Starting Now (10 page)

Having said that, he hurried out of the cafeteria.

He was there. Robin Hamlin bit into her lower lip and did her best to quell her stampeding heart. Judge Roy Bollinger had attended the annual fund-raising dinner held by the local Legal Aid Society. Naturally she’d hoped to see him, but she’d had no way of knowing if he would participate or not.

Robin had admired Roy years ago when they worked together on an election campaign. Recently she’d learned that his wife had died two years ago. To the best of her knowledge he wasn’t dating. She didn’t dare ask for fear one of her colleagues might question her interest. Up until now, all she’d done was admire him from afar. Roy was decent and honest, loyal and kind. They shared many of the same political views as well.

Oh, she definitely had a crush. But Robin intended to keep it cool. Nonchalant. A blatant approach wasn’t her style. She would need to play her hand carefully, keeping her cards close to her chest. Normally she would have mailed in a generous check to the Legal Aid
Society and avoided the dinner. Her sole reason for showing up was the off chance, the hope, that Judge Bollinger would be there.

The doors to the dining room hadn’t opened. He stood in line at the bar at the cocktail reception. She was three people behind him. The two people who stood between her and Roy were a married couple she didn’t recognize, and they were chatting away animatedly. Just then Roy turned and looked past her. Perhaps he was searching for someone. He might have a date for the night. The only way to tell was if he purchased one drink or two. Robin held her breath and waited.

One drink.

He turned away, caught sight of her, and smiled.

Robin smiled back and wondered how it was that her heart could pound this hard and fast and not explode. Her hands trembled as she looked down at the program she’d been handed when she’d walked into the reception. The words blurred as she struggled to hide her reaction.

“Good evening, Counselor,” Roy said as he paused next to her. He held a glass of red wine. Pinot noir, if she guessed right. Robin enjoyed wine as well and was particularly fond of the Willamette Valley pinot noirs out of Oregon.

“Judge Bollinger,” she said, hoping to sound causal. He wasn’t a striking man. They were close to the same height, about five-eight. His hair was completely gray and his hairline was receding. He carried himself well, and although he was ten years her senior he remained vibrant and healthy. Robin was strongly drawn to him.

She’d never been in his court. He didn’t try criminal cases, although their courtrooms were in the same area of the King County Courthouse. They sometimes saw each other between sessions.

“I don’t believe I’ve seen you at one of these functions before,” Roy said, pausing to chat.

“I … I don’t often attend, although I support the cause.” Robin had never been much of a social butterfly. Like her friend Libby, she’d been married to her job for so long that she didn’t have much of a life outside the courthouse. Family and friends had warned her that the
criminal cases she tried had affected her personality. How could they not? Dealing with the criminal element was bound to impact her. She felt powerless to change her way of thinking and yet she needed an outlet … some way or someone to center her. Someone to take her mind off the ugliness she confronted every day in court. Someone who would help her remember there was goodness and beauty and love in this world. She remembered laughing with Judge Bollinger and how lighthearted she’d felt after spending time with him.

“It’s good to see you.”

“You too.” She thought about mentioning his wife, telling him how sorry she was to hear of Mrs. Bollinger’s passing. Thankfully she stopped herself. It had happened two years ago, and it was long past the time for condolences.

Roy wrapped his hand around the stem of the wineglass. Robin stared at his hands. They were good hands, she thought. Not large or thick. Just average, nice hands. He’d never touched her and she wondered what it would feel like to have his fingers slide across her bare skin. Oh, what a fanciful imagination she had. Still, the thought intrigued her and she couldn’t banish the image from her mind.

He started to move away and Robin went on a desperate search for a reason to detain him. Then it came to her.

“Judge Bollinger?”

“Roy.”

“Roy,” she amended. That was how she thought of him, but it would have been presumptuous of her to address him by something other than his title. “I have a friend, a very good friend, who’s seeking a position in trusts and estates. I was wondering if you know of any firm with an opening?”

