Ties That Bind (29 page)

“Don't come any closer. If you touch me again, I'll call the judge and your law partners and—”

“Oh, trust me, the moment has passed,” he said in a flat voice. “But if anyone should be worried about someone saying something to the judge, it's you, at least if you want to have a prayer of getting custody. Judge Treadlaw is the laziest judge in the county. He's going to grant custody to whoever I recommend because that's what he does, relies on the guardian to do the work and tell him what to think. So if you don't want me to tell him that Olivia should go to your parents—with a side recommendation that you be denied visitation rights—you'd better keep your mouth shut.”

I swallowed hard. Much as I dislike Geoff Bench, I would never have believed he'd do something so low. On the other hand, I would never have imagined that he'd walk into my house on the pretense of doing his job and then try to coerce me into bed. The flint edge set of his jaw told me he meant what he said. And I knew what he said about Judge Treadlaw was true; Arnie had said as much from the first.

Geoff stood at the bottom of the stairs, a safe distance away from me, studying my face as I considered my options. “And if you do say anything, even if they were to believe you—which I doubt—it'd end up being a case of he said, she said. The worst that would happen to me is I'd end up with a slap on the wrist and a scolding by the judge. For you, however, it would mean starting the custody clock all over again—new guardian, new round of interviews, new home study. It could take months.

“Olivia can't stay in the hospital much longer. But if I'm out of the picture and you have to begin the process again, Olivia will have to leave the hospital and go to a foster home—maybe for months. Maybe forever. Think about it, Margot. This whole thing could backfire on you. And Olivia. Are you willing to risk that?”

He was silent for a moment. “Didn't think so. Let's make a deal. You don't say anything and I'll not only promise not to write you a negative custody report, I'll never press my … unwanted attentions on you again,” he said, unable to keep the smirk from his voice.

Even a knee to the groin hadn't convinced him that I had no designs on him sexually. Amazing. Geoff Bench was undoubtedly the most arrogant man I'd ever met.

“Of course, if you insist on talking about this ….” he said, shrugging as though it made very little difference to him what I did or didn't do.

“It's a deal,” I said quickly.

His lips twitched in triumph, revealing a narrow crescent of too-white teeth. “Very wise. I'd shake your hand to seal the bargain, but I'd have to touch you to do it. And you wouldn't want
that,
would you?”

He strode toward the door, pausing briefly in front of the foyer mirror to smooth his hair. When he was done, he opened the door and turned toward me.

“Just for the record, Margot, I don't think you're an innocent. I think you're a frigid b****.”

T
he doorbell rang. Heart racing, I peeked through the living room curtains, afraid that Geoff Bench was back. When I saw Paul, I ran to open the door.

“So? How'd it go?”

I couldn't answer. I burst into tears.

A minute later, I was sitting on the sofa—I really don't remember how I got there—and Paul was sitting next to me, looking into my eyes. How had he known to come when he did? It didn't matter. I was just grateful for his presence.

“Talk to me, Margot. You can trust me. Really you can.”

Of course I could. I knew that. In other circumstances I wouldn't have hesitated to tell him everything, but Geoff was his boss. It wouldn't be fair to put Paul in the middle of this.

“I can't tell you, Paul. I can't talk to anyone about this.”

“Sure you can. I won't tell anyone else, not unless you say I can. Promise. And just to make sure,” he said, “have you got a dollar?”

S
itting in one of those uncomfortable office chairs with the curved backs, the kind shaped like a crosscut barrel, and listening to Arnie and Paul go at each other like attorneys from opposing sides instead of what they were supposed to be, my
team
of legal advisors, I wished I had never let Paul talk me into telling Arnie about what happened.

Arnie's ears turn red when he's mad. Just then, it looked like you could have lit a match just by holding it next to one of them.

“I told her to be
nice
to him, that's all! Why not? Tell me you wouldn't have done the same thing in my shoes.”

Paul put both his hands flat on the desk and leaned toward Arnie, who was standing on the opposite side. “No. I'd have told her to be cooperative and pleasant and nothing more.”

“It's the same thing.”

Paul moved his head slowly from one side to the other. “It's not. And you know it's not. If Margot had been a
man,
you would not have told her to be
nice
. You realized that Bench would find her attractive and you implied that she should trade on her sexuality.”

“I did not! I would never do that. I don't even think of Margot that way!”

Looking up at Arnie, I crossed my arms over my chest. “Well. Thank you.”

Arnie glanced down as if he'd only just realized I was in the room, which might have been true. He and Paul had been arguing over the top of my head for a good five minutes, as if I weren't even there! It was like they were jousting or jealous or I don't know what, but it was crazy. What had come over them?

“Sorry, Margot. I didn't mean it the way it sounded. But I never figured Bench would go after you like that.” He raised his head, looking Paul in the eye. “I didn't.”

“Why not? You should have.” Paul thrust his hand in my direction, an impatient gesture. “Look at her! She's beautiful! Who wouldn't be attracted to her?”

