Tell No Lies (13 page)

He grunted. "Maybe you should—" He stopped himself.
Leave
, he was going to say.
Get off your high horse
.
Join the real world
.
 

"What?" She put her hands on her hips. "Maybe I should what, Jack?"

He breathed deeply and reached for her hands again. "Maybe
we
should do what I first suggested. Let's talk afterwards, okay?"
 

She looked past him at the bench. For an instant, he wondered if she missed being in the courtroom herself, and that's why she had stopped by. The defendant's attorney came through the double doors then and nodded to them as he passed. Claire forced a smile.

Jack lowered his voice. "Didn't you ever work on a case where you made arguments that you didn't completely buy yourself? But you made them because you still believed, on the whole, your client deserved to win?"

"You're rationalizing."

"Isn't that what matters, ultimately? That the right party wins?"

"No matter how he does it? Is that what you're saying?"

"You didn't answer me. Didn't you ever have a case like that?"

She sighed. "I don't know, Jack. I'm sure I did." She shrugged. "Maybe that's why I work at the law school now."

The door from Judge Lehman's chambers opened and he emerged, his black robe flowing behind him. "Are you gentlemen ready to continue?" he asked as he took the bench.

Jack waved to indicate his readiness. Turning back to Claire, he said, "I've gotta go. We'll talk more when I'm done, okay?"

"Ms. Hilliard?" The judge's good-natured voice carried easily to the back of the courtroom. "Are you here to decide whether you'd bother voting for this guy?" He motioned to Jack, who was on his way back to his seat at the prosecutor's table.

She laughed. "Oh, he knows he has my vote no matter what."

"Then he should work extra hard to make you proud."

Jack wanted desperately to slide down in his chair and hide under the table. He turned to look at Claire; she focused on Judge Lehman.

"You know what, Judge?" Only then did she look right at Jack. "I couldn't agree with you more."

CHAPTER SIX

JACK SAT ON the steps of the front porch, a paper grocery bag between his legs and a stack of corn on the cob beside him. Jamie sat next to him on his other side. Jack picked up an ear and handed it to Jamie, then reached for another for himself. They both began to rip the husks, methodically peeling them off.

"Look, Jamester, you have to grab it like this at the top, sort of divide it with your fingers, grab a clump, and then tug the whole thing down. That's how you get the silks off at the same time." Jamie stared at him, perplexed. "The little yellow hairs," Jack clarified.

"Like this?" He shoved his ear in Jack's face, proud of his slow progress.

"Yeah, like that," Jack said, dropping his own peelings into the bag. "You've got it now."

After several moments of silence, broken only by the sound of shucking and the occasional rustle of the bag, Jamie announced, "I love Mommy's corn."

Jack laughed. As if she had grown it. "Jamester, it's our corn this time. We're the ones doing all the work."

"Does that mean you'll be cooking it, too?"

Jack turned at the sound of Claire's voice. She stood in the doorway, behind the screen.

"How long have you been standing there?" he asked.

"Long enough," she said, smiling. She opened the screen door and stepped out onto the porch. She squatted behind Jack and wrapped her arms around him.

"Who taught you how to shuck the corn?" she said, her lips brushing up against his ear.

"My mom."

"Liar."

"You."

"Exactly." She leaned toward Jamie now. "Which means, Jamie, honey, that it's still Mommy's corn, by proxy."

Jamie giggled, not because he understood, but because Claire tickled Jack's waist and caused him to squirm. She pushed aside the unshucked corn to make a spot for herself next to him and then bent forward to pick weeds from the mulched bed next to the steps. Jack lightly rubbed the back of her neck under her hair and leaned down to kiss the top of her head. She turned and smiled at the unexpected gesture.

"What time is Mark coming?" he asked.

"Around four."

"I hope Uncle Mark brings me a toy," said Jamie.

"Don't be begging him for toys, Jamie," Jack scolded. His brother was a sales rep for a toy company, and Jack hated the way he spoiled the kids with new things every time he came over.

