Ah was caught up in mah own inflated self-importance. Lawyer of the Year? Like being the best rattlesnake in the Okefenokee.”
“Don't be so hard on yourself,” Judge Rolle said. “You were widely admired. Still are, in my circle.”
“Ah'd lost mah way, Althea,” Herbert confided, dropping the formalities. “Ah never missed a Bar convention or a Chamber luncheon, and ah'd hang out at the Judiciary receptions till the last shrimp was gone from the bowl. Lord, how ah loved the applause, the slaps on the back, even those damn fool plaques they give you with the little gavels. Stephen doesn't give a rat's tuchis about those things. He'd rather spend time with a boy who needs him.”
Herbert Solomon turned in the witness chair and looked at Steve head-on. “Mah point is simply this: Ah admire Stephen so much for the man he's become. He puts Bobby first. Before his social life, before his career, before everything. Maybe ah was the better lawyer, but Stephen's the better man.”
It was an involuntary movement, what Victoria did then. Placing her hand on top of Steve's, letting her fingers lace through his. He tightened his hand into a fist, pulling Victoria's fingers tight between his, and they remained that way a long moment, his hand warm and firm beneath hers, the two hands wound so closely together as to nearly be one.
Fifty
BASEBALL AND BRIBERY
Steve carried the sleeping Bobby to the car, Herbert walking alongside. Victoria hung back a few steps, giving father and son a moment of privacy.
“You could stay with us tonight, not drive so far,” Steve said.
Herbert shook his head. “Ah'm a creature of habit. Need mah hammock on the back porch, mah laughing gulls singing to me.”
“What are you doing this weekend?”
“Not a damn thing. You teach Bobby to fish yet?”
“Thought that was your department, Dad.”
“Y'all come down to Sugarloaf Saturday, we'll chase the wily bonefish.”
“We'd like that.”
Victoria listened, realizing this strange, coded conversation was the male dance around edges of emotion. Steve was saying thank you, and Herbert was saying he wanted a closer relationship. Underneath it all, she supposed, father and son were each saying: “I love you.”
Finally, Herbert reached over and tousled Steve's hair, just as Steve did so often with Bobby. Then Herbert got into his rusty Chrysler and pulled out of the parking lot.
Minutes later, Steve was guiding the old Caddy convertible off the Miami Avenue exit of I-95. Bobby was asleep in the backseat. As they neared Victoria's condo, Steve said: “The way I acted when Dad came in
…”
“Yeah?”
“I was a real horse's ass, to use one of his expressions.”
Which she took to mean he was sorry.
“You really turned the case around,” he continued.
A thank-you, she translated. “All I did was call your father. He's the one who turned it around.”
“It was good lawyering, Vic. Really good.”
They sat quietly another moment before she said: “I need your help with Thigpen and your sister.”
“Just wing it.”
She looked over at him. The lights from the Brickell Avenue condos shadowed his face. What was he thinking?
“You might be able to wing it,” she said, “but I need to prepare for cross.”
“You'll be fine.” He turned the Caddy into the driveway of her building, pulled to a stop under the portico. “See you tomorrow, Vic.”
“Hey, you.”
“What?”
“We won a murder trial today.” Wanting to talk. Not wanting the night to end.
“How's it feel?”
She shrugged. “I don't know. I'm exhausted, emotionally drained. And…”
“A little let down?”
“Yeah.”
“It's always that way. If you win, the high's not high enough. If you lose, the low is lower than you thought possible.”
“We should celebrate.” Even as she said it, something struck a dissonant note.
Celebrate how? Just the two of us? Invite Bruce? That didn't sound like much fun.
“Sure thing,” Steve said.
“Katrina says she'll have a check for us by Friday. A big one.”
“Great.”
But he didn't sound great, Victoria thought. “Just what you wanted, Steve. A case to put you in the big leagues.”
“Yep.”
Since when did he become Mr. Monosyllabic?
“And I almost forgot, Katrina's planning a victory party,” Victoria said. “Everyone's supposed to dress as cops and convicts.”
“You can be the cop.”
“Actually, I'll be away. On…”
“Your honeymoon.”
“Maui.”
“Nice.”
“Bruce says they have some avocado-growing techniques he'd like to study.”
“A tax-deductible honeymoon. The Bigster is one savvy fellow.”
That seemed to drain the juice from the conversation. She wanted to ask him to come up, share some tequila, relive their victories. But Bobby was snoozing in the backseat, and it was late, and-an ever bigger reason- this was not the man whose ring she was wearing. Not the man to whom she was betrothed, the man she'd soon promise to love and to cherish till death did them part… and the man whose prenuptial agreement she needed to read before morning.
Steve drove home wishing she had asked him to come in for a while. He could have carried Bobby upstairs and put him on the sofa-the kid could sleep in a bowling alley. Steve wanted to talk to Victoria. Not about the two of them. He'd come to accept the fact that she was gone. No, he wanted to talk about what was gnawing at him like rats in the basement. At first, he had vowed never to tell her that he had bribed Janice to flip her testimony in the guardianship case. Now, guilt-stricken, he felt a need to confess. But how could he?
She wouldn't understand. He barely did himself. Why had he paid off his sister? Did he have so little confidence in the system? Or in Victoria? Or in himself? They were winning Bobby's case without cheating. He should have just let it play out. He'd cut corners before, but never anything like this.
An hour ago, Steve had listened as his father spoke so proudly.
“My son's got integrity.”
What would his father say if he knew about the bribe? Steve would never be able to face him if the truth came out.
“He's a fine role model for my grandson.”
