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“I honestly don’t know.” Her hands clasped in front of her, she glanced at him and then away. “I just keep weighing the evidence over and over.”
Always the judge. Which just about killed any chance he might’ve had. Not that he’d really had any.
“What’s the evidence?”
There had to be a way to get up and simply leave. A statement that would allow him to say goodbye. To exit the final scene of this tragedy. He just hadn’t found it yet.
“Susan’s testimonials over the past two years. And, more recently, Steve McDonald’s.”
The testimony of an unstable woman. And… “You talked to Steve?”
She nodded, but wasn’t forthcoming with any more. Steve would’ve had only good things to say, Kirk knew that, because Steve was his friend and supporter.
He wondered if Valerie had figured that out—and discounted the testimony.
“There’s Alicia’s nonexistent father,” she continued. “And the hostile takeover of your father’s business.”
His composure didn
’t waver. At least on the outside.
“And then there’s the man who rescued my sons’ health, who’s been more of a father to my boys than their own father ever was.” She recited her list as though by rote.
So he knew what was in her mind. But not in her heart. Her voice gave nothing away.
She took a deep breath. “There’s the man whose wave every morning gave even my worst days a boost.” He’d thought she was finished. And braced himself for the other side of that one. “The man who’s making a very fragile woman miserable by insisting on a paternity test that her husband didn’t even know could be necessary. And the man who feels his responsibility to that child so strongly he can’t abandon him, no matter the cost.” She paused. “The man who’s learned from his mistakes,” she said slowly, “and will go to his grave making sure he doesn’t make the same ones again.”
Glancing over at her, Kirk couldn’t help asking, “Does that mean you might be able to trust me around your boys at some point in the future? That you might someday be able to trust me with a long-term relationship?”
He didn’t know where the words had come from. He wasn’t in the market for a long-term relationship.
And the scared look in her eyes was all the answer he needed.
“I guess the judge has made her judgment,” he said. Standing, he walked quietly away.
He’d found his exit line.
ON BREAK between her morning and afternoon calendars on Friday, Valerie picked up the phone to find Linda James, Abraham Billings’s caseworker, along with his attorney, on the line with a conference call.
“Judge, Abraham Billings is in the hospital.”
“What?” She sat forward. “Why?” Had his mother been notified yet?
“Took a bottle of pills. Trying to kill himself. We got to him in time. Pumped his stomach. He’s stable now.”
“I’ll write an order for a 72-hour assessment in the psychiatric ward immediately,” Valerie said, sick to her stomach. In moments the business was done and the three of them said goodbye.
Still on the line, Valerie wasn’t surprised that Linda hadn’t hung up, either.
“He left a note,” Linda said as soon as the attorney had clicked off. “It’s scrambled and hard to read, but the gist of it is that without his mother, or a chance at a basketball scholarship, there’s no point in dealing with all the other crap.”
“His coach told me that Abraham perked up a lot when he made the team, that basketball could have been a lifesaver,” Valerie told her.
“His probation officer said he’d been dealing with episodes at home a little better,” Linda agreed. “Handling them without becoming part of them.”
Valerie knew Linda well. Respected her. “Do you think that excelling at a sport might’ve been enough to help Abraham find the solid ground he needed?”
“Sure,” the woman said. “Anything’s possible.” And then, “But you know, Judge, he’d probably have found it with the Mortons, too, if that coach hadn’t kept coming by to see him.”
