A Case for Love (24 page)

“Has your involvement with this case created any tension between you and your parents?”

Now the sauce dripping down Forbes’s elbow was the least troublesome thing happening at the moment. “No comment.”

Fortunately, the reporter soon grew frustrated with his “no comment” answers; and when Alaine was no more forthcoming with information, he gave up and went away.

“What took y’all so long?” Joe asked when they made it back to the Delacroix Gardens tent.

Forbes glanced at Alaine. She skirted around her brother to the large plastic folding table behind the wood-and-glass display tables and cases and set her bags and boxes down. “We ran into a reporter who questioned us about the case and didn’t want to take ‘no comment’ for an answer.”

“Ah, Forbes, let me—” Solange took his cargo and held his arm away from his body in her strong, calloused hand. She led him over to the ice chest at the back of the tent, dunked a paper towel into the pool formed by the melting ice, and wiped the sticky brown liquid off his arm. The frigid cloth against his skin was a welcome relief from the heat of the sun and of the food he’d been toting.

He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “
Muito obrigado.
”

“De nada.”
She blushed and waved him away. “You go sit, eat.”

Nikki and Tony returned with a large bucket of boiled crawfish, a big brown grocery bag from the Ethiopian restaurant, and something that smelled like pickles and beer in a brown bag inside of a white plastic bag.

“No kimchi?” JD poked through all the bags and boxes on the table.

“We figured since you’re the only one who can stand it,” Nikki said, sliding a bag onto the table under her father-in-law’s arm, “that you could go over to the Lees’ tent and enjoy it over there. But we did bring this.” She opened the double bagged offering.

He stuck his head practically inside the bag. “Bratwurst and sauerkraut!”

Out of respect for the Delacroixes and their neighbors, Forbes tried some of almost everything on the table—most of which he’d never even heard of before, and all of which he enjoyed. He thought about what his family would be eating tonight to celebrate the anniversary of the country’s independence: grilled hamburgers and hot dogs, chips, lemonade and sodas, and cake and ice cream made by Aunt Maggie. What he’d always thought of as an all-American meal.

Looking around at the half-dozen or so cultures represented on the table—which didn’t include this family’s Portuguese heritage—he thanked God for giving him a glimpse of what constituted a real all-American meal.

“You’re quiet all of a sudden.” Alaine looped her arm over his shoulder and leaned in close, her whisper tickling his ear.

He craned his neck and kissed her cheek. “Just counting my blessings.”

“Yeah, well, if you’re done counting,” Tony laughed, “could you pass the Pad Thai? Blessings aren’t making my stomach stop growling.” He ducked the flurry of napkins Nikki flung at him.

Melancholy lodged like a chicken bone in Forbes’s throat at the immediate and unavoidable comparison of his own siblings to Alaine’s. They, too, enjoyed teasing another sibling’s or cousin’s new beau—and pretended to disapprove of each other for doing it.

Alaine squeezed his arm and glopped a spoonful of something on his Styrofoam plate. Sorrowful understanding filled her dark eyes, and she mouthed,
I’m sorry.

He closed his eyes and leaned over to touch his forehead to hers in silent gratitude.

Joe commented on a possible new contract from someone who’d stopped by his booth earlier, and the focus of conversation changed, allowing Forbes a few minutes to compose himself and rejoin the lighthearted banter around the table.

Soon, Joe and Nikki decided they’d been away from their display tent long enough. Tony volunteered to man Solange and JD’s tent so they could go have some fun. And Alaine took Forbes by the hand and led him back out into the afternoon sun, away from the fans that had been keeping the nearly unbearable heat at bay inside the tent.

“Come on. I want you to see everything.”

Alaine seemed to know everyone and introduced Forbes to the owners of each business. He remembered some of them from the meeting and did his best to recall their names—which the signs on each tent helped, since most of the businesses bore their surnames.

A couple of times, she ducked into a tent with no warning. The second time she did it, he caught a glimpse of a reporter trailed by a cameraman coming toward them.

By the time they’d visited every single booth, tent, trailer, or table under a tree where people sold their wares, cooked, or exhibited displays describing the services they provided, Forbes couldn’t hold back his awe.

“How could I have never known any of this existed down here?”

Alaine half-smiled, head cocked to the side. “Because you were raised to believe that ‘down here’ was a place filled with poor people who’re a drain on Bonneterre’s resources.”

He blanched at hearing her say almost verbatim what his mother had said at lunch yesterday. “You’re right. We grew up thinking that anyone from the Mills was from the wrong side of the tracks.” He gave her a sardonic grin. “If the railroad tracks around here didn’t run north and south along the river.”

