back until I reach the Blazer. From the door Gerald holds up my briefcase and trots out to the curb with it.
Wordlessly, he hands it to me, but for a fleeting second, I detect the slightest sign of an apology as his eyes meet mine in recognition. Though I have incensed his wife, he does not hate me for what I have done.
I take the briefcase and through the window murmur, “Thanks,” knowing his wife and daughter are at the door watching this final moment of what has turned into a humiliating debacle. He nods, and I pull away slowly, hoping to retain some of my dignity. I begin to settle down by the time I get on the interstate. I am soaked in sweat. I must have been out of my mind to think that I could talk them out of going to court. I can imagine the stories that will make their way back to Fayetteville. Page was in Texarkana trying to intimidate the family and they kicked his ass out. I wonder if I have done anything unethical.
The last thing I need to do is lose my license over this. I get off the interstate in Arkadelphia and order a chocolate milkshake from the drive-through at McDonald’s. I’m glad Sarah wasn’t along. She would have been appalled by what happened. The girl who hands me my change can’t be more than sixteen. She smiles as if she doesn’t have a care in the world. I wish I could trade places with her.
I get back home around eight-thirty to find Woogie hiding in Sarah’s old room and discover he has pissed on the rug in the living room. Poor guy. He couldn’t hold it.
This is the third time in the last month. His bladder is in no better shape than his master’s. He can’t stand being cooped up in the backyard, howling day and night. I have spoiled him beyond belief and now I’m paying for it. I let him outside, and he doesn’t make it out of the yard before he is squatting. He trots back in, thoroughly hacked at me.
“My fault, boy,” I tell him as he watches from the door that leads into the kitchen as I clean up. My eyes water and I start to gag. If I get disbarred, I don’t think I’ll become a nurse.
Christmas morning I receive a call from Gordon Dyson, who tells me that he will put his wife on a plane for New Zealand in two days. Flabbergasted that a client would call me at my home on Christmas, I rack my brain, and it finally comes to me that Dyson is the ex-cop who wants to evict his son. Irritated, I ask, “Couldn’t this have waited until tomorrow?”
Dyson whispers into the phone, “I’m sorry, but this is the only present I’m getting that I’ve ever wanted, and it didn’t seem real unless I called you.”
Good God in heaven! What people will do to make themselves happy on Christmas.
“It’s okay,” I say, managing to remember our plan.
“I’ll prepare a power of attorney for your wife to sign tomorrow morning. You can drop by and pick it up from my secretary and then bring it back after she leaves. We’ll file an unlawful detainer action immediately.”
“If this works,” he says fervently, “I’ll install a security system in your house for free in addition to paying your fee.”
I look around the living room. Most of the furniture is so ratty I couldn’t pay a thief to carry anything off.
“That’d be great.”
After giving me his wife’s name (Dora Lou), Dyson begins to tell me about how his son set a new personal record by sleeping until two in the afternoon on Christmas Eve. Fortunately, we are interrupted by the doorbell, and even though Sarah could get it, I take this opportunity to tell Mr. Dyson good-bye.
“Ho! Ho! Ho!” Amy says merrily as I let her in the door the same time as Woogie scampers past me into the yard.
“Merry Christmas!” I take her coat and escort her over to the tree to speak to Sarah who hasn’t mentioned Amy’s name once since she’s been home. She had wanted to miss this visit, but I have insisted that she stick around for a while before she goes off this afternoon to visit her friends.
Dressed comfortably in pleated jeans and a bulky white sweater, Amy has a large package for me and an envelope for Sarah who looks at me as if to say, what is this? She’s hardly met me. I watch my daughter’s face as she rips open the paper to find a subscription to Ms. magazine. She scans the enclosed brochure and smiles.
“You shouldn’t have gotten me anything,” she says, but I can tell by her expression she is pleased. The way to her heart these days is to take her as seriously as a brain tumor.
“I don’t read every article, but it helps me keep up,” Amy says, as I hand my present to her. It is in a small box that I had gift-wrapped at Dillard’s. She winks at Sarah and says, “My adoption papers at last!”
Totally disarmed by Amy’s outrageousness, Sarah laughs and says candidly, “I was afraid it was a ring.”
“No, no,” Amy says, tearing open the paper.
“He’s too cheap for that. If I wanted a ring, I’d have to go get one myself.”
Sarah grins, but looks at me to see how I am taking it. I laugh gamely. Presents, in my opinion, are a waste of money.
“If I could find one that would go through your nose …” I say to Amy, not bothering to finish.
“They’re sweet!” Amy says holding up a pair of silver earrings. She stands on her toes and kisses me on the cheek.
“Thank you!”
“You’re welcome,” I say, giving her a hug. I already gave her my real present two nights ago, a red teddy I got for her at Victoria’s Secret. She modeled it for me fifteen minutes later in her bedroom. It wasn’t the kind of gift that I felt comfortable presenting in front of Sarah.
“Dad’s so original,” Sarah says, pointing to her own ears. The earrings I got for her are turquoise.
“Well, they were having this two-for-one sale at Ster ling’s,” I say, winking.
Amy rolls her eyes.
“I thought these looked familiar.”
It is my turn to open Amy’s present. I can tell by the box it must be clothes, but I have no idea what. Amy has been ridiculously secretive, not even giving me a hint. I open the box and find a dark blue pinstriped suit in a box from Bachrach’s, a men’s clothing store in the mall. I’ve been by it a dozen times, but the clothes always cost an arm and a leg.
“Good Lord, Amy, this is expensive!”
“It’s for his trial,” Amy says to Sarah.
“I’m tired of him looking so tacky. He’s been wearing the same suits since law school.” To me, she says, “Don’t worry I waited until it got marked down twice.”
I try on the coat and find it is my size, a 40 regular. She must have looked through my closet.
“You still spent too much,” I chide her gently.
“It’s beautiful.”
“You’ve got time to get the pants altered,” she says, getting in a slight dig at my waistline.
I hug her anyway.
“Thanks a lot,” I say. Damn, I feel cheap. Sarah has given me a new briefcase, which probably cost twice as much as her earrings. Her mother al ways went overboard on presents, too. As I go back into the kitchen to pour me and Amy a cup of coffee, I promise myself I won’t be so tight if this case works out and I get Dade signed to a pro contract. I have already called this morning to wish him and his family a Merry Christmas. But even with the commotion and excitement of four other children opening presents, Lucy sounded depressed. She knows that this time next year she may be loading up the car to go visit their oldest child at the state prison in Grady. Though I tried to minimize it in my call the day after I returned, she could tell I was shaken by the reaction of Blanche Perry to my suggestion that the case be dropped. I’ve had a fantasy that this case wouldn’t go to trial. As January 7 approaches, it is fading fast.
Sarah serves the coffee cake we made earlier today.
Amy, who isn’t much of a cook herself, pronounces it excellent, prompting Sarah to tell her about the time we went through three boxes of Jiffy cake mix before we gave up and went out for doughnuts.
“First we undercooked it; then we burned it; then the last time it looked like we had made a pan of corn bread
Amy has a way of drawing my daughter out and gets Sarah to talk about WAR. I learn that WAR is planning to hold demonstrations outside the courthouse during Dade’s trial. The difficulty is that students won’t be back on campus until the next week.
“It sounds like the judge outsmarted you,” Amy says to Sarah, her voice sympathetic.
