The Child Comes First (18 page)

Jayda understood that Derek's mother couldn't be counted on for consistency. If she didn't say what they expected her to say, she could do Tiffany more harm than good. Still, she had a story to tell that might make her appearance worth the risk, put doubt into the minds of the jurors, even if no one ever actually proved who killed the three-year-old. It would be up to the police to reopen the case, if Tiffany was acquitted. Maybe they'd eventually find enough evidence to convict Derek's father—if the man could even be found.

“You'll do great,” Tiffany told Simon. “Just like you did with Dr. Westin and Dr. Greenbaum.” She turned to Jayda. “You should have seen him,” she said with enthusiasm. “He was awesome!”

Jayda had to smile—her first smile since returning from Hagerstown. Tiffany's positive attitude in the midst of her trial was something to admire. If she could remain undaunted even now, surely Jayda could face her own demons and find a way to move on with her life. She'd be alone for a while, but there would be other people with whom she might be able to forge relationships.

“Thanks, Tif,” Simon said with a smile.

“Will you be putting me up there on the witness stand soon?” Tiffany asked. She'd made it clear that she wanted the chance to speak up for herself, to tell what happened that day in her own words.

At once Simon's expression shuttered and those cool, clear attorney's eyes returned, hiding the man beneath. “It's all about timing and how things play out with the other witnesses,” he said. Not lying to the girl, but not revealing the fact that he didn't want to put his youthful client on the witness stand, where she'd have to endure a grueling cross-examination. Simon had confided this to Jayda a week earlier.

“Okay,” said Tiffany, oblivious to the possibility she might not get the opportunity she longed for.

Jayda found herself reaching across the gap between their chairs and taking Tiffany's small hand in her own. When the bailiff announced that Judge Becker was about to enter the courtroom they stood together, hand in hand. They kept their clasped palms together through most of the long day, watching as Simon used his impressive skill to coax exactly what he wanted out of each witness and then having to sit silently as Bob McGuire undid at least some of Simon's work through clever cross-examination. By the end of the day, Jayda's stomach hurt and Tiffany appeared to be completely exhausted. Barbara had wilted, too.

“Let's go home,” Simon said to Tiffany and his mother after he'd packed his notes into his briefcase.

Jayda watched the three of them prepare to leave and a powerful longing tightened her chest. They looked like a family, and they were going home in the comfort of one another's company. She thought about her silent, empty apartment. Not even a cat waiting to greet her. How had her life come to be so unutterably lonely?

“Come for dinner?” Barbara called over her shoulder. “We'd really like to have you with us when we talk with Tiffany about the day's events.”

And that was her job, after all. Jayda knew Barbara had put it in those terms so she could accept the invitation comfortably. Simon's face remained unreadable. Tiffany, however, made her weary way back to where Jayda stood. She slipped her hand into Jayda's once more and drew her along to where the other two adults waited.

“We need you,” Tiffany said softly as they went. And Jayda couldn't say no.

Avoiding eye contact with Simon and Barbara, she went out of the courtroom and into the parking garage. She followed them in her own car, feeling like a stray puppy trying to worm its way into the hearts of new family members. Pathetic. But she'd stay in their home awhile, anyway.

She'd take what she could get, and at Tiffany's bedtime, she stored up memories of the child's laughter and Simon's fatherly kindness as he tucked her into bed and kissed her on the forehead. Barbara watched from the bedroom doorway beside Jayda and said softly, “He reminds me of his father these days—I've never seen this side of Simon before. We have you to thank for bringing this to us.”

Jayda could think of nothing to say in response. “It's time for me to be heading home,” she said, and then bade Barbara good-night and slipped out of the house while Simon was still in Tiffany's room. No sense in waiting around for awkward moments between them. She couldn't bear that. So she drove home through the darkness and then the bright lights of Baltimore, and slept fitfully in her silent apartment until it was time to head back to court the next morning.

 

T
HURSDAY EVENING
. S
OCIAL
Services representative Frances Smith sat across from Simon in his mother's living room as he squirmed over her questions about becoming an adoptive parent.

“You live here with your mother?” she asked for the second time.

“Just temporarily,” he said. “I'm looking for a house of our own.” He knew that being a homeowner would show him to be responsible and dedicated to Tiffany's well-being.

But the woman seemed to want to twist things. “So you'd be living alone with an eleven-year-old girl,” she said. There was no accusation in her voice, just a flat statement of fact, but Simon knew how those words sounded, strung together in that way. Words were his whole life and he knew, himself, how to shift their meaning with little effort.

“Yes,” he admitted. There was no hope of claiming that his bachelor state would be temporary. As much as he wished he could rekindle something with Jayda, the way things were going he might never marry.

“Do you have a girlfriend? A significant other?”

This was where Simon wished he had led a less openly heterosexual life. If he could only claim he batted for the home team, his chances of winning Tiffany's adoption might be stronger. He'd toyed with the idea of enlisting Jayda to pretend they were together romantically to persuade Ms. Smith that he was no threat to Tiffany, but that seemed wrong. And some newly tapped well of morality wouldn't let him ask Jayda to lie for him, anyway, no matter how important the reason.

“No, not right now. I date, of course, but there's no one to distract me from being a good parent,” he said. Hey, he could manipulate words to his advantage, too, and felt no compunction about doing so. There was a tape recorder whirring beside them, and he wanted to go on record as claiming that his main focus was Tiffany's well-being.

“Have you always lived with your mother?” she asked.

That took Simon by surprise. “No!” he rushed to say. “I just sold my condo in Baltimore. I've lived there since landing the position with my law firm.”

“Yes, let's talk about the law firm. I hear from Mr. Canter that you're planning to leave and open your own law office.”