She gave him a wrinkled-up-nose grin. “Wrong side of the highway, then. One of my suitemates at the sorority admitted to me a few years ago that she voted against me during rush week because I was from the Mills and she didn’t think I’d be the right kind of person.” She sighed. “Now I wonder if she was right.”

“What do you mean?” He let go of her hand and put his arm around her shoulders to pull her in close, then kissed the top of her head. “Of course you’re the right kind of person. You’re the perfect kind of person.”

“But I wasn’t when I met them. Forbes, what you see now is a persona I’ve carefully cultivated over the last decade. Before I got into that sorority and those girls decided to give me a complete makeover, I didn’t care about clothes or shoes or handbags or makeup or anything like that. All I cared about was dancing and my art.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, letting the sound of the crowd, the distant carnival games, and the ’40s-style big band currently playing in the community center and being broadcast through the PA system wash over him.

Finally, he moved to stand in front of her, put her left hand on his shoulder, took her right hand in his, and placed his other hand around her back, and as if he’d been born doing it, Forbes started waltzing with Alaine. Staring down into her chocolate brown eyes, he didn’t have to think about the rhythm; it pulsed through him like a second heartbeat, until it was the only thing in the world besides him and Alaine.

“I don’t see a persona—I don’t see
Alaine Delacroix.
” He returned her amused smile at his imitation of Riley’s intonation of her name. “All I see is the woman who fills the emptiness in me I didn’t even know was there until I met you. All I see is you. And that’s all I’ll ever want to see.”

The song ended. The rosy glow of the setting sun reflected in the unshed tears welling in Alaine’s eyes. He placed her other hand on his shoulder and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her close. “Promise me you’ll always be you, that you’ll never hold back and pretend to be or feel something that isn’t totally, 100 percent you.”

She nodded, her throat working visibly when she swallowed. “I promise,” she whispered.

He kissed her tenderly ... and ever so thoroughly.

Forbes looked up at the knock on his office door. “Samantha, good. I’ve been wondering where you were. I need you to clear some time on my schedule over the next few weeks. I have a group of claimants in a new case I’m taking on. I’ll need a couple of associates, as well, to assist with research and depositions. Make sure they know it’s pro bono.”

His secretary didn’t stir. He glanced up again. Concern blossomed at the fear on Samantha’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“I was just in Mrs. Landreneau’s office. She ... she asked me about the files I copied for you from the partners’ file room.”

His mouth went dry. “What did she ask?” The calls he’d avoided from Sandra Landreneau yesterday—obviously she’d decided to try another tactic. But the terms of his partnership gave him the right to take on “cases of conscience.”

“She just asked me why I’d been copying B-G files—asked too if you’d told me why you wanted them. I told her what you told me: You were looking for precedent for a case you’re researching.”

“And what did she say to that?” He stood and put his suit coat back on.

“That I’m not to copy any more B-G files for you.” Samantha entered the office and leaned on the back of one of the guest chairs, gripping the back tightly. “What’s going on? I heard a couple girls in the restroom whispering that you’re going to be suing B-G for a group of business owners in Moreaux Mills.”

“Only if I can build a case. I’m still fact-finding.” The phone rang. Forbes straightened his tie. He didn’t need to look at the caller-ID window to know who it was. “Tell her I’m on my way up.” He walked past his assistant, then paused and turned. “I’m sorry you got dragged into this.”

Wide-eyed, Samantha nodded and returned to her desk to answer the phone.

Forbes didn’t make eye contact with anyone in the halls or stairs. So they were all gossiping about him, were they? Ah, well. That was the least of his troubles.

Mary glared at him over the rim of her glasses. He gave her a tight smile but didn’t stop.

For the first time in a very long time, Sandra Landreneau didn’t smile at him when he entered her office. “Close the door, please.”

Forbes reminded himself of his position of partner, of his name on the masthead. Yet the sensation wouldn’t go away of being eight years old and about to be punished by his mother for cutting off all of five-year-old Meredith’s hair. The fact that Meredith had handed him the scissors with which to do it hadn’t carried any weight with Mom.

He unbuttoned his coat and sat in one of the guest chairs, giving the best performance of being at ease that he could muster.

“I assume I don’t need to show you the newspaper articles? Nor point out that while I was trying to get in touch with you yesterday, you were out gallivanting with Alaine Delacroix in Moreaux Mills.” Sandra tossed the “Style” section from today’s paper across the desk. A large color photo of Forbes and Alaine dancing together under the fireworks was featured above the fold on the “Seen About Town” page.

He stopped himself from grinning and made a mental note to contact the paper to see if he could get a digital copy of that photo. “No, ma’am. I am aware of it.”

