“I can take the case, but it’s going to be very expensive.
And without remarkable luck, he’s looking at anywhere from six to ten years in a maximum security prison.”
B et tye F re e l i ng coul d keep the police from taking Thomas for three more weeks. Minas decided to retain Frear.
The initial fee was fifty thousand dollars. The lawyer visited Thomas twice but received little help from his client.
“I just took a walk,” Thomas said, answering Frear’s question about how his escape occurred. “I just meant to go around the block, but then I kept on walking. It was such a nice day, I remember. The sky had those big white clouds that everybody likes so much.”
When Frear wanted to know about the shooting, all Thomas could recall was Tremont coming out with his Uzi and the police opening fire.
2 3 6
F o r t u n a t e S o n
“He went crazy, I think,” Thomas said. “He was mad that the police wanted to be messin’ with him.”
“Did you know about the Uzi?”
“Sure. We all did.”
“Did you know that it was against the law to have that weapon?”
“Tremont was the law in that alley,” Thomas said. “That was the first time I ever saw a cop down there in the three years I worked for him.”
“So you worked for him for three years?” Frear asked.
“Yeah.”
Frear decided not to put Thomas on the stand.
R a e la , i n th e meanwhile, emptied a special account that Kronin had set up for her. Using her ATM card, she took out five hundred dollars a day for twenty days.
She spent the afternoons helping Eric with Thomas’s physical therapy and the evenings sleeping with Eric in his childhood bed.
Her mother and father threatened to call the police, but she knew they wouldn’t. Eric’s father told his son that Raela was too young, but after a few dinner conversations with the dark-hued girl, he gave up his arguments.
Minas Nolan blamed himself for Christie’s death because he made Eric move out. He wouldn’t kick his son out again.
Raela spent long evenings talking to Ahn and Minas. She had read thousands of books since the age of eight. She was considerate and mature. She helped with the dishes and explained that she and Eric would be married one day soon.
“He needs me,” she said to Minas one evening while everyone else was in bed.
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Wa l t e r M o s l e y
“Eric doesn’t need anyone,” Minas replied. He was embarrassed by the mild note of contempt in his voice.
“No, Dr. Nolan,” Raela said, sounding more like fifty than fifteen. “He’s afraid of people. He thinks everybody is too weak and that if he isn’t careful he’ll hurt them. He blames himself for you losing Mama Branwyn. He even thinks that he caused Tommy to get lost.”
Minas felt the weight of her words in his chest. He realized, maybe for the first time, how closely physical heart disease was connected to the emotional heart. The girl was telling him a truth that he’d always avoided. He knew that Eric had been forced to carry the weight of his broken heart.
He knew that his son had lived with Christie because he hadn’t wanted to hurt her.
“How do you know all this?” he asked the child.
“Because I’m just like him,” she said. “Or almost. My life has been just like his, only I don’t worry about people like he does.”
“Why not?”
“Because.”
“Because what?”
“Because you can’t save anyone.”
“I save people all the time,” the doctor said, wondering at his need to argue with the child.
“But when people die on your operating table, do you believe that they were going to die with or without you?”
After that evening Minas could not remember if he’d answered her question. He’d lost eight patients under the knife. Eight lives that he could not save. He’d forgotten most of their names and didn’t attend any of their funerals. He’d washed his hands vigorously after every failure, gone home and got into bed. He wondered how a child knew all of that.
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F o r t u n a t e S o n
*