Jack finished the last ear. He watched Claire for a while; she'd turned the weed picking into a full-time job and had moved into the middle of the bed. When the phone rang inside the house, she stood and brushed the dirt from her hands.
 

"Let it go," said Jack, who didn't want the moment to end.

"I can't," she said. "We've got company coming."

"So?" But she'd already run into the house, letting the screen door close behind her. He gathered up the corn and followed her into the kitchen.

"No, I'm fine, I don't need anything." Claire snapped her fingers to get Jack's attention. She pointed to the front of the house. Jack shrugged, confused.

"No, really, I'm set. Just come on over around four."

Jack determined it was his brother, although her tone was less familiar than usual. Claire covered the mouthpiece with her hand and whispered to him, "Jamie."

Jack darted outside. Jamie hadn't left the yard. He sat on the ground cross-legged with his purple bucket next to him, using his red shovel to dump dirt into it. He looked up when Jack came out. "I'm making soup," he declared.

Jack opened the screen for Claire when he heard her coming through the front hall. "Well, was it company?" he teased.

"Yes," she said, in a tone that said,
I told you so
.
 

"What'd he want?"

"
He
didn't want anything.
She
wanted to know if I needed anything."
 

"He's bringing someone?"

"No, I invited Jenny."

Jack's muscles tensed. He sat back down on the steps. "You invited my brother."

"I also invited Jenny."

After a moment, he asked, "Why didn't you tell me?"

Claire shrugged. "Because I knew how you'd react. I know what you think about my matchmaking." She sat, too, this time in one of the wooden rockers.

"Is that what you call it? Well, let's see, Claire, maybe you should remember what happened the last time you set her up."

She picked at loose paint on the armrest of the chair and brushed the flakes away. "Jenny and Alex had a fairly long relationship, if you remember correctly. Just because it didn't end in marriage doesn't mean it wasn't worth having."

"It caused her a lot of pain."

"'Between grief and nothing, I will take grief,'" Claire quoted smugly.

"You're sick, you know that? It's her life, not some book." He hated how Claire, with her English and American literature degrees, always had some relevant quote for everything. "And it's not your choice."

"I'm not trying to choose anything. I'm just providing opportunity."

Jack shook his head in disgust. His brother, of all people. What was she thinking?

"She just moved out of Alex's a month or so ago, you know."

"I'm aware of that. But she's not a widow. If I'm not mistaken, there's no mandated mourning period after breaking up with someone."

"If she wanted to date, she's got plenty of opportunities at Newman and all over town. She's surrounded by men all day. It's not like she can't find a man."
 

"I'm well aware of
that
, too."
 

For a moment, from the way she said it, Jack thought she was somehow accusing him, or hinting that she knew about the incident in the parking garage.

"You know," she continued, "it's easy for you to say this with your little cozy house in the suburbs and your wife and two kids. Did it ever occur to you that she'd like a family, too?"

"I think she's capable of creating it without your help."

Claire turned away. They sat there wordlessly, looking at anything except each other.

"Tell me something. Were you going to wait until she pulled in the driveway to tell me she was coming?" he asked after a few moments.

"No." Her voice sounded unsure. She got up and went to sit next to him. He scooted over a bit, as if to make room, but both knew it was his way of saying he didn't want to be so close to her at that moment. "Jack, what are you so angry about? He's so much like you, I just thought it would be a good match."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

She hesitated. "I don't know . . . You and Jenny are such good friends, and you and your brother are so similar . . . I don't mean your looks, although that, too, I guess, but your personalities . . . It just seemed natural that she'd take a liking to him."  

"He's not like me," he said, ignoring the obvious implications.

She fingered the honey-colored hairs on his leg; he pretended not to notice. "He is. You don't see it because you're too close. But anyone who knows you both thinks so."

Jamie, sensing the tension, came over, and Claire reached out to him. He climbed up into her lap and rested his head on her collarbone.

"I don't see what you're getting so upset about," she said to Jack. "It's just a barbecue."