Damn that bastard Canter. Simon had known Ms. Smith would need to talk to Glen Boyden. But she wouldn't normally have chatted with Canter. The man would have had to manipulate his schedule on purpose to be at the office at just the right time to come across the social worker.

Simon hid his distaste for his colleague. “I've been thinking for some time about starting my own firm so that I'll be able to spend more time at home with Tiffany.” Did he sound as nervous as he felt?

“Would you mind sending us your financial records? We need to be sure there won't be income problems, since you're making so many life changes at one time.”

“Sure,” he said, fighting irritation. “Even after leaving Boyden and Whitby, I'll be more solvent than most of your prospective adopting parents. My penthouse sold for nearly a million dollars.” He didn't mention that paying off his mortgage had eaten up a chunk of that. “And if things get tight, I also have a classic car worth nearly another quarter million that I can sell.” His brain froze for a moment as he contemplated selling his beloved car. That Mustang was like a beautiful mistress to him and he loved it. Yet he knew he would sacrifice it if he had to for Tiffany.

“Speaking of your car, I understand it doesn't have normal seat belts or air bags,” the social worker pointed out.

His heart pounded. He'd have to get a safer car immediately. Because he'd also be going through money to open his own office, the need for another car meant he'd be parting with the Mustang no matter what. That Shelby 500 had defined him for so many years, he wasn't sure he would be the same man without it. But he fought away the ache in his heart and willed himself to appear calm and collected.

“Yes, I know I'll need a more suitable car. I'll get right on that. The only reason I haven't done so already is we've been using my mother's car. And we've been busy with Tiffany's trial.”

Ms. Smith leaned back and looked at him with a penetrating gaze. She wasn't a bad person, but clearly she took her job more seriously than some. She wouldn't be giving him the okay on this adoption just because Tiffany was an accused felon and had no other options. “Why would you want to take on the responsibility of becoming the father of an eleven-year-old girl?” she asked. “I mean, you're successful and well respected. Our background check indicated no lack of female friends. So why would you turn that life upside down for this child?”

He returned her gaze, the way he would when trying to see inside a client's mind, steadily holding eye contact. “Because she's a wonderful girl who deserves more than she's gotten so far. Because she and I understand each other, when others don't seem to. Because she's wormed her way into my heart over the course of this trial. Because she's innocent, no matter how the jury decides. Because I know what it's like to need a family, and given that no other parents will step forward to take on someone with Tiffany's history, I figure a father is at least halfway to a family. I'm all she's likely to get.”

“And what's in it for you?” she asked evenly.

That was a much harder question. Even though words usually came easily to him, describing what he got out of his relationship with Tiffany would be nearly impossible. But he knew he had to try. “You've observed us together, Ms. Smith. So you know how much alike we are. We even have the same temper, though I hope I've learned to control mine better now that I'm an adult. But more than what we have in common, it's what she's brought to my life that's important.” He hesitated, searching for the words to describe exactly what Tiffany meant to him without giving any ammunition to those who worried he might be a predator and the others who figured him for an emotional cripple using a child to make his life meaningful. “She's taught me about reaching out to people, to comfort and be comforted. She's shown me how to open up to loving another human being, no matter how frightening that can be. I didn't expect to understand her so well or to find something unique inside myself that would help me to deal with her upsets. But I do and I can. We share similar pasts. I'd like us to share a future, too.”

Frances Smith looked mildly impressed. Simon hoped that was a good sign. He hoped she'd recommend approval of him as Tiffany's adoptive father. But she gave no indication one way or the other. By the time the interview was over, he felt utterly exhausted and frustrated. He wanted more than anything in the world to talk to Jayda or even to just sit beside her watching a movie the way they had that one night they'd spent together in her apartment. But he didn't dare reach out to her yet. He had a plan—a weak plan, to be sure, but it was all he had and he was going to stick with it. That plan called for him to wait until Friday night, when the main portion of the trial was over, and the weekend stretched before them.

 

T
HEY WEREN'T GOING TO APPROVE
Simon's adoption of Tiffany, and it made Jayda sick inside to realize this. She'd heard talk in the office about Simon. Not one of the other social workers thought the adoption should be approved. Each of them believed Tiffany would be better off in foster care than chancing a life with a man who seemed to be such an unlikely candidate for fatherhood. Jayda wanted to shake them all and explain that Simon was one of the best men she'd ever known, that he would protect Tiffany and would never, ever harm her. But she couldn't do that, and she'd been cautioned on more than one occasion by Marla to remain neutral.

As she listened to Simon query Patricia Baldridge on the witness stand, Jayda couldn't help but worry. What would happen to Tiffany if Simon didn't prevail? What would happen to her if he
did?
Even if she was acquitted, she couldn't live with Barbara indefinitely. Simon's mother was only allowed to take on a preteen because of the desperate circumstances. At seventy years old, the woman's age made her unsuitable for the long-term care of a growing girl. Feeling helpless, Jayda tried to focus on Simon's voice once more. But listening to him did nothing to ease the sorrow in her heart, and she couldn't help wishing that soothing, reassuring voice could be part of her life—along with the man it belonged to—even after the trial ended.

“Mrs. Baldridge, I know this must be hard for you. But if you could tell the jury about your husband, that would help a great deal. We need to understand all the possible circumstances related to your son's death.”

Patricia sniffed and then ran her hand beneath her nose. She looked better than when Jayda had first met her, but not by much. Detoxing was not an easy experience, and every agonizing moment of it showed on the woman's face. And then there was the growing pain of her young son's death to contend with, as the effect of the drugs wore off and she gradually came to understand that he was gone forever. “My husband—my ex-husband—is now and ever shall be a son of a bitch.”