KEPT: A Second Chance Fairy Tale (16 page)

“Oh, Lucy,” he says in a pitying tone. “You’ll wear yourself out trying to save every marriage, or mediate every civil suit. You need distance.”

“Is that what you do?” I ask. “Keep yourself at a distance?”

“Sometimes, yes. I don’t feel compelled to offer my support or sympathy either way.”

“I don’t know if I can be so passive about something that important. There’s a right and a wrong, and I like to think I side on the right every time.”

“We all do,” he says, “but sometimes choosing to stay indifferent is the only way to cope.”

“You keep on coping then. I’ll keep finding ways to save the world.”

He smirks, and I’m sure it’s because he finds my solution juvenile.

His smirk turns into a smile, which he tries to hide. “And I thought it was Walt Disney, not Lucy Monroe, who made the world go round.”

My mouth falls open. I’m sure I look ridiculous.

I jump to call him out for remembering my shirt, but I remember where that saying was placed on said shirt. Then I think about his hand on my stomach when he suddenly stopped the car, feeling the burn in the same place he touched me. Rather than mentally give in to the flutters in my stomach, I turn on my heel, leaving him extremely satisfied with himself, and walk to the door.

“Jesus Christ, he misses nothing,” I mutter to myself before closing the door behind me.

Right before the latch clicks into place, I swear I hear him laugh.

Damn, I missed it.

Lucy

“W
E’VE BEEN THROUGH THIS, AND
my client has accepted partial blame for their marriage falling apart. Yet Mrs. Lehman is using his admission to her advantage.”

“Of course she is, and now she wants full custody.”

“He didn’t neglect his son! Jeremy shouldn’t be punished for this.”

“I hardly think Jeremy being raised by a woman who loves him is considered punishment. Mr. Lehman will be afforded plenty of visitation, which will include weekends and holidays.”

The tension is high and the words are malicious. Michael was wrong when he told me today’s meeting would be easier. It seems between the time Mr. Lehman left our office yesterday and walked back in today, he’s had a change of heart.

His lawyer drew first blood, citing that Mrs. Lehman has been having an affair with the gardener. He brought pictures that I’m sure, judging by Michael’s angry reaction, no one knew existed. Even in the face of those damning photographs of her and the hired help, Mrs. Lehman vehemently denied the allegations. Once she calmed, she turned the tables, accusing her husband of neglect, both physical and emotional.

All of this has taken place with their young son sitting just outside the conference room door. Surely he can hear the raised voices. It’s probably scaring him, not having any knowledge of what’s happening.

“Let’s get a move on this,” Mr. Reynolds insists, as if he’s the facilitator and not the lowly lawyer practically in heat to finish ripping apart a family.

Michael looks in my direction. “Lucy, can you grab Jeremy and bring him in here?”

“Sure,” I reply, pushing back my chair.

Michael’s hand reaches to grab my wrist. His gentle squeeze of reassurance is appreciated.

Reading my mind, he says, “He’ll be okay.”

With what I’m sure is a look of uncertainty, I nod, make my way to the door, and call for Jeremy. His big, brown eyes are brimming with tears, and he’s slow to walk in front of me to the only empty chair.

Before this morning’s meeting, Corbin had reminded me of the dinner plans for tomorrow night. Monday marks my one month of employment. Corbin advised me that Mercer Law celebrates this with everyone, so he wanted to be sure I was still available to attend.

However, after looking into the wet eyes of the little boy seated directly across from me, I’m unsure this is where I still want to be.

“She doesn’t have a leg to stand on,” Mr. Reynolds says in front of Jeremy. “Not to mention she’s never been gainfully employed. How will she contribute to the support of their son?”

I catch Jeremy biting his lip. When his gaze comes to mine, he stops and offers me a small smile, which doesn’t reach his eyes. Judging by his lack of surprise at his parents’ behavior, one could argue he’s seen all this before.