Sandra pulled off her reading glasses, letting them hang by the beaded chain around her neck. “As a partner, you are not required to have your clients or your cases vetted by the rest of us.”

“No.”

“
Unless
such a client or case would be directly contrary to the good name of the firm.”

“I have not done anything that endangers the reputation of the firm. On the contrary, what better light can be shed on FLM&G than the publicity that can come from taking on the plight of a dozen or so Bonneterrans who are about to lose their homes and businesses to suburban sprawl and retail development?”

“Pretty speech. Save it for a jury.” The lines around Sandra’s mouth deepened. Must be time for another collagen injection. “Aside from the fact it would have been nice to have some forewarning before phone calls from all the media outlets in town started coming in looking for an official statement, before you agreed to meet with anyone in this matter—publicly or privately—you should have given some thought to the fact that Boudreaux-Guidry Enterprises is our most important client. Taking a case against them is against the best interest of the firm.”

He waited for her to make a point, but she sat there, looking expectant. He raised his eyebrows. “And?”

“And—it should be obvious. The partnership agreement of this firm—which you signed when you became an equity, name partner—clearly states that no partner is to take on a case that is in direct conflict to the current work or clients of the law firm. I caucused the other partners, and we are all in agreement: Drop the Moreaux Mills case.”

He couldn’t let her see the panic that chewed through his nerves. “I respectfully submit that this case falls under the ‘case of conscience’ clause in the agreement. I will not drop it.”

“Forbes, you’re not thinking this through. If you insist on taking this case, it could be grounds for demotion to nonequity partner—if not termination. Take tonight to think about it, and give us your answer tomorrow.”

Everything he’d worked for since he’d decided at seventeen years old that he wanted to become a lawyer teetered on the edge of this decision. In the fourteen years since he’d finished law school, he’d been on the fast-track: from the prestigious law firm in New Orleans where he’d worked right out of law school to coming home in triumph as the youngest senior associate ever to work at Folse, Landreneau & Maier law firm at age twenty-eight, only to become the youngest name partner of equity status at age thirty-one.

If he took the Moreaux Mills case, he could lose all of it. The prestige of having his name joined with some of the most respected legal minds in the state. The weight his name carried on legal documents because of his position here.

If he didn’t take the case, he would be betraying JD and Solange, Joe and Nikki ... and Alaine. He would be smothering his own ethics. And worst of all, he would be refusing to follow through on the feeling deep within that God had led him to this case, that God was calling him to take a stand here and now.

“I don’t need to think about it overnight. My answer will be the same. If there has been wrongdoing by Boudreaux-Guidry Enterprises—or any entity they’re doing business with or have influence over—it is my duty to help those who have been wronged seek justice.” He stood. “If that’s all? I have some depositions to schedule and motions to certify class to file.”

“Not in these offices and not making use of any employees or associates of FLM&G. This case is not sanctioned; and if you insist on taking it, you will not utilize company resources in the handling of it until the partners vote on whether or not your taking it violates the partnership agreement.”

Forbes nodded. “Just let me know when that meeting will be, and in the meantime, I’ll get back to work. Is that all?”

She nodded back. “For now. You’ll want to get your book of business ready for evaluation, based on the outcome of the vote.”

“I understand. Enjoy what’s left of the morning.” That the other partners would be upset by his decision to take this case, he’d expected. But that they’d try to say it violated the partnership agreement floored him. Could they truly be so frightened of how Mom and Dad would react that they’d force Forbes out just to avoid that scenario? Or could it be that the other partners were privy to certain information that proved Boudreaux-Guidry Enterprises had acted in harmful ways that circumvented or broke the law?

And how would he ever be able to handle a full-blown, class-action lawsuit by himself without the assistance of associates and paralegals?

By the time he’d made it back down to his office, he’d started formulating a plan. “Samantha, clear as much of my schedule as you can. If you can get me a couple of hours this afternoon, I’m going to see if Russ LeBlanc can fit in a meeting with me.”

“I assume you’re talking about the Moreaux Mills case and not the Pichon case?”

“Yeah.”

“She just called me and told me I’m not to help you in any way for that case, that you’re not allowed to use anyone here to help you with it.” Samantha reached around to the credenza behind her desk and pulled several sheets of paper off her printer. “So I took the liberty of printing you a list of some part-time people you can use for help, if you’re willing to pay them yourself.”

“Samantha, I think I love you.”

“Yeah, well...” She held up her left hand, displaying a sparkling engagement ring. “I’m already taken.”

“And you waited this long to tell me?”

