Page 10 of The Defense Rests
Hide your hand.
Hide. Your. Hand.
Don't let her see your cards.
"Well, I'm in charge now." She doesn't know me from the man on the corner begging for change.
"I'm thankful for that."
"See you Monday," I tell her before disconnecting the
call.
Malloy said Roberts was taking a leave of absence for family stuff. This sounds more like Roberts was let go because he wasn't moving along on this case. Or Roberts went down the same rabbit hole I just did. Alice in Wonderland was right. "I just get curiouser and curiouser."
…
"Baby, it's so good to see you," Mom says as she wraps her arms around my waist. "Have you been working out? Look at these muscles," she teases as she pats my chest before stepping back.
"Good to see you too, Mom. Where's Dad?" I ask, looking around the front living room.
"He's just pulling the food off the grill. Hope you're hungry." She tells me.
"Starving. Let me take my bag upstairs and clean up. I'll be down in a second." I take the stairs two at a time and push open the door to my childhood bedroom, turned guestroom that nobody uses. I'm grateful for that, as I still have a pile of stuff stored in the closet. The pale green walls are soothing with crisp white linens on the bed. It's a stark contrast to the walls that were once lined with my favorite bands and athletes.
Making my way down the stairs, I take a few deep breaths. It feels good to be home. My shoulders relax, and for a brief moment, I wonder what it would be like to move back. Open up my own law firm here in town. Take only the cases that would make me happy, not those that are strictly high-profile and highpayout.
"Hey, Dad. Smells fantastic," I tell him instead of a proper greeting. He gives me a bear hug and a solid pat on the back before letting me go.
"Gosh, it's good to see you, son. What's it been…two, maybe three years?" He asks, his fingers stroking his chin as if he's deep in thought.
"Ha! Very funny. Try two to three months. I can't help it. Works keeping me on my toes these days." I tell him, but my face seems to take on a sullen feel.
"Well, let's eat, and you can tell us all about it. Your mother said you needed to bend our ears on some medical stuff. You know, if you had gone to medical school, you wouldn't need our help." He gives me a sly grin before walking over to the table,where the food is laid out, his shoulders rising and falling with each bout of laughter.
"Not this again," I say in mock irritation.
"So, tell us about this case," Mom encourages while pulling out her chair and taking her seat across from me.
While I pile food onto my plate, I fill them in on the case, leaving out the names, of course. "So what I wanted to ask is, what are some things that could cause birth defects in babies? I know the typical drugs and alcohol stuff, but there has to be something I'm missing here when going through these files."
Dad's brows are pinched as he stares at me without responding.
"What?" I ask, looking around, confused.
"Are you on the side of the plaintiff or defendant?" Dad asks, and my stomach turns. That's a good question, because from the outside looking in, you might think I was working for Shaun, not Heather. However, I must do what's right by the law, regardless of who I am defending. I'm not going to let her ruin Shaun's life if what she is claiming isn't true. If it is true, then I have no problem giving her the money and seeing that he has his license revoked for a year, giving him some time to think about what he caused.You sure about that?
"Just trying to get all the information so I'm not blindsided. Besides, my boss wants Shaun to sign the settlement on Monday, and I don't feel that's the right decision. Not when my gut instinct is telling me otherwise." I tell them.
"Shaun? You mean, Dr. Whitmore?" Mom asks, eyes going wide.
"Fuck," I whisper, forgetting to protect his privacy as his name slipped effortlessly from my lips.
"Language," Mom reminds me firmly.
"You guys can't say anything. It just slipped out. My job could be on the line if anyone knew I let that slip. Besides, he'snot my client. I represent the plaintiff." I tell them quickly as I push food around my plate.
"But," Dad says before taking a sip of his lemonade.