“Where did your friend work before?”

“Burkhart, Smith & Crandall.”

“Ah yes, I heard they had to let go some excellent attorneys. Unfortunate.”

“Very,” Robin agreed. “My friend is Libby Morgan.”

His brow creased as if he was trying to place the name.

“Elizabeth Morgan,” she corrected, although most everyone called her Libby.

“I’ve heard of her. She has a good reputation. A hard worker.”

“She’s the best.”

He nodded and raised his hand to his face, a habit she’d noticed about him. He did that when he was thinking, mulling over facts in his head. “Let me check around and I’ll get back to you.”

“I can’t tell you how much she’d appreciate that … and I would, too, of course.”

“It’s good of you to look out for your friend.”

“Thank you.” Robin felt more than a little guilty. The sole reason she’d asked was to delay him.

Her turn had come and she ordered a glass of pinot noir.

Roy had been about to leave, but he hesitated. “You enjoy wine?”

“Very much, especially from the Willamette Valley.”

He cocked his head to one side. “So do I.” He looked like he was about to ask if she’d tried a certain winery when she heard someone say his name.

Roy excused himself. She paid for her drink and drifted away, although it felt as though she was walking on air.

The dinner seemed to take hours. The speeches droned on forever. Robin knew she wouldn’t be able to recount a single word. Roy liked wine; she liked wine. She wondered if he worked Sudoku puzzles or was interested in chess. Keyed up from their short exchange, she found it impossible to eat. The woman next to her, the wife of an attorney she knew only fleetingly, attempted to make conversation but soon gave up. Robin’s mind was preoccupied with her brief conversation with Roy. She kept thinking about all the things she could have said …

Robin left the dinner as soon as she could, and hurriedly made her way outside. It was still light out, and as she walked toward the parking garage, she reached for her cell, and scrolled down until she found Libby’s number.

“Hi, what’s up?” Libby wasn’t one who enjoyed talking on the
phone. For that matter Robin wasn’t, either, but they’d been chatting more often since she’d joined the gym.

“I’ve been putting the word out for you,” Robin said.

“You have?” Her friend sounded hopeful.

Robin didn’t have an inkling if this would amount to anything. “I talked to Judge Bollinger.”

“I’ve heard of him,” Libby said.

Her friend’s excitement made Robin feel more than a little guilty. “You know Judge Bollinger?”

“Yes … I think so.” Libby hesitated and seemed to put two and two together. “How do you know him?”

“From court … his courtroom is just down the hall.”

“You’re in criminal law.”

This was a statement of fact and not a question.

“Do you want me to tell him to forget about it?” Robin snapped. She regretted saying anything to Libby now. It had been a mistake, but she hadn’t been able to stop herself. What she really wanted, Robin realized, was to tell Libby that she’d finally talked to the man she’d been secretly longing for all these months.

“You went to the fund-raiser?”

Robin had mentioned it that morning at the gym. Libby had seemed surprised that she’d opted to attend. Like Robin, Libby usually mailed in a donation and left it at that.

“I was there,” Robin murmured, wishing she’d kept her mouth shut.

“How was it?”

“Like I expected. Chicken and frozen peas for dinner, long speeches, major push for donations.”

“I’m surprised you went.”

Robin let the comment hang, unwilling to admit her real reason for attending.

An uncomfortable silence followed and Robin was about to end the conversation when Libby spoke.

“Can I ask you something?” Her friend’s voice dropped several decibels as though she was troubled.

“Depends on what it is.” If Libby intended to drill her about Roy, then the subject was off-limits. No one knew how strongly attracted Robin was to the judge. No one needed to know. It was her business and no one else’s.

“Remember I texted you about Phillip … Dr. Stone … asking me to coffee?”

“Hot stuff,” she joked.

“Well, it wasn’t for the reason I thought.”

