So much for that theory. But there was no harm in asking. She glanced at Gary before looking at Micah again. “And you two are feeling okay?”
“Yes,” Micah answered.
“Sure am,” Gary crowed, then, seeing his brother’s pale face, he became just a wee bit contrite. “Sorry, Greg.”
Another little boy wouldn’t have even noticed his brother’s complexion, much less been sensitive enough to connect it to his own revelry at not being sick and think to apologize. Someone was doing a good job raising them. Was Muldare responsible, or was it that older lady who’d been at their table, that friend of Maizie? In either case, the boys were a credit to whoever had taken the time to raise them right.
“Did you eat anything else, Greg?” Tracy asked.
He thought a minute. “Just the orange pieces. They fell on the floor, but they didn’t look dirty. Just sticky.”
Sticky, as in something had gotten on the slices? Or from their natural juices? “Can you remember what floor they fell on, honey?” she pressed.
“The garage,” he mumbled, his eyes downcast. “When I was getting out of the car. Nobody noticed,” Greg confessed.
Tracy continued to follow the thin thread. “What’s on your garage floor?” she asked Micah.
“As little as possible,” he answered. He was forever moving things out of the boys’ reach. And then he suddenly remembered. He’d been transplanting plants on Saturday. “I spilled some liquid fertilizer I was mixing, but I thought I mopped it all up.”
“Maybe you missed a spot,” she suggested.
The full impact of what had possibly happened hit him like a nine-pound hammer. “I’ve got to get him to the E.R.” He looked at his other son. “Gary, we need to get Greg to the hospital.”
“Ask for Dr. Nikki Connor,” she told him suddenly. When he looked at her quizzically, she explained, “She’s a top-notch pediatrician with a very gentle bedside manner. Sometimes you need that.” Tracy paused a second, debating with herself. She knew what a hassle any outing with two children could be. Going anywhere with a sick child while the other one, full of energy, would be bouncing off the walls—literally—was trying for anyone. “I can stay with Gary,” she finally volunteered. “Just until you get back.”
Stunned, Micah stared at her. She’d gone out of her way to drop by his house in order to talk to him about the sudden turn his life had taken. So far, they hadn’t talked about it at all. Instead, she’d charmed his sons and left no small impression on him. And now she was volunteering to occupy his son until his aunt came home. The woman probably cost a fortune, but she was well worth it.
“I can’t ask you to do that.”
“You didn’t. I volunteered, remember? I hope you pay attention at work better than you do at home,” she said solemnly.
It took him half a minute to realize she was kidding.
Chapter Five
M
icah debated taking Tracy Ryan up on her offer. It would certainly make things easier if all he had to worry about and take care of was Greg. Gary could be a handful when he wanted to be.
Still, he didn’t really know this woman. Yes, she’d come recommended by way of one of his aunt’s friends, but he was rather protective of his sons and the bottom line was, attorney or not, he didn’t know this woman.
He vacillated, weighing pros and cons the way he always did.
In the end, because he was fairly certain that his aunt would be arriving at his house within the half hour, he decided that it was all right to leave Gary with Tracy. The boy seemed to be very taken with her, which ultimately tipped the scales in her favor.
“Okay,” he told her. “I’ll be back as soon as I can and my aunt will be here before then.”
Tracy nodded, placing a hand on Gary’s shoulder. “I’ll keep a candle burning in the window for her.”
Gary looked up at her, excited. “You mean like a birthday candle?”
Tracy bit back a laugh. “Something like that.”
Telling Gary to behave, Micah hurried off to the hospital with Greg, hoping he hadn’t just made a huge mistake trusting this woman.
Maybe he was teetering on the edge of paranoia again. Because of the nature of his work, he had become so suspicious of everyone and everything.
It hadn’t always been that way.
He’d never been one of those stupidly reckless adolescents, leaping before looking and thinking nothing through. He had always been naturally cautious, but moderately so.
All that had changed in the past two years. That was when his company had switched him into the black programs. These programs, the ones that were ranked far beyond top secret and required him to have fourteen different passwords, had turned him into someone who saw at least two sides to everything and usually the darker explanation.
Trust no one
wasn’t just a catch phrase for a cult classic TV series, it was an actual way of life for people involved in the black programs. A way of life that he wanted to abandon once he was cleared of the charges looming over him. He had no intentions of leaving in disgrace. He’d given Donovan Defense his all but he was
not
about to let them claim his soul and step all over it.
He wondered if Tracy Ryan was amenable to low weekly payments. If she was as good as she seemed, he’d probably be paying her installments until long after Greg graduated from college.
As he stopped at a light, Micah turned to look at the little boy in the backseat. Strapped securely in his car seat, Greg appeared miserable.
“Hang in there, buddy,” he told his son, sounding as upbeat as he could. “We’ll get you back to your old self in no time. I promise.”
“Okay, Daddy,” Greg responded with a weak little smile.
Just like Ella,
Micah couldn’t help thinking. Greg was always ready to cling to the positive.
Thank God,
he couldn’t help adding.
* * *
The trip to the E.R. lasted longer than he’d anticipated. It wasn’t until close to three hours later that he finally pulled up into his driveway again. He parked beside the black Ford Mustang, noting that his aunt was home and no longer stuck in traffic. Given the hour, she probably had Gary tucked away in bed.
