Authors: Barbara Delinsky
"I can come back later."
"You can," he acknowledged indifferently, "but if you're doing it hoping that something permanent will develop, do yourself a favor and stay away."
"Because you're still married? For God's sake, J.D." Teke's been no saint. Look what she did with Sam. Look what she's doing with Grady Piper."
J.D. felt his nonchalance slip. Sam, he could take. He'd gotten used to that. The other bothered him more, on principle if nothing else.
"What's she doing with Grady?"
"Three guesses."
He didn't have to take one. "Do you have any proof?"
"She sees him all the time. He 'helps' Michael, that's the excuse. But, look, I really don't care what Teke does. You shouldn't either. You've moved on, J.D. You're more than she'll ever be. And I'll take you married or not."
He scowled. "Don't say that, Gin."
"Why not? I go after what I want, and I want you."
"For the money?"
Her jaw flexed. "For the whole package."
"But the whole package isn't available."
"Then I'll take whatever part of it is."
He scowled. "Where's your pride?"
"It went the way of husband number two," she said, tipping up her chin.
"So I don't mince words where something I want is involved, and you're it, J.D. You always have been. You turn me on, on more levels than one. I want you."
"Well, you can't have me," he informed her. "I like the way I'm living, and that means alone."
She looked perturbed. "But you're used to being with people. Don't you get lonely?"
"I see too many people to get lonely."
"Don't you get horny?"
"I have women. But I have them when I want, and only then."
"You're a selfish bastard," she muttered with scorn. J.D. might have paid her displeasure more heed if he hadn't been taken up with self-discovery. "When I was growing up, there was always someone hovering over me. Then I went off to college and met Teke, and for nineteen years she's hovered over me. Now there's no one to hover. I can do what I want when I want. I might get tired of it in a month, but for the time being, I have to say I'm enjoying the freedom."
"I see," Virginia said, and rose from the stool on which she'd been perched. "It's a shame. We could help each other. We're good together."
J.D. thought of what they had done on the floor. Virginia was a good lover, but no better than Teke, and he didn't want Teke. What he wanted, he realized, was to play. His life had always been goal-oriented, its agenda based on order, purpose, and responsibility. Now he wanted to float. He wanted to do things he hadn't done, taste things he hadn't tasted, even break a few rules, just for kicks. He was searching for his identity, he realized. It wasn't enough to be John Stewart's son or Teke's husband or Sam's friend. He wanted to be John David Maxwell. Strong, independent, self-reliant.
Moving out of the house had been one step in the right direction. Learning to function on his own had been another. There were still other, larger issues to be settled, but he was making progress. eighteen
semester. As with the last, she was teaching three courses. The largest was a continuation of British literature, with mainly freshmen enrolled. The two others were advanced seminars for English majors and graduate students. One was a critical analysis of the works of T. S. Eliot, the other a study of Milton's Paradise Lost. She found a poignancy in the last. It seemed that she and everyone else in her immediate world had suffered falls from grace in recent months. Eden was a memory. There was a new, less perfect order to be handled. Jon had slept with Leigh, largely out of defiance toward Sam, and now had a baby on the way. He was trying to stay calm and do what was right, but he was frightened. Annie suffered for him. He was her firstborn, the baby in whom she had taken such joy. She had wanted him to enjoy a carefree life before responsibility set in, but those years weren't to be. The fact that he loved Leigh was some solace for the fact that they would be parents at eighteen.
Teke had come through in a way that Annie
couldn't have asked of her, but in a way that made sense. Helping Jon and Leigh raise their baby would perhaps be her salvation. It would be the final absolution for what she had done with Sam.
And Sam? He had been changed by what he had done, had become a more thoughtful and sensitive man. Incredibly, Annie's love for him had grown-which was why she worried so that he would stray again. She believed that he loved her. She believed that he was attracted to her. He told her the first and showed her the second every chance he got. Still, the hurt of what he had done with Teke lingered. Annie had forgiven him on the day she had nearly given herself to Jason, when the humanness of the act had hit home. But the humanness of it was precisely what haunted her. She feared Sam might be tempted again and she would be devastated. She had moments of doubt--and
self-doubt--when she was convinced that his attentiveness toward her was solely for the sake of saving the marriage.
He was under pressure at work. A change was in order, but the right opportunity eluded him. She worried that the pressure might get to him, might drive him off in search of external approval. And she still hadn't told him about Jason. She wanted to--she and Sam used to share everything-but she didn't know how he would react. The not knowing tormented her. Everything boiled down to trust, once so strong, now shakily seeking a foothold in their lives. She was frightened of losing him.
Sam had moments of looking back over the last few months and fearing that he had lost the stability in his life. He had lost J.D. He had lost Michael. He
had lost--then found--Zoe and Jon, and as for Annie, he wasn't sure. He was doing everything in his power to show her how much he adored her, but it didn't seem to be enough. By normal standards their relationship was wonderful--but he had been spoiled. Normal standards didn't apply to Annie and him. Their relationship had always been a notch above. It was that last notch he couldn't seem to scale. A small part of her wasn't his yet. Once upon a time, she would lie with him as though nothing in the world were important enough to take her from his side. No more.
He knew that she was disillusioned with him, but he had never claimed to be perfect. And the situation at Maxwell, Roper and Dine was growing worse by the day.
Then he saw a ray of hope. An unexpected phone call sent him home early to wait anxiously, with a bottle of Annie's favorite wine on ice, for her return from school. She was no sooner in than he gave her a hug and popped the cork.
She swirled the wine in the glass, looking wary in an amused sort of way. "Is this a special occasion?"
"Might be," he said. His excitement was growing. He tried to temper it, knowing Annie might think the idea an awful one. "Back before Thanksgiving, one of the Superior Court judges died, leaving an opening on the bench. I read the obituary at the time, but didn't think anything of it. Several weeks later I started getting calls from Joe Amarino. Do you remember Joe?"
"Sure," she said curiously.
"He's legal counsel in the governor's office now. He suggested I fill out an application for the seat."
Her eyes grew round.
"I didn't hurry to do it," he went on quickly. "Then things got worse with J.S." and I said, What
the hell, I have nothing to lose. So I filled out the application and had an interview with the Judicial Nominating Committee, but I didn't expect anything to come of it, so I didn't mention it to you. I didn't want to let you down again." His excitement climbed another notch.
"Then my name was one of three submitted to the governor, and still I refused to get my hopes up. But he picked me, Annie. He picked me" Her mouth opened. "He did?"
Sam nodded. Not sure if she was pleased, he said, "It was a long shot. I'm the least political, and the youngest."
"We used to talk about it--"
"Dreaming. We used to think it would be nice if I could go on the bench when I was in my late fifties and ready to slow down. But I'm forty-one, I'm feeling great. Hell, I can't afford to be a judge, what with the college tuitions we have coming up and Jon and Leigh's baby, but, damn it, the idea has merit. The Superior Court is the one to be on. That's where the most exciting cases are tried. It would be a challenge."
She let out a breath. "This is incredible, Sam. What an honor!" She did look pleased. His spirits soared. "Yes, it's an honor, but so are some of the other offers that have come my way." He had already told her about those. "I could go almost anywhere as a full partner, and they'd pay me big bucks. But I'd have to produce for those bucks," he reasoned aloud, "and that would mean long hours in a legal conglomerate. I could go into a smaller firm, but I haven't found one stable enough to take the chance on, so that leaves the possibility of going out on my own, which would be great for freedom. I could make my own hours, keep my overhead low, take home a greater percentage of the profit than I do now. But it would require a huge initial investment, both of time and money. I would need computer systems, telephone systems, furniture, a library. I'd have to use our savings to buy all that, which would put more pressure on me to maintain an adequate cash flow, which means that I'd be working even longer hours. I don't want to do that, Annie. I like being around when you are. I've gotten used to it." He paused. She had her hands clasped around her wineglass and was looking as expectant as he felt. "Well? What do you think?"
Her hands came unclasped and went around his neck. He felt the splashing of wine but deemed it unimportant the minute she said, "I think it's an unbelievable opportunity!" She tipped up a face that was alive with excitement. "Such an honor, and it's the perfect solution!
You would be leaving the firm to do something new and better."
"Not better in every respect," he cautioned. "My income would go down. That's not so swell right now."
She didn't seem to care. "We have savings."
"What about the kids? More than anyone, you know how much college costs."