He watched her hand stroke Jamie's blond head. What
was
he so upset about? Initially, it was the thought of spending a few uncomfortable hours with Claire and Jenny together. He was beginning to think this was some sort of punishment for his transgression. But what was really bugging him, he knew, was the fact that he wanted Jenny nowhere near his brother. What Claire was so sure of—Jenny's probable attraction to Mark—was exactly what Jack feared. His thirty-one-year-old brother was an unabashed philanderer who had no regard for the casualties of his numerous liaisons. Claire believed Jack to be too harsh in his opinion of Mark. She thought Mark's behavior was typical of single guys his age, and that once he found the right woman, he would settle down.
 

"Does she know he's going to be here?" Jack finally asked.

"Yes. In fact, she seemed pretty excited about it."

"Okay, fine," he said dismissively. He stood and looked at his watch. "Let me know when they get here, then." He opened the screen.

"Jack."

He stopped and turned to her. "What?"
Don't be mad
, she was going to say.
 

"Will you call next door and tell Michael to come home?" She smiled sweetly.

He stared at her, angry that she'd invited Jenny, angry that he'd misjudged her. "Yes." He turned and went into the house, letting the screen door slam hard behind him.

Mark arrived first, as Jack knew he would; he'd never known Jenny to be on time for anything, not even court. Jack and Michael were shooting hoops when Mark pulled up. He drove a black BMW Z3, just washed. The hubcaps flashed in the sun when he turned into the driveway.

"Hey, bro." Mark greeted Jack with a twelve-pack of Budweiser. He waved to Michael, who tossed the ball to him, trying to catch him off guard.

"Still driving this piece of shit?" Jack asked, smiling. His brother loved his cars. He had trouble keeping one for more than a year or so, always tempted by newer models or faster engines.

"Yeah, well, it's been good to me. No tickets, yet."

"I wondered why I hadn't heard from you in a while."

Mark laughed. "I think all the cops know me by now, so they don't even bother." He looked over Jack's shoulder and then handed him the beer and started walking to the open garage. Jack turned to see Claire approaching.

"Hey," Mark exclaimed as he hugged her. She kissed his cheek.

"Maybe they just mistake you for Jack," she said, picking up on their conversation. She glanced at Jack, raising her eyebrows as if she'd just scored extra points in their spat.

Mark, unaware of Claire's double entendre, stood back and pretended to appraise her. "Looking good, as usual, Claire. I'm taking her home with me," he said to Jack.

His younger brother was right—she did look good. She had changed into a lightweight jumper, its gossamer fabric hanging easily on her slim body. Her skin glowed from an afternoon in the sun the day before. She had pulled back the front of her hair in a low barrette; the rest hung loose, its gilded curls just grazing the middle of her back. Jack set the beer down and wrapped his arms around Claire's waist from behind. She smelled good, too: lemony. "I might have to share my friends with you, but I'm not sharing my wife." He felt her relax; she'd accepted his overture.
 

Mark jumped in front of Michael and stole the ball from him. "So where
is
the black-haired beauty with the big dark eyes?" he sang, taking another shot. Michael grabbed the ball after it fell through the net.
 

"Late, as usual," Jack said. He watched Mark dodge back and forth behind Michael, trying to get the ball as Michael dribbled it.

Claire picked up the beer and went into the house. Once she was out of earshot, Michael said, "You'll like her, Uncle Mark. She's hot."

Jack's jaw dropped. Michael had not yet shown much interest in girls; the comment surprised him and smacked of disrespect. He nudged his son's arm to indicate his disapproval, and Mark snickered.

"He's not even twelve," Jack said. "He shouldn't talk about women like that."

"Yeah, whatever," Mark said. He grabbed his brother's arm and led him back to his car, away from Michael. "Why don't
you
tell me a little bit about her, in that case?"
 

Well, let's see, Mark, we had a little make-out session in a downtown parking garage a few weeks ago, and frankly, I don't like the thought of you doing the same with her
.
 

"There's nothing to tell you." Jack paused. "Just do me a favor, will you? Stay away from her. I don't know where Claire got this ridiculous idea to set you up."