Final Appeal

“Maddie hates Bernice?”

“Right.”

“Ask Miss Waxman to take her.”

I look at Eletha, astounded.

The perfect solution.

Tears pour from her eyes. Her face is flushed. She hiccups uncontrollably. I’m afraid she’s going to lose dessert, right there at the dining room table.

“Mads, I don’t understand. You hate Bernice.”

“I don’t hate Bernice!”

The dog looks over the plastic fence, forlorn as a child in a custody fight.

Miss Waxman, shaken, sets down her teacup. “I’d give her a good home, dear. She could play with my poodles.”

“She’d be happier, Mads,” I say. “She wouldn’t be so lonely during the day.” And I wouldn’t have to hurdle a fence every time the phone rings, or share my bed with the Alps.

“She’d have friends, Maddie,” Artie says.

“She doesn’t need friends!” Maddie cries.

“Everybody needs friends,” Sarah says.

Maddie only cries harder. They have no way of knowing it, but we’re not talking about the dog anymore. I hug Maddie close.

“Maybe we should keep Bernice,” I say.

Miss Waxman nods. “Of course, whatever you want. She’s a very fine animal.”

“A fine animal,” Eletha says. “If Bernice were my dog, I’d never give her up.”

Maddie’s sobbing slows down and she buries a tear-stained face in my neck. “I can be her friend,” she says.

“Now there’s an idea. You sure can.”

“Can I go upstairs now?” she whispers.

“Sure.” I pat her on the bottom and she runs out of the room. I plop into my chair and take a slug of frigid coffee.

Artie snorts. “Way to go, girls. Called that one right.”

“Sorry, Grace,” Eletha says sheepishly.

“It’s not your fault,” I say. “I should have known.”

“I’m so sorry,” Miss Waxman says. “It’s all my fault. It’s my inexperience with children.”

“No, it’s my fault.” I touch her hand. “My child, my fault.”

“Only women have conversations like this,” Artie says. He digs into the apple pie Eletha brought.

“Well, it’s all right now,” I say. I push my hair back and drink the icy coffee. “We have the dog. Someday she’ll get out of the kitchen.” I look over at Bernice, and her tongue rolls out. “Maybe.”

Miss Waxman looks at Bernice indulgently. “Maybe if you take it a step at a time.”

“How?”

“Move the animal into the dining room, let the child play near her when she’s in the living room so they get used to being around each other.”

I think of what Maddie said. Maybe I could be her friend. “Then what?”

“You might want to buy her some toys.”

“She has plenty of toys.”

“I think she means the dog,” Sarah says, smiling faintly. “Don’t you, Miss Waxman?”

Miss Waxman nods and sips her tea with delicacy.

Oh. I knew that. Add it to the bill.

“Of course,” Miss Waxman continues, “not everyone takes to animals, but it seems like Maddie will.”

“I’m sure,” I say. Just not in my lifetime.

“Like Judge Galanter,” Artie says ruefully. “Bernice almost ate him, did you know that, Miss Waxman?”

Miss Waxman shudders. “Judge Galanter was quite unhappy about that.”

“I bet he was. He almost lost his nuts.”

Miss Waxman clears her throat, and a frown crosses Sarah’s face. “Why was she after him, I wonder. Remember that, Grace?”

“Yeah. Odd.”

“Dogs don’t like Judge Galanter,” Miss Waxman says.

“Neither do people,” Artie says. “Does he have any friends, Miss Waxman?”

“Artie,” Sarah says, “don’t put Miss Waxman on the spot.”

“She can tell me to pound sand if she wants to.” He turns to Miss Waxman. “You can tell me to pound sand if you want to.”

“Tell him to pound sand,” Eletha says.

Miss Waxman’s mascara’d eyelashes flutter briefly. Ten to one, she’s never heard the term.

“Does he have a friend in the world?” Artie asks.

“Well, he doesn’t have…many friends.”

“I heard he eats alone. He doesn’t even meet anybody for lunch.”

“Like Ben,” Sarah says. Eletha winces and so do I, at the fresh memory of that horrible night. Artie blunders on, retriever puppy that he is.

“Name one for me, Miss Waxman. One friend.”

She thinks a minute. “He has an older brother, a banker.”

“Beep!” Artie says, like the buzzer in Jeopardy. “Doesn’t count, that’s family. Anyone else?”

She pauses. “There’s a Mr. Cavallaro. He met him for lunch, once or twice.”

I look up. I am hearing things. “What did you say, Miss Waxman?”

“A Mr. Cavallaro? Mr. James Cavallaro?”

But I’m already running for the kitchen drawer, where I keep the crossword puzzle.

I have a feeling it’s on its way to being solved.

  33

I sit in the darkened back row of the courtroom, where Winn sat that first day. Susan will be speaking here in not too long, at yet another press conference, this one about the bribery scandal. Galanter has been indicted and will be impeached if he doesn’t resign. The entire Third Circuit feels the sting of disgrace collectively. Even the court crier is somber as he stands aside, watching TV technicians adjust the lights that will illuminate the dais; interlopers, spotlighting our shame.

Senator Susan Waterman leans on the back of the pew in front of me. She looks sophisticated in a checked Chanel suit, with her hair smoothed back into a classy French twist. Power hair. “How do you know about the money?” she asks.

“I found the checkbook. How do you know about the money?”

“You’re wondering where he got it.” She doesn’t answer my question, but I’m not the one in control of this meeting even though I asked for it.

“Yes, I’m wondering where he got it.”

“He got it from me.”

“Why?”

“For the child.” She glances at her preppy aide, the laconic Michael Robb of Bath, Maine, who’s discreetly guarding the courtroom door. “His child with Eletha. Did you know he fathered a child?”

“You know about Malcolm?”

“Of course.”

“Eletha thinks you don’t know.”