It was only after he’d gotten out of his car and rounded the trunk to lift Greg out of the boy’s car seat that he realized the white car was still parked at his curb.
Was she still here? Or had someone else with a white car taken the parking space? It wasn’t unusual for people visiting one of his neighbors to park in the first space they found, and white was one of the more popular colors for a car. He hadn’t noted the make and model of Tracy’s car when he’d hurried to the hospital with Greg.
Why would the attorney still be here? It didn’t make sense. The car had to belong to a neighbor’s visitor, he reasoned.
Carrying Greg in his arms—his son was curled up into him the way he always did when he wasn’t feeling well—Micah stopped at the front door. He was about to fish out his house key when the door opened.
“There’s my boy,” Sheila said, looking at Greg. “How is he?”
After entertaining notions of his four-year-old suffering from some sort of poisoning, he’d envisioned Greg getting his stomach pumped. The diagnosis had been an utter relief.
“Turns out that he has a touch of the stomach flu. According to the doctor, he should be fine in a couple of days or so. In the meantime, he gets to stay home and watch cartoons, don’t you, buddy?” He ruffled the boy’s hair.
He received a sleepy smile in response.
“Well, I’m going to take our boy up to his room and get him ready for bed,” Sheila informed both father and son. Very gently, she extricated Greg out of his father’s arms.
Micah was about to ask his aunt about the car parked at the curb, but as she stepped away, he found he didn’t have to. Tracy Ryan had been standing behind his aunt, silently observing. The moment Sheila took the boy, she stepped forward.
“So, I’m guessing that Greg didn’t ingest any of the fertilizer?” she asked.
“No, thank God.” His voice all but vibrated with palpable relief. And then, because she had seriously aroused his curiosity—no easy feat these days—he had to ask, “What are you still doing here, if you don’t mind my asking?” And then an answer occurred to him. “Did my aunt just get home
now?
”
“No,” Tracy assured him, “your aunt got home a few minutes after you left.” She saw the question in his eyes. “I thought I’d just stick around for a while to find out how Greg was—I didn’t think you’d mind,” she added.
“Of course I don’t,” Micah assured her quickly. “I was just surprised that you stayed after my aunt got home, that’s all.”
He would have thought she’d be eager to get home. Because she seemed genuinely nice, he felt he owed it to her to be completely honest. Even if it wasn’t easy.
“Look, I have to tell you right up front that I’m not going to be able to pay you right away. Or after a little while, actually.” He looked at her face, searching for a telltale sign that she’d suddenly changed her mind about being his attorney. So far, there didn’t seem to be any indication that she was thinking any such thing. “If you’re not averse to getting the money in installments—
lots
of installments,” he emphasized, “then I’d be more than happy to have you represent me.”
She waited until he was finished, sensing that he’d gotten a full head of steam up and wouldn’t appreciate being interrupted. But now it was her turn to talk. “Didn’t your aunt tell you?”
All his aunt had said was that Tracy Ryan was a friend of one of her friend’s daughters. He had a feeling that wasn’t what the woman was referring to. “Tell me what?”
“This case is pro bono.” When Micah said nothing, Tracy tactfully began to explain, “That means that there’s no charge to—”
“I know what the term means,” he told her, sounding a great deal more formal than he had a moment ago. “And if it’s all the same to you, Ms. Ryan, I like to pay for what I get.” He drew himself up a little straighter, as if wrapping his dignity around himself. “I’m not a charity case.”
Ah, there it is. Pride,
she thought. Replaying her words in her head, she decided that she could have stated her offer a little better.
“No one said you were, Micah. It’s just that legal representation is rather pricy these days—especially legal representation from my firm. They have an excellent reputation,” she told him matter-of-factly. “An excellent track record. And for that, they feel justified in charging an excellent fee.” The smile on her lips was a self-deprecating one. “Actually, a prohibitive fee for the average citizen,” she pointed out. “In order to give a little back to the community, so to speak, on occasion my firm agrees to do a few pro bono cases.”
He held up his hand to stop her before she could go on. “I understand all that,” he told Tracy. “But I’m not going to fill that requirement for your firm. I pay all my bills no matter how long it takes.”
“Yes, I know you do.” She saw him raise an eyebrow quizzically. “I always do my homework before I agree to undertake any case,” she informed him. “I looked into your background.”
His life, he had begun to believe, seemed to be a matter of record. Not an easy fact for a man who valued his privacy. But then, he reasoned, he’d given up all claim to privacy when he signed the papers agreeing to go into the black programs. He had given them permission to turn his life into an open book.
“Thorough,” he acknowledged. “That’s very admirable.”
“Thank you. Now, you’re probably too exhausted to talk about the case tonight, so why don’t you come by my office tomorrow, say around lunchtime, and tell me your version of the story?”
Her choice of words, intentionally or not, had his back going up. “It’s not a ‘version,’ it’s the truth.” Even as he said the words, Micah knew he was being testy, but then given the circumstances, he felt he had a right to be.
“I didn’t say it wasn’t,” Tracy pointed out calmly. “But trust me, there are always different versions of the same story out there. It’s my job to prove that the true version
is
the true one. And also yours,” she concluded with a smