A Promise to Remember (10 page)

"To simplify the explanation, basically they are saying there
is not a legally sufficient reason to proceed with this suit."

These people would stop at nothing. "Did they see the
pictures? Did they see my son's car-so crushed the police
couldn't identify the make? Did they see Jeff-so battered his
own mother could barely identify him? What, have they been
out of the country during all this?" Hysteria was setting in, but
she didn't care. "How dare they say we don't have sufficient
grounds! I'll show them some grounds."

"Melanie, you need to calm down. They know there are
grounds. This is just standard practice. I've been expecting it."

"Expecting it? You would expect such garbage?" She looked
from the faded paint on her walls to the cracked linoleum, then pictured the Phelps family laughing and drinking champagne
in a fancy kitchen with imported tile and granite countertops.
Money spoke louder than common sense, it seemed.

"Don't worry, it just takes patience to meander through the
process. Next on the agenda is the hearing. I expect our complaint will be sustained."

"How long do we have to wait for all this?"

"It usually takes three to four weeks. After that, I file an
amended complaint and we start again. All in all, we lose maybe
a month of time, but we will keep moving forward, and we will
win this thing."

"Seems to me they're fighting dirty."

"It's the way the game is played." He paused and cleared his
throat. "Maybe you should keep that in mind."

She shook her head, felt her grip tighten. "Don't start in on
me about going to a psychiatrist again. I told you, I'm not doing
it. I'm keeping my journal of thoughts and memories like you
asked, but even that seems silly to me. Any jury with half a heart
would know that I'm grieving myself sick. I don't need a journal
for that, and I do not need some shrink asking me `how that
makes me feel' because he's too stupid to see the obvious."

"An expert witness testifying on your behalf would strengthen
the case."

"Well, I don't want to strengthen my case that way. I'm in
the right, and I don't need a high-priced medical puppet to
confirm it."

He laughed. "I have to admit, I like the strength of your
convictions, even if they don't help our case."

"Here are your phone messages, and Shane Greyton from Vitasoft is on line one," Blair's secretary said and skittered from the room before he could respond. Rumors must be getting
around the office.

He lifted the phone and pushed the button. "Blair Phelps."

"Hello, Blair. How are things in sunny California today?"

Blair looked out his window, low misty clouds shrouding
everything. "I think we've got your weather. Things are pretty
murky, I'm afraid."

"Yes." Shane cleared his throat. "That's what we keep
hearing."

This discussion was no longer about the weather. Blair began
to mindlessly flip through his phone messages. One drew his
attention. Mike Daniels at Parsons Bank and Trust wants you to
call him.

This deal could not fall through. The few things that Blair
had left depended on it.

He reached for the Vitasoft file on his desk. "Only a fool
would let a little fog keep him from doing what needs to be
done. Myself, I stay focused on the big picture and walk right
through it."

"Good man. Unfortunately ... I'm not so certain that our
major stockholders feel the same way. Some of our directors
are asking tough questions-questions I'm having trouble
answering."

Blair picked up a paper clip and began to straighten it. "You
can tell your directors that there is no need for worry."

"A lawsuit worth several million dollars might be perceived
as a rather large reason to worry. Know what I mean? Our legal
counsel is telling us to cool our jets a little on the timing of the
close."

"My personal problems have nothing to do with the well-being
of this company. I'm continuing on with business as usual." He
worked the clip into a circle.

"Good. I expect you to do everything in your power to provide
the warmth and sunshine we'd all like to see in a California
experience."

"I'm taking care of things on my end. You do the same on
yours."

"Got it covered. I'll check in again soon."

Blair hung up the phone and fought the urge to bury his face
in his hands. Too many people could walk by the office. Instead
he stared at the paper clip he'd bent out of shape. It'd never go
back, he thought. He could try, could maybe get it close, but it'd
never he back to its original shape. Blair somehow felt that was
true of his own life, too. One more twist, one more bend. He
wondered if so much could happen that you'd forget where you
started in the first place. And then what would he be left with?
What kind of complicated knot would his life look like then?

The buzz from the front gate jerked Andie to her feet. It was
nine o'clock on Friday night. Blair had once again barricaded
himself in his study and she expected no visitors. The surprise
of the buzzer rose a dread deep within. But really, what had
news could be left?

She walked to the intercom. "Yes?"

"Andie, it's Sam Campbell. I need to talk to you." Andie
couldn't move. Sam was their lawyer-Scott Baur's law partner
and a longtime acquaintance. This probably wasn't social. Not
tonight-at this time.

"Andie?"

Mechanically, she opened the gate, flipped on the porch
light, and waited. When she heard his car stop at the front of
the house, she braced herself, turned the deadbolt, and opened
the door. It took all her energy to force her voice out in a casual,
friendly manner. "Good evening, Sam."

"Good evening, Andie. I'm sorry to bother you at home this
late, but I've got something I think you need to know." His grim
face told her she might need to know it, but she definitely did
not want to know it.