“It’s not like I’ve actually seen you before now.” She canted her gaze toward the ceiling and back down with an arched brow. “When was I supposed to tell you, with both of us being called into the principal’s office this morning? Besides, hearing you say, ‘I told you so’ is one of my least favorite parts of this job.” She grinned at him.

“But I did tell you so.” He took the printout from her. “Speaking of the Pichon case, I need you to type up the response to the latest motion from the plaintiff—it has to be submitted today.”

“Will do, boss.”

Forbes kept the smile on his face until his office door clicked shut. He made it to his desk before doubling over in almost physical pain. He dropped into his chair, arms wrapped around his stomach.

“God, I’m confident I did what I was supposed to do—what You’ve been telling me to do—with this case. I believe in it. I believe it’s right. So why do I feel so wrong about it?”

Alaine typically didn’t have to drive home in rush-hour traffic, but working late today had been worth it for the glorious afternoon and evening she’d had yesterday. Her heart pounded again at the memory of Forbes’s arms around her, of his kisses under the star-strewn sky, of dancing together to the big-band music under the Mills’ own small fireworks display.

She laughed aloud. Forbes had obviously been practicing his dance steps. And even though he wanted to waltz to every song, she had to hand it to him—she’d never seen him so light on his feet.

With a sigh of relief, she turned off Spring Street into the condo complex. Several cars blocked the mailboxes; she’d walk over later—maybe even see if Forbes might want to meet her and go for a walk around the neighborhood with her.

She drove around to the Cheapside portion of the neighborhood ... and slowed before she reached her driveway. With the westward angle of the sun casting long shadows over the fronts of the row of town houses, she couldn’t be sure—

She stopped. Someone was sitting on her front steps. Taking her foot off the brake, she figured she could ease past and just keep going if the person looked like he might mean to harm her.

Two driveways from her own, she relaxed—and then smiled. Forbes, in a loose T-shirt, knit shorts, and trainers, sat with his forehead cupped in one hand, twirling a leaf by its stem with the other. He startled and looked up when the garage door started to open.

Alaine tried to calm her riotous insides at the sight of him. She’d never seen him dressed so casually—even yesterday, his red T-shirt had been a silk blend and his navy shorts, chinos with a crease down the front.

He entered the garage before she could get her work bag out of the trunk of the small sports car. “I’d kiss you, but I’m all sweaty.”

Her pulse exploded like a racehorse out of the gate at the Kentucky Derby. “I don’t mind.”

His blue gray eyes twinkled—and yet seemed to hold a measure of sadness—and he leaned closer and gave her a perfunctory peck on the lips. “Hi.”

“Hi, yourself. What brings you over this evening—and in such a state?”

“I was out jogging and figured you had to be home soon, so I decided I’d wait for you to see if you might care to take a walk with me.” His expression sobered, and the hint of sadness she thought she’d seen turned into a palpable aura of disconsolation.

Her throat tightened with the desire to say something that would ease his burden—and the knowledge that she probably couldn’t. “Come inside and get some water while I change clothes.”

She left him in her kitchen and jogged upstairs to her room. Not caring that half the contents of her bag spilled out onto the bed where she tossed it, she stepped into her closet and stripped out of her suit—carefully separating the pieces that were hers and the pieces that needed to go back to the store that sent clothing over that she had to wear because of the agreement the station’s sales staff had worked out. The yellow boucle tweed jacket had looked horrible on her in the mirror—she could only imagine what it did to her under the floodlights in the studio.

Biting her bottom lip, she allowed a tinge of amusement to crack through her concern for Forbes. Maybe she’d suggest they stop at his place so she could watch his recording of today’s program just to see how bad the jacket looked.

She slipped into a pair of gray yoga capris and a pale pink tank top, and carried her pink and gray athletic shoes out into her bedroom. She sat on her hope chest to pull her socks on.

Just from the short time she’d known Forbes, she’d learned that he didn’t show any emotion he didn’t want people to see. For his control to have cracked so hard she’d been able to see his pain, he must have heard something bad at work today.

Forbes. Oh, Forbes. The idea that had been plaguing her for the past several days came back with a cold reality: Forbes had sacrificed his time, his dignity, and his family for this case.

She stopped in the motion of tying her right shoe and rested her forehead against her up-bent knee. “Lord, thank You so much for bringing Forbes to us—to me. I don’t deserve him. None of us deserves the sacrifices he’s making for us. Help me—help me and Forbes—to figure out some solution to bring justice to the people of the Mills without Forbes having to make more sacrifices. I don’t want him to lose his family, God. Show me what I can do to help.”

Downstairs, she found Forbes on a bar chair in very much the same position he’d been in on the front steps, despondency oozing out of him. She took a few moments to stretch, her concern growing.