I froze for a moment, wondering if I'd heard Paul right. I've frequently been called cute and sometimes even pretty, but no man, except my father, has ever called me beautiful. Maybe in
wanting
to hear him say it, my mind had tricked me into thinking he had. Either that or he was using hyperbole to try and score some points in this weird game of legal one-upsmanship he and Arnie were playing.

Paul leaned even farther across the desk, a vivid picture of what the phrase “in your face” means. “Didn't you know Bench has a reputation as a womanizer? I've only been in town a couple of months and even I know that.”

Arnie's neck started to turn a little red, not as red as his ears, but more pinkish.

“Well … I'd heard one or two things, but you know how people talk around here. I didn't think there was anything to it. And, anyway, he's married.”

Paul's head hinged back and his eyes went wide. He threw up his hands and barked out a single skeptical cough, as if he couldn't believe what he'd just heard. He was very expressive. Was this the sort of technique he used when arguing a case? If so, I wouldn't want to be on the opposite side from Paul in a courtroom. It was beginning to look as if poor Arnie felt the same way. Paul really was picking on him too much. But it was kind of nice having somebody stand up for me, even if I was paying him to do so. That was the best dollar I ever spent.

“Married? What's that got to do with it? I mean, seriously! Are you a lawyer or a scout master? A wedding ring doesn't mean a thing to a scuzzball like Bench.”

“I didn't know he was a scuzzball. I told you that!” Arnie walked around the end of the desk and stood toe to toe, actually more like chest to chest, with Paul. They looked like a couple of bucks, warring over the same turf. If Arnie had bent down and tried to ram his head into Paul's stomach, I wouldn't have been surprised.

“Unlike some people,” Arnie growled, “I'm too busy attending to my clients to spend time keeping up on the latest gossip. Maybe that's a little easier when you've just gotten to town, but I happen to have a thriving practice!”

“If you tend to the rest of your clients like you did Margot, you won't have it for long. She told you she was uncomfortable around him. She came to you for help and you didn't listen, just patted her on the head and told her to be ‘nice' to him and that if she wasn't, she might lose Olivia!” Paul wasn't quite yelling, but almost, and the veins on his neck stood out. “You left her vulnerable, completely unprotected!”

He thrust out his arm and shoved the heel of his hand hard against Arnie's shoulder. Then he did it again. Arnie, his ears now the same shade as a boiled lobster, shoved him back.

I pulled myself out of the chair and spread out my arms with my hands flat, like a cop stopping traffic in two directions. “Enough!” I shouted.

Both of them jerked, startled by the noise. Their heads swiveled and they stared as if, once again, they'd only just remembered that I was in the room with them.

“Enough,” I repeated, but more quietly. “This isn't getting us anywhere. And anyway, if we're going to point fingers, I have to point at myself, at least a little.”

“That's crazy. What are you talking about?”

“No, you don't. Bench was totally out of line—”

I held up my hand again, damming up their protests. “Believe me, I'm not making excuses for him. And even though I wasn't sending out the slightest hint of a signal that I had any romantic or,” I stammered, turning a little pink myself, “physical interest in him—he completely misinterpreted that—I
was
trying to make him like me. I was. Not because I actually did like him but because I wanted him to write a recommendation that would favor me. I was trying to manipulate Geoff Bench and the legal system.”

Paul started to speak, but I shook my head, warning him not to.

“I know. Maybe I wasn't completely aware of what I was doing, but I should have been. And probably Arnie shouldn't have urged me to be nice to Bench, but I'm a big girl. I should have realized that what I was doing was wrong. Maybe I did, at least a little.”

Paul frowned. “No, I don't think so. And even if you did do anything wrong, you weren't doing it for yourself, you were doing it for Olivia. And for Mari.”

“Paul's right,” Arnie said, sounding slightly surprised to find himself agreeing with Paul on anything. “Don't be so hard on yourself. Your motives were pure.”

“Two wrongs don't make a right, and pure motives or not, I was wrong.”

“Okay,” Arnie said with a conciliatory shrug of his shoulders, “let's say that you were—just for argument's sake. But Geoff Bench was more in the wrong. You've got to let me talk to the judge. If we tell him …”

“No, Arnie! No. I've absolutely made up my mind. There's no use trying to talk me out of it.”

 

He did try to talk me out of it, so did Paul, but finally they realized that I was not going to budge and they let the matter drop. Arnie went back to work preparing for the hearing and I had to go to the quilt shop. It was my turn to open. Paul asked if he could walk me to work.

It was nine-fifteen, forty-five minutes before the downtown shops would open, so we strolled rather than walked to the shop, taking our time, enjoying the sunny morning.

I love New Bern like this, when the day is fine and the streets all but empty, when the flowerboxes in front of the merchants' windows are filled with blooming daffodils, when there is no sound in the air but the chirp of birds perched in the branches of trees on the Green and the steady, soft slap of shoe leather on sidewalk. There was so much bad going on in my life, but for some reason, just at that moment, walking down Commerce Street at Paul's side, I felt good. I wanted to loop my arm through his and let it hang there like a bangle on a bracelet but, of course, I didn't.

Claudia Simon was unlocking the door of the art gallery and glanced up. “Morning, Margot. Morning, Paul.”