“He wouldn’t
allow
her to work. Read the statement given by your own client. I have the copy right here.” Michael slides the document across the table without waiting for a rebuttal. Mrs. Lehman takes in a breath and starts to speak, but Michael talks over her. “She’s entitled to a hell of a lot more.”

I’m aware my position here is considered useless, but at this point, even if I lose my job, I don’t care. Their son shouldn’t be held as a captive witness to his family ending.

“Jeremy?” I address him softly.

All voices go silent as everyone’s eyes fall to me. Even Jeremy stops looking at the table, his gaze meeting mine.

Quietly, I start to ask, “Do you have–”

“Lucy, no,” I hear Michael quietly, but directly, demand.

I don’t chance a look at him. Instead, I continue as if I didn’t hear his interruption. “Do you have anything you’d like to say?”

Jeremy blinks, releasing his unshed tears. His freckled, now pale skin flushes with anxiety.

“Ma’am?” he replies.

“Do you have anything you’d like to add to this discussion today?”

Mr. Reynolds is having none of this. “Mr. Holden, can you please keep your
Lucy
quiet. She’s talking out of place.”

“Jeremy,” I prod, leaning forward and keeping my eyes on him. “This meeting is for you. If you have something you’d like to tell your parents, you can do it here.”

He doesn’t answer, just continues to stare at me with a blank expression.

“How old are you?” I ask, putting my pen down on the table and resting my hands in my lap. When he doesn’t respond, I push further. “What grade will you be in?”

A quiet sob breaks from Jeremy’s mother, and my gaze moves to her. She’s clutching her oversized purse tightly in front of her. Her hands and fingers are pale as she uses the bag to shield her body, maybe even her conscience.

Her husband, Scott, is holding his hand over his mouth. With his elbow on the table, he looks down at the papers in front of him.
What will this divorce cost him?
I think momentarily and remember what I said to Michael yesterday, conceding he’s probably right…in a sense.

You can’t always fix what’s broken, but you
can
help those caught in the middle from feeling the break by association, even if only for a little while.

“I have a son close to your age. His name is Dillon. He’s going to be in first grade this year.”

“Lucy,” I hear Michael breathe out.

“Are we done using my client’s only child as a distraction to what’s really the matter here?” Mr. Reynolds retorts.

I narrow my eyes at the opposing counsel, but stay quiet. I’m waiting for Michael to agree with him.

He doesn’t.

Rather, with a change of heart, he advises, “Let her talk to him.”

Mr. Reynolds looks to Jeremy’s father and mumbles under his breath, “You’ve got to be–”

“Jeremy,” I address again, this time louder to capture the boy’s attention.

After hearing Michael’s permission to answer, Jeremy replies, “I’m eight. I’m gonna be in third grade.”

“Third grade,” I repeat with quiet enthusiasm. “Well, that sounds exciting.”

He gives a small smile.

“What’s your teacher’s name? Do you know yet?”

“Mrs. Collins,” he replies.

“Dillon’s teacher will be Mr. Callahan,” I reply, attempting to continue connecting with him in some way.

Jeremy’s face lights up. “Mom says I don’t have to take my lunch this year.”

“You like the school lunches?” He nods. “So does Dillon. What school will you be going to?”

When his face tenses again, I see I’ve made him nervous. This is a subject he clearly doesn’t want to talk about.

“I don’t know for sure. Mrs. Collins teaches at my school now,” he explains. “It depends on what Mom and Dad…” He stops, looks at his parents sitting across the table from each other, then admits, “I don’t know yet.”

“Well, that’s okay,” I return, feeling his anxiety from across the room. “Can you answer some questions for Mr. Reynolds?” I point to the
opposing
idiot first. “And Mr. Holden?” I point to
my
idiot next. “Maybe just a few?”

“Yeah, but…”

Mr. Reynolds approaches first, surprisingly in a much softer tone than he’d been using before. He asks Jeremy a series of simple yes or no questions, then talks to him about where he wishes to live and why. After Jeremy tells him he doesn’t want to choose, Mr. Reynolds looks at his client for permission to stop the deposition. Jeremy’s dad offers a brief nod, his eyes never leaving his son.