"I also know that there are scholarships available, and that our kids could do a whole lot worse than getting their education for free where I work. We could survive, Sam. Easily."
He wasn't as sure as she was, but her confidence made him heady. He hugged her close. "Think so?"
"Definitely. I'm so proud of you. What a tribute to you."
"It was the Dunn case that did it."
"It was your whole career that did it."
"But the hoopla surrounding the Dunn case made them take notice." He lowered his voice. "Good
thing they only saw the public image."
She held him a moment longer, then drew back and studied her wine.
"What you did with Teke has no relevance to whether or not you would make a good judge. You're a fine lawyer. You have the legal acuity and human compassion to be a fine judge." She eyed him cautiously. "Is the governor's choice final?"
"No. My name will be submitted to the Governor's Council, which then holds a confirmation hearing."
Quietly she asked, "How deeply would they look into your life?" He understood her unsureness. "Deeply enough to learn if I've ever been picked up for driving drunk, not deeply enough to learn that I made a mistake with my wife's best friend. It shouldn't come out, Annie. I can't be certain, but it shouldn't." He had thought this through carefully. There was always a chance that someone with a grudge would leak the story about Teke and him. Then again, the Council might consider it as irrelevant to his qualifications as Annie said it was. "If you're frightened, I'll withdraw my name with no regrets."
"But it's a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity."
"That doesn't mean it's the best thing for us. There's always the chance that ugly rumors will surface. If they do, I'll do what I can to stem them, but you may be hurt. That would defeat the purpose. The major plus of the job is to make our lives better, not worse."
"Sometimes you have to take a risk to make things better," she said. He had a feeling she was about to say more when Zoe came in the door. In a flash the doubt left Annie's face and a smile burst forth. "Guess what? Dad's been nominated for a judgeship! Isn't that incredible?" John Stewart didn't think it was so incredible. He told J.D. as much in no uncertain terms. "That man lacks the moral temperament to be a judge. He'll never be confirmed."
"I wouldn't be so sure," J.D. said. He was feeling surprisingly calm in his father's presence. Moreover, he was feeling surprisingly pleased for Sam. Their recent differences notwithstanding, Sam had worked his tail off to prove himself a good lawyer. It was nice that he was being recognized. "He'll make a hell of a lot better judge than half the old coots on the bench now."
"Honestly, John David, why must you make comments like that? They only show how ignorant you are. Those 'old coots' are respected men who have served the Commonwealth for years."
J.D. grinned. "Give him forty years, and Sam will be one of them."
"Over my dead body. Sam Pope doesn't deserve a judgeship. I can guarantee you I'll be saying that-and why--to everyone I know on the governor's council. I carry clout in this town."
J.D. stopped grinning. His stomach felt sour, and it wasn't the old familiar heebie-jeebies that his father usually caused. It was something different. It tasted like disgust. "What's the point of that? You've already made life unbearable for Sam here. Isn't it enough that you won't have to see him? Don't you realize that he's going to be your great-grandchild's grandfather? Wouldn't it be nice for that child if his grandfather was a judge?"
"It would, if it were anyone but Sam Pope. He could do that child a favor by sinking into oblivion."
J.D. understood John Stewart's dislike of Sam, but the extent of it--the active sabotaging of Sam's career--seemed suddenly overblown.
"Why do you hate him so?" he asked.
"He has no sense of morals."
Puzzled, J.D. shook his head. "There has to be something else."
"He has a control over you that I resent. Had it not been for him, you would have married someone far more suitable. But he introduced you to Theodora, so Theodora it was. Listen to you now. You would never be talking back to me if it weren't for Sam's influence." J.D. couldn't argue with that. "But there's more. You're obsessed with orchestrating his downfall. Was there some argument that you two had that I never knew about? Did he insult you? Did he let down one of your clients or blow a fee or sabotage some crucial negotiation?" John Stewart actually looked pensive, but only for a minute. He opened a side drawer, withdrew a small framed photograph, and set it on the desk. J.D. had seen it before. An identical copy, right down to the scrolled silver frame, stood among the family pictures in his father's study at home. It was fuzzy and old, a photo of John Stewart as a small child, wearing something that looked like a skirt, holding the hand of a child who was larger and older.