“Morning, Claudia.”

As we passed, Claudia looked at me with raised brows and a curious expression that quickly became a smile, topped off by a knowing wink. Embarrassing. Thankfully, Paul didn't see her. He looked straight ahead as he walked and said nothing until just before we reached the alley that leads to Cobbled Court.

“Nice day.”

“Uh-huh.”

Paul stopped, touched me lightly on the shoulder, and peered into my eyes. “Hey, are you okay? You're not worried, are you? Everything is going to turn out fine.”

I nodded. “I know. I'm not sure it's all going to turn out the way I'm wishing it would but, no matter what, I'm sure it will be for the best. Maybe that sounds a little naïve, but I believe it.”

He smiled and we resumed walking, taking a right turn into the cobblestone alley. “You have an extraordinary faith, Margot. That's one of the things I admire about you.”

I didn't quite know what to say to that, so I changed the subject. “I wish the judge had assigned you as the guardian instead of Geoff Bench.”

“Me too,” Paul replied. “But even if he had, I would have been forced to withdraw from the case.”

“Why?”

“Because it would be a conflict of interest for me to serve as guardian in a custody case when I have a romantic interest in one of the involved parties.”

I stopped. Paul went on for a couple more steps, then turned around, realizing I was behind him.

“I'm sorry,” I said, certain that he could not have said what I just thought he said and that, once again, wishful thinking was getting the better of my good sense. “Could you repeat that?”

“I said I couldn't serve as Olivia's guardian because of my romantic interest in you.” He cleared his throat, looking a little embarrassed. “I realize my feelings aren't reciprocated, but it's still a conflict.”

“A romantic interest. In me? I thought …”

He tipped his head to one side and frowned. “Well … yes, you. Who else? You didn't …” He smiled and lifted one eyebrow, as if something comical had just occurred to him. He laughed. “Oh my gosh, you haven't been listening to those crazy rumors about me and Philippa, have you?”

“Well, um. No. I mean …” I could feel the color rising in my cheeks. “That is to say … I knew you
liked
her. I knew the two of you were close friends and all.” I was beet red, blathering, and once again, on the verge of tears. I laid my hand on my chest.

“Me? You're sure you mean me?”

A slow smile, homey and unhurried and sweet, like syrup over pancakes on a Sunday morning, spread across his face. He opened his arms.

“Come here.”

I walked toward him and he met me halfway, our lips meeting at the same time and in the same way as our bodies did, fully and sweetly. It felt like home to be in his embrace, familiar and safe, but at the same time it was exciting and new, the discovery of a strange and exotic land, a place I wanted to explore completely and know intimately.

His lips were so soft, so very soft on mine and his hands were in my hair, cradling my head. I tilted my chin up and opened my lips, just a little, a shy invitation. Taking his time, his tongue gently outlined the curve of my lips, tasting me, letting me taste him. Instinctively, my mouth opened wider, wanting more of him, thrilled to learn he wanted more of me as well.

For a moment, less than an instant, my mind flashed to the memory of Geoff Bench doing the same thing. No. Not the same thing. There was no comparison. No kiss had ever been like this. No kiss ever would be.

 

There was no time when I was in Paul's arms, no thought of what came before or what would happen after, so I don't know how much of it had passed when he shuddered and pulled away gasping. “I have to stop.”

“But I don't want you to stop. Why should you?”

His eyes smiling, he took in a deep breath and blew it out as if he were recovering from a race. “Well, aside from the probability of you not respecting me in the morning, there's the fact that you're supposed to open the shop in,” he pulled up his sleeve so he could see his watch, “twelve minutes.”

Twelve minutes?

“I don't care,” I said and reached for him, wanting nothing in the world as much as I wanted to feel his lips on mine. I kissed him again for a minute or five, I don't know how long, only stopping when I pressed myself close against him and felt that stirring that had repelled me when coming from Geoff Bench but that coming from Paul flooded me with a tide of longing so powerful, so irresistible that it very nearly swept me away.

When he had stormed out of my house, Bench had called me a name I never have and never will say, preceded by an ugly adjective—“frigid.” I knew he'd said it to wound me and soothe his vanity and that I should think nothing more of it. But that was easier to say than do. I had kissed men before, Arnie for one, and several others during college and my years living in New York. Occasionally, I had let things progress further than kisses. The kisses and caresses of those others, excluding Bench, had often been pleasant, sometimes sweet, never more than that. I'd had no difficulty in putting on the brakes with Arnie and men of his ilk, not ever. And so when Geoff Bench called me frigid, I couldn't help but wonder if it might be true.

Now I had my answer.

“You're right,” I gasped, pulling myself away from Paul and clamping my arms around my chest, hugging myself as tightly as possible to keep from grabbing him again. “We have to stop.”

“We do. We should,” Paul said in a voice that didn't sound entirely convinced. “But I have to tell you, Margot. Wow. I don't want to. I really don't.”

“Neither do I! Isn't it great?” I laughed, not a nervous giggle or a self-conscious chuckle, but full-throated and joyous laughter. I couldn't help myself.

“What's so funny?”