Michael moves in next. “Jeremy,” he calls, then runs his hand over his mouth before shaking his head quickly. Michael looks tired. Maybe it’s fatigue from all the hours he puts in, or maybe it’s the situation itself.

“Sir,” Jeremy addresses in return.

“What’s your favorite thing to do with your mom?”

Good question.

My eyes move from Michael to Jeremy, and I see a smile cover his face as he looks at his mom with love and adoration.

“We like to paint,” he tells the table. “She doesn’t care if I make a mess, as long as I keep painting.”

“That sounds like fun.” Michael nods. “Are you any good at it?”

Jeremy looks at his mom again and finds her finally breaking from her tears and smiling back at him.

He uses his first finger to point as his hand stays resting on the table. “No, but she is.”

“What do you like to do with your dad?” Michael asks next.

Rather than glance over at Mr. Lehman, I chance a look at Michael. Before Jeremy catches it, Michael turns his gaze to me and winks. He needs to stop doing that, especially when he’s adding it while being so sweet to a kid who stands more to lose than anyone here.

“Dad and I play catch,” Jeremy tells us.

Mr. Lehman clears his throat and informs the room, “Jeremy wants to make the baseball team next year. We’ve been practicing.”

“Ah,” Michael responds.

Mr. Reynolds, the ever-brooding opposing counsel, rolls his eyes and I hear a ‘hmph’ from his direction.

Michael ignores him and presses forward. “You know, Jeremy,” he starts in a casual tone, “no matter where you live, you’ll still have everything you do now. You’ll paint with your mom, and play catch with your dad.”

“It won’t be the same,” Jeremy contests.

“No, it won’t be the same,” Michael quietly agrees. “But it won’t be completely different, either.”

Sensing Jeremy’s hope starting to wane, I add what I can to help. “I bet every time you have a game, or a concert at school, or anything you want both parents to attend, they’ll be there. Don’t you think?”

Jeremy doesn’t hesitate when he says, “Yeah.”

“And you’ll see both of them on holidays, birthdays, and special occasions.”

Again, he agrees.

“No matter what’s decided, things will work out the way they’re supposed to.”

Mr. Reynolds takes this as his cue to wade in with an opinion no one here cares about. He starts to wrap up the meeting, he and Michael taking turns voicing both facts and opinions, but at least it’s in a civil tone. No longer are they pointing a finger at each other’s clients, but are respecting a little boy who was born between the love they once had for each other.

I sense I’m no longer needed. It’s likely after what I’ve started without permission here that I’ll no longer be employed at Mercer Law, and I’m okay with that. If today’s meeting is anything like what my future holds, it’s obvious this job isn’t something I’d enjoy.

Just as there’s a break in conversation at the table, I make a move to stand. Michael reaches up and grabs my wrist, halting me. With everyone’s attention on us, he carefully pulls me down to him and whispers in my ear, “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

That tone…

I’ve heard it before and appreciate it as much now as I did on my first day.

Not.

At.

All
.

I make an attempt to break free without being too obvious. “I’m leaving. I’ll tell Corbin all of this was my fault.”

“Sit,” he hisses, scooting my chair closer to his.

If Jeremy weren’t watching us with a face coated in concern, I’d pitch a fit.

His mother has finally stopped sobbing, his father has actually been listening, and the lawyers aren’t choking themselves on their own words. So, rather than create a scene, I do as I’m told and take a seat.

Michael looks through a few of his papers, as all other eyes stay on me. I give a small wave to Jeremy, and he smiles wide in return. I’m sensing he’s acclimated to being in as much trouble as I am.

Michael’s voice, full of authority, concludes to the room, “We’re done here. Let’s motion for a delay so we all have time to cool off and put this into perspective. Does everyone agree?”

Greeted with mumbles and nods all around, Michael stands. When he does, I stand with him. He turns his head, looks down at me, and mouths,
You. Don’t leave this room.