Uh-huh. Gorgeous. He was. But that didn't change the fact that they were best of friends, had no intention of being involved with each other as lovers, had no business being intimately involved if they intended to represent the Leindeckers. And yes, if Laura Lein- decker decided to go ahead with the divorce. Faith was in it on her side. In spite of what had happened the night before, she couldn't turn down the golden opportunity of seeing how Sawyer Bell worked.
Faith started Sunday by listing the things she wanted to do. She made it halfway down the list-changing the sheets, doing the laundry, poring through the Sunday Globe right down to the crossword puzzle at the back of the magazine section-before Sawyer called.
She recognized his voice at once. It might have been the deep timbre, she mused, or the faint hesitance, or she had to admit that, as much as she busied her mind, Sawyer was still a presence in it. She wasn't sure whether to be pleased he'd called or not, and for that reason she attributed the pickup of her pulse to uncertainty.
"I just wanted to make sure you were okay," he explained in a still-hesitant but gentle and sincere tone.
"Somehow it didn't seem right to leave yesterday and not be in touch for days."
She agreed with him and was touched, though not entirely surprised.
Sawyer was a considerate man.
"Thank you. I'm doing fine." She laughed softly.
"I feel a lot better today then I did yesterday. I can move my eyes." "Mmm. Me, too. After I left you, I came home and slept. Slept on and off for the rest of the day. I've never been hit quite like that."
"You must have been tired anyway."
"Maybe. Still, I don't think I'm ever having another drink."
"Uh-huh," she said, not believing it for a minute.
"I'm serious."
"I'm sure you are. But the holiday season is coming. There are lots of dinners and parties. One drink won't kill you."
"The second or third might."
"Mmm." She thought back to Dewey O'Day's affair. "Why did we do that. Sawyer? Why did we keep taking wine from the tray?"
"We were bored. We didn't want to be there."
"We were laughing a lot. We weren't keeping count of what we had to drink."
"We were giving each other courage. Boy, were we dumb."
"You can say that again."
"Once is enough, thanks. I usually try to be more responsible than we were that night." He paused.
"At least we didn't make fools of ourselves at the party."
"The party wasn't the problem. It was all we had to drink after that."
"But if we hadn't drunk what we did at the party, we'd have been more clearheaded afterward. I'd have known not to open that bottle of wine at my place, and you'd have saved the Johnsons' champagne for a better occasion. Now it's gone."
"No loss. Besides, I wasn't about to drink that champagne all alone, and if I was going to share it with someone, who better than you?
You're a friend. "
"Am I still?" he asked. The hesitancy she'd heard earlier, gone for a while, was back.
"Of course, you are."
"Even though I took advantage of you?"
Faith sighed indulgently.
"Sawyer, you didn't take advantage of me. I asked for everything I got. And no one forced me to take out that champagne."
"But I'm bigger than you."
She didn't see the connection. He hadn't used physical force. She doubted he was capable of it where a woman was concerned.
"So?"
"So I should have been able to hold my liquor better. I should have been that much more sober than you every step of the way."
"You're wallowing in guilt. Oh boy, are you wallowing."
"Damn right, I am."
"Well, don't. Because if you do, I'll have to. You say you should have been stronger physically, I say I should have been stronger mentally."
"Mentally?"
"I should have said no. Traditionally the woman is the one who has a saner head on her shoulders. I
should have refused another drink the minute I knew I wasn't in total control. "
"But you weren't in total control, which is why you did what you did." "Even in partial control, I should have known better." She stopped for a minute to think about what they were saying.
"This goes round and round, doesn't it?"
"Yeah. I thought we'd agreed" -there was a break in the transmission of his voice "--the blame-hell, my time's up. I don't have any more change."
"Change?" Apparently, he was calling from a pay phone.
"Where are you?"
"The Cape. I bought a dilapidated" -there was another break "--summer--I'm fixing it up. Gotta run. Faith. Are you sure you're okay?"
"I'm fine."
"Talk with you soon, then. Bye."
He broke the connection before she could say another word. She pictured him dashing out of the phone booth before the operator could ring to tell him that he owed another quarter for the extra seconds he'd used. The image brought a smile to her face. He really was adorable. And admirable. So he'd bought a dilapidated something on the Cape and was fixing it up. Physical work on the weekends to balance the cerebral work of the week. He was a bright man, indeed.
Several hours later, she was wishing she had some physical work of her own to do. Having finished the crossword puzzle down to the very last word, she was reading through some papers for work. But she felt restless. She wanted to be out doing something, though she didn't have any idea what that something might be. She thought of taking a walk, but the day was gray and not particularly enticing. She thought of calling a friend and going to a movie, but there wasn't one that she desperately wanted to see. She thought of calling a friend, period, but that would mean chatting about personal things, and she wasn't in the mood for that, either.
When Laura Leindecker's daughter called her on the phone, she welcomed the diversion.
"I'm sorry to bother you, Ms Barry, but Mother said you were representing her, and I had to talk with someone."
"Actually," Faith tried to explain, "your mother and I haven't any formal agreement yet. She was going to take a few days to decide whether she really wants to go ahead with the divorce."
"I think she does," came the answering voice, soft, like her mother's, but more high-pitched.