"Please, come in." She held the door. Close it. Leave him
outside. Don't let him in. "Would you like a cup of decaf?" She
surprised herself with the control she managed to keep in her
tone.

"No thanks. Is Blair home? I'd like to speak with him, as
well."

"Yes, I'm home." Blair stood in the hallway, watching. The
weary look on his face told Andie he, too, feared the cause of
this visit.

Andie continued her illusion of calm. "Come into the living
room." From the look on Sam Campbell's face, he needed to
sit down while he delivered this news. She was certain she
needed to sit to hear it. She pointed at the gray wingback chair.
"Please, have a seat."

She walked on wobbly legs to the couch, where she sank into
the cushions. Maybe she should just order him out of her house.
Lock him and the bad news he brought out of her life.

It wouldn't help. The truth would find them.

Blair sat beside her. He rubbed his hands together and leaned
his elbows on his knees. It was his "let's get down to business"
position that Andie recognized so well. "What news do you
have for us?"

"The toxicology reports have come back." He pulled a white
sheet of paper out of his jacket pocket but didn't look at it. "Your
son had a 0.03 alcohol level in his blood. Not enough to be legally
drunk, but of course, any amount at his age is illegal."

Andie gasped. "There must be some mistake. Chad never
touched alcohol. He spoke out against it."

She remembered his birthday party last year. Dozens of teenagers splashing about in the softly lit pool, the smell of hot
dogs carrying over from the grill, the girls' giggles at the boys'
belly-busting competition.

Chad had walked over, dripping wet and smiling. "I think
this is the best party yet. Don't you?" He put his arms around
Andie's shoulders.

She laughed. "How come the only time you hug me in front
of your friends is when you're soaking wet?"

"Oops. Sorry about that." He lifted his arm, then put it back
on her shoulders. "Ah, you're already wet now. May as well
enjoy it, huh?" He looked around. "I wonder where Dan and
Kurt went."

"They've been in and out several times tonight. They must
be up to something." Andie smiled. "They better not be TPing
all the trees out front again. It took a week to clean that mess
up last time they did it."

Chad sniggered. "Yeah, Dad was pretty mad about that, too.
I better go see if they're out there."

Three minutes later, he returned, his face solemn. He went
over to a group of boys and pointed toward the door. The boys
looked at him, grinning, waiting for the joke that didn't seem
to come. After a minute of heated conversation, three of them
left. Only later did Andie ask him what had happened.

"They were going out to their cars and mixing rum in with
their Coke. I told them they were disrespecting my family. I
told them to get out and not come back."

Chad could not have died with alcohol in his system. It had
to be a mistake.

"He was underage. Surely we can track down the person who
sold something to him. They should be called to answer for it."
Blair's voice came out gravelly, and his lips had gone so tight
they hardly moved as he spoke.

Sam shifted in his seat and adjusted his tie, as if he needed
to breathe. "Yes, that is true. First of all, I need to ask you, is
there any way he could have gotten into the alcohol cabinet at
home?"

Andie lifted her chin and looked at Sam. "Neither of us drink,
and we do not keep alcohol in our home." Had someone sold
that poison to her son? Whoever it was, he was responsible for
the accident and needed to face up to it. She wanted to punish
him, make him pay. Let him feel some of her pain. They would
drag him into court so fast ...

An uncomfortable sensation formed deep in her gut. No.
This was different. This was ... different.

Sam nodded. "That's good to hear. I asked because, upon
searching through the wreckage, the police found a bottle beneath his backseat. They kept it quiet for as long as possible.

He tugged at his tie again. "The reason I thought it might
have come from home is because of the bottle they found. I'm
told, with kids, they usually find beer, or some form of cheap
liquor. Chad had a bottle of Scotch."

Blair's face went white. "Laphroaig? Thirty-year-old
Laphroaig?"

Sam pressed his lips into a thin line. "Yes, as a matter of
fact."

"Oh, dear God, help me." Blair buried his face in his hands.
He didn't cry, nor did he speak, but he rocked back and forth
over and over again.

Andie watched her husband, and an entirely new dread crept
through her. "Blair, what is going on?"

He looked up, his eyes haunted and hollow. "The day of the
wreck, I got a package. It was from Rex Grimes, an old college
friend I hadn't seen in years. He'd just gotten back from a tour
of Scotland and sent a bottle to all the old gang."

"What kind of person sends a bottle of Scotch to a friend
who's been clean and sober for over twenty years?"

"I haven't talked to him in almost that long. He had no way
of knowing." Blair rubbed his hands against his knees. "Chad
was with me when I opened it. I set it on the counter beside
the sink, planning to pour it out. That's when I found out about
the midterm grades, and everything else started to happen. I
forgot about it."

Sam rose stiffly from the chair and walked over to touch Blair
on the shoulder. "I'm sorry, Blair. I know this is devastating.
But you've got to understand, this just made our case a whole
lot harder."