciate the civility of the
city
. When was the last time you personally witnessed a shoot-out there? Never. See what I mean.” Smiling, he added a man-to-man “I’ll bet you’re dying to get back.”

James was silent for a minute, no doubt waiting to see if my father was actually done. I knew he was. This was when he wanted James to admit that, yes, he appreciated the civility of his firm now and was dying to get back. James didn’t look at me. In hindsight, I realized he didn’t have to. He knew how I felt. There was nothing to discuss.

“Are you kidding?” he asked, and still I didn’t know which way he’d go. Then, sounding stronger than I’d heard him in days, he said, “I haven’t done anything as rewarding as this since I passed the bar. It was
the best
, Roger. I totally know what you mean about feeling good when you help people. I would represent one person like Lee any day over the jackasses I’ve been working with for the last seven years!”