“Oh?” Robin hadn’t heard the outcome and had frankly been curious, but she’d assumed Libby would volunteer the information when she was ready. Libby tended to be as private as Robin was herself.

“He … wanted to tell me he thinks that one of the girls from the yarn store is pregnant and hiding it.”

“An employee?”

“No … it’s either Lydia’s daughter or her friend.”

That gave Robin pause. “They’re just kids.” She remembered seeing them and thinking it was inspiring to see two young teens taking up knitting.

“They’re thirteen,” Libby told her.

Thirteen? Well, it was young, but it wouldn’t be the first time she’d heard of someone that age being pregnant. “He didn’t identify which girl?” Robin asked.

Libby sighed. “No, he got called out of the cafeteria on an emergency. He seemed to think I should know, but I don’t. I like Lydia a lot, but I don’t know if I should say anything.”

“Would you want someone to tell you if it was your daughter?”

Her friend hesitated. “I asked myself the same question and decided I probably would. He seemed a bit uncomfortable bringing up the subject. I’m sure it weighed heavily on his mind or he wouldn’t have mentioned it.”

“That’s your answer then,” Robin told her. “If Dr. Stone felt compelled to bring it up, he did it out of concern for the teenager.”

After a moment, Libby agreed. “He was worried she wasn’t getting proper medical care. After thinking about it myself, I wonder if she even knows she’s pregnant.”

“You could be right,” Robin said, and then added, “You need to talk to Lydia.”

Her friend exhaled audibly. “I know … but this isn’t any of my business. It’s awkward, especially since I don’t even know which girl he meant.”

“And to think the girl is only thirteen …”

Robin tried to think of what she’d been like at that age—quiet and shy, withdrawn and studious … in essence, a dork. If the two girls in the yarn store were anything like she was then, they didn’t have a clue about what was happening to their bodies.

A few weeks ago Robin had been in court with a pregnant eleven-year-old girl. She and her stepbrother were being charged with drug crimes. The eleven-year-old had come to the courthouse to testify against her stepbrother, claiming he was the baby’s father and she’d been raped. The stepbrother insisted that the girl had “wanted it” and had offered him her body in exchange for drugs. Hooked on crack, pregnant, and only eleven years old. These were the types of abysmal situations Robin faced daily as a prosecuting attorney. Was it any wonder she’d developed a cynical view of life? It was impossible to avoid, working the cases she did.

“I don’t know if I’m the best person to handle this,” Libby mumbled.

Robin, caught up in her own thoughts, lost track of the conversation.

“If not you, then who?” she asked, and then quickly tagged on a second question. “How well do you know Lydia?”

“Not well … some, I guess,” Libby amended.

“I’d do it myself, but I hardly know Lydia,” Robin offered. “The only time I go into the yarn store is when Mom needs me to pick up yarn for her. Half the time I think it’s an excuse.”

“An excuse?” Libby asked.

“Yes, my mother thinks if I hang around the store enough I’ll catch the knitting bug. Trust me, I’m immune. It’s fine for you and my mother, but I wouldn’t go near a pair of knitting needles if my life depended on it.”

Robin’s mother had recently married her high school sweetheart and moved to Florida. Apparently good yarn stores were few and far between in the Sunshine State. Perhaps this was Ruth’s way of reaching out to her.

Robin knew she’d taken her mother for granted. It wasn’t until Ruth had moved away that Robin realized how much she had liked having her mother around.

Christmas had been awful for her. Her only family in the area had been her twice-divorced brother. Grant had invited her to join him at his son’s place for dinner, but she had declined.

Her mother, Robin had realized too late, was her anchor. Libby had lost her mother when she’d been a young teen. From conversations they’d had in college, Robin knew that when Libby’s mother died, Libby had been cast adrift, lost on an emotional storm-tossed sea. The only time she felt safe was when she immersed herself in a book, or listened to her music. Both had helped her to escape the pain of having lost her mother, of being a motherless child.