"And I think she should. Especially after what's happened this weekend."
"What is that?"
"He's been here at the house since noon yesterday, and he refuses to leave. The more Mother asks him, the more belligerent he becomes."
"Belligerent?" According to Laura, the man had been charming and humble.
"Yes, belligerent. Please. Let me talk with you. I'm taking a six o'clock flight back to Baltimore to night, but I could meet you at your office--or anywhere else in Boston before that. I want you to hear my side of the story."
"The divorce," Faith reminded her gently, "is between your parents.
Shouldn't your mother be telling me whatever there is to tell? "
"She's too... timid sometimes. I don't know how much she'll tell. But she's suffering, and I think you should know the facts. They could come in handy when you're planning her case."
Faith couldn't deny the temptation of facts. She knew she'd have to decide whether what she was told was, indeed, factual, but she felt she owed it to her client to listen. So she gave Beth Leindecker directions to her office and agreed to meet her there at four.
Bern, it turned out, was twenty-three, an intern at an ad agency and definitely at odds with her father.
"When I arrived home on Friday night, Mother was distraught."
"Did you see or speak with your father that night?" "No. Mother told him to sleep somewhere else. For all we know, he slept with her."
"Do you know who she is?"
"I didn't even know she existed until Mother called on Friday morning!"
Faith wondered whether that call had come before or after Laura's confrontation with her husband. It would be interesting to know how much Beth was egging her on.
"Okay. So your father came to the house on Saturday morning."
"Around noon. We couldn't believe he dared show his face there."
"It's still his home."
"But he's not welcome there."
Faith was tempted to point out a few basic legal facts to Beth.
Instead, she said, "He must have needed clothes. Grooming things."
"That was what we thought, but he wasn't back for those at all. He was back to stay, he said. He said that the whole thing had gotten out of hand, that Mother had blown it out of proportion. Can you believe that? He admits to cheating on her, then tells her she's blown it out of proportion!"
Faith held up an appeasing hand. In some ways, Beth sounded just like her mother--but with a hotter spark and a shorter fuse.
"You mentioned belligerence," she prompted to keep the girl on track.
Beth nodded. "They were arguing back and forth. He was saying that what he did wasn't so awful, and Mother was saying that it was, and I agreed with her."
"You were standing right there in the middle of the fight?"
"I had to. Someone had to protect Mother."
"She couldn't protect herself?"
"Not against him. She's never been able to protect herself against him. He snaps his fingers, and she comes running. It's always been that way."
"Maybe she loves him."
Beth's only response to that was a frown.
"She doesn't deserve this hurt. After all these years, she deserves some satisfaction."
"What kind of satisfaction did you have in mind?" Faith asked, genuinely curious.
"He ought to be banned from stepping foot in that house or coming near my mother. She's had a lifetime of his harassment."
"Harassment." Faith echoed the word. It didn't fit with the image Laura had painted of her husband any more than belligerence did.
"Harassment by omission, as in emotional neglect?"
"For years it was that. Now it's physical. He started throwing things."
Faith grew more alert.
"What kinds of things?"
"The mail, first. Letters and magazines that were on the table in the front hall. Then towels that were piled on the stairs. Then flowers that were on a table at the top of the stairs. Then books, big books from the nightstand."
"The argument worked its way to their bedroom?"
"He followed her there. She kept yelling at him, telling him to stay away, but he followed her there."
"Did he hit her at any point?"
"No." "At any point, did he raise a hand to strike her?"
"No," Bern said, and Faith sensed a reluctance in the denial. Beth was clearly eager to think the worst of her father.
"He was just throwing things around. Anything bigger than a book?"
"He kicked the cushion off the chaise lounge. It went halfway across the room."
"Did he aim it at her?"
"No."
"Did he aim anything directly at her?"
"No. But you're missing the point," Beth insisted.
"He was throwing things. She could have been hit."
Faith was quiet for several minutes, trying to put what Beth was saying in some kind of perspective, enough to decide whether there was any cause for immediate concern. "That was yesterday afternoon. I take it he's calmed down since then."
"He's still there. She wants him out."
Does she, or do you? Faith was wondering.
"Has he calmed down?"
"Yes. But he's still angry. He could act up again at any time." Beth looked truly frustrated.
"For the first time in her life, my mother is standing up to him. At least, she's trying to. But if someone doesn't give her a boost, she's going to fall right back on him. I think you should give her that boost, Ms Barry."
Faith didn't like the sound of that at all, and it wasn't because she lacked the courage for it.
"Morally, I'm obliged to see if the marriage can be salvaged. I can't urge your mother to push for a divorce. It has to be her decision. If she gives it fair thought, decides that there's no hope for the marriage and that divorce is the only solution, I'll help her. I'm not sure what else I can do. I'll call her, if that will make you feel better. I'll ask how she feels about his being around. There are many couples who live together right up to the point of signing a legal separation agreement. It's sometimes simpler that way. Then again, if your mother is being physically threatened, that's another story."
"She is."
"I'll ask her about it," Faith said, and rose from her desk.
"In the meantime, I think you'd be best not goading her on. Be supportive. But remember that this is between your parents. You're grown and out of the house. They have to come to terms with what they want from each other for the next however many years."