During his four-year tenure as a member of the country club, Scott had played golf with Harry most Saturday mornings-and usually won a hundred bucks from Harry most Saturday mornings. Harry fought a wicked slice. They shook hands, and Scott threw a thumb back at the courthouse.
“You got a trial?”
Harry Hankin was the premier divorce lawyer in Dallas, admitted to the membership of the country club only after his written promise never to represent a member’s wife.
“Uh…well…no.” Harry glanced down at his shiny shoes, then back up. “Here.”
Harry held out a thick document, almost as if he were embarrassed. Scott took the document and his trained eyes immediately found the caption: PETITION FOR DIVORCE.
“I wanted to do this personally, Scott, so I could explain.”
“She filed for divorce?”
Harry nodded. “Trey, the pro, he hired me-or he’s paying me. He’s already won a tournament, a million bucks, so he can afford me.”
Scott almost laughed. “We played golf how many times, Harry? A hundred? And you’re taking money from the guy my wife ran off with?”
“I couldn’t say no, Scott-he cured my slice.”
Scott laughed now. “Well, sure, Harry, straightening out your golf swing, that’s pretty goddamned important.”
“You thought so once.” Harry turned his hands up. “Look, I’m sorry, Scott.”
“Is she happy?”
Harry shrugged lamely. “I was married to a woman like her. With them, you never really know.”
“Does she want Boo?”
“What?”
Scott held up the petition. “Does she want custody of Boo?”
Harry shook his head slowly. “No. She said the PGA tour is no place for a little girl. And she said you need Boo more than Boo needs her.”
Scott started to walk away, but stopped when Harry said, “Scott.” Scott turned back to the divorce lawyer. “I’ll take his money, Scott, but I’d never take your girl.”
The two lawyers locked eyes, and Scott recalled that some years back, Harry Hankin had lost his own children in a bitter divorce.
“Thanks, Harry.”
Scott caught up with the others a block down the street, where Louis was leaning against his old car and Shawanda was turning in circles, her arms spread, her face to the sky, a young beautiful woman, her tan skin radiant in the sun’s reflection. Pajamae and Boo were watching and laughing joyously. Scott smiled at the sight. It was without question the best moment of Atticus Scott Fenney’s legal career.
Boo said, “A. Scott, they want to help us move.”
“Boo, I don’t think Shawanda wants to spend her first free day in three months helping us move.”
Shawanda said, “Yes, I do, Mr. Fenney. Me and Pajamae, we come tomorrow. Louis, he bring us over.”
Louis walked over to Scott and they shook hands.
“You a good man, Mr. Fenney.”
“Thanks, Louis, for watching the girls. For everything.” To Shawanda, Scott said, “Look, I want you to go into rehab, okay. I’ll pay for it.”
“Thought you ain’t got no money?”
“I sold my house. And I want you to work for Bobby and me, we’re gonna start a firm. I want you and Pajamae out of the projects.”
“Thanks, Mr. Fenney, for being my lawyer. And for caring about me.”
Shawanda smiled and reached up and touched his cheek and gazed at him in the oddest way, as if memorizing his face. She stretched up and he leaned down and she kissed his cheek.
“I ain’t never gonna forget you, Mr. Fenney.”
And he would never forget her. And when Scott Fenney returned home, he would be greeted by enchiladas and Consuela de la Rosa, who had just arrived by bus from the border-the INS had granted her green card “out of the blue,” Senor Gutierrez had said when he called her that morning. He did not know how and he did not know why and she did not care; she only knew that now she would always live with Senor Fenney and Boo, her familia. And later that night when Scott Fenney tucked his daughter into bed and kissed her good night, she would smile up at him and say, “See, A. Scott, there are happy endings in real life.”
EPILOGUE
The girls squealed with delight.
Four months later, Scott was sitting in his pajamas and robe on the couch in the small house over by SMU and smiling as the girls opened their presents early on Christmas morning.
Their lives had been irrevocably changed.
This Christmas, he didn’t have a wife and Boo didn’t have a mother. Rebecca had left and never come back. Every few weeks, he still found Boo crying quietly in bed, and he had cried when the divorce became final. But they were both doing better now. He was sure he wouldn’t marry again, despite Boo’s attempts at matchmaking; she said her teacher had a really big crush on him. Ms. Dawson did seem nice at carpool.
But Boo now had Pajamae and Pajamae had Boo. They attended fourth grade at Highland Park Elementary where Pajamae was the only black girl and Boo the only white girl with cornrows. They were like sisters, and would be when the adoption was final.
Scott had Bobby and Bobby had Karen and Consuela had Esteban and they were having a baby who would be an American citizen. They had married a month ago in a traditional Mexican wedding in the Cathedral Santuario de Guadalupe Catholic Church in downtown Dallas. Scott gave the bride away and Boo was her maid of honor.
Scott also had Big Charlie back in his life. He often brought his girls over to play with Boo and Pajamae. But they no longer talked about playing football in the old days; they talked about raising kids in these new days. Scott Fenney and Charles Jackson were fathers now and that was good enough.
Scott lost the state bar election to a big firm lawyer in Houston. He now practiced law with Bobby and Karen on the second floor of an old Victorian house renovated into office space and located just south of Highland Park. The Fenney Herrin Douglas law firm represented the thirty homeowners whose residences were being condemned by the city to make room for Tom Dibrell’s hotel; and they were preparing a class-action suit on behalf of the residents of the South Dallas projects against the city for violation of federal fair housing laws. Louis had gone door-to-door signing up residents; Scott’s suddenly lofty reputation in the federal judicial system had allowed him to resolve all of Louis’s outstanding issues with the Feds. Bobby still represented his regulars from the Mexican bar in East Dallas; charges against Carlos Hernandez were dropped due to prosecutorial misconduct. He was training to be a paralegal and acted as translator for their Hispanic clients. Scott wore jeans to the office, ate lunch once a week with the girls in the school cafeteria, and played hoops with Bobby and John Walker at the YMCA.
His office faced due south and offered a nice view of the downtown skyline. He could sit at his desk and see Dibrell Tower out his window. Karen’s ex-secretary at Ford Stevens told her that the firm would close out the year with record profits. Dan Ford sat on top of his world, perfect but for the fact that vandals had repeatedly slashed the tires of his Mercedes-Benz in the parking garage, while Sid Greenberg sat in Scott’s former office, drove Scott’s former Ferrari, and practiced aggressive and creative lawyering for Scott’s former client.
Oddly enough, Scott felt no satisfaction when Frank Turner filed a $10 million sexual harassment lawsuit against Tom Dibrell on behalf of the blonde receptionist; or when Harry Hankin filed a divorce petition against Dibrell on behalf of Tom’s fourth wife alleging infidelity and seeking over $50 million in community property; or when the Environmental Protection Agency filed suit in federal court against Dibrell Property Company and Thomas J. Dibrell jointly and severally seeking $75 million in costs required for the cleanup of lead contamination on the fifty- acre tract of land located adjacent to the Trinity River.
Scott did feel relieved when Delroy Lund was arrested and charged with the murder of Clark McCall and
