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“Nothing compared to his reception of the meal.” A big smile shows how much Max relishes the memory.
“No.” JL holds up a hand to stop all this. “The best, the very best, was his face when Micki told him she’s suing him for ten million.”
“Ten million!” Dad turns to me. “Brilliant, honey.”
“Who knows, maybe we’ll even get it. A decade from now.”
“Any word about Sam?” Cress squeezes in next to Max in an oversized armchair. JL picks me up from the other club chair, settles in, and cuddles me against his chest.
“Psychiatric evaluations to decide if he’s fit to stand trial. He won’t be seeing anyone but his lawyers and doctors for the foreseeable future.”
“Thought you were visiting women’s shelters?” Max looks bemused.
“Just a subterfuge,” Kath says. “Micki and I will start that next week.”
My enthusiastic bounce produces a groan from JL. “Be more careful, ma chouette. Delicate objects down there.” I kiss him, not sure what’s happened to my aversion to PDA.
“Fun times, everyone.” Clay snatches Kath’s hand. “Time to go home to the kiddies.”
“You’re joining us for dinner, right?” JL gives him the hard stare. “We picked a kid-friendly place just for you.”
I groan. “Hope it’s not Chuck E. Cheese.”
“Crosby’s Kitchen.”
“We’ll definitely be there. The kids love Crosby’s.” Kath grins and Clay nods in agreement.
Once they’ve left, we speculate about Lanscombe’s fate.
“What do you think he’ll do now?” Cress asks.
“Stew, resign, support his son…or not.”
“Do you think he might try revenge, too?” Cress shudders at the thought.
“I doubt it. If I was still working there or at another major law firm, he might try to destroy my career. But that won’t work now. Once word is out, his reputation will be ruined. I think he’ll just slink off into the night, like the weasel he is.
ChapterThirty-Five
My characters shall have, after a little trouble, all that they desire.—Jane Austen
Chicago, July 2014
JL
It’sa steamy Sunday night in July, but air-conditioning will make karaoke at Stanley’s tolerable. We spent the afternoon geocaching, and this feels cool in comparison. Riding through the warm summer darkness, Micki’s arms tight around my waist, cheek pressed against my back, casts a magical veil over the world. She’s over the moon about being on the ground floor of GSU’s new social justice foundation.
Moving out of her condo to my place happened right after our meeting with Fred Lanscombe. She managed to find someone to sublet quickly. She even agreed to a dog. Our miniature husky puppy, Fairbanks, chews on everything. His cuteness makes up for the destruction. Puppy training starts in a few weeks.
Maman, reassured Uncle François is safe and happy in Montreal, is adjusting to Chicago. She keeps telling me one big city is much like another, although I think this is her way of convincing herself as well as reassuring me. She’s found a Francophone group, places to buy high-quality maple syrup, cheese curds, and the sausages she likes and shouldn’t eat.
Trying to relocate to the Chicago office, Yannick has come in for the festivities.
And Sam, well Sam wasn’t granted bail and is in jail awaiting trial on various felonies including two counts of attempted murder, stalking, and carrying a gun at an airport. His father is still arguing he is not fit to stand trial, so far unsuccessfully. If convicted, Sam could spend a lot of time in prison.
Parking around the corner, I make sure we salute the mashed potato mural, just like I did when we had our first date here last March. Then I pull ma chouette close and murmur into her hair, “Happy?”
“Delirious,” she says, pulling away and slipping her arm through mine. “Let’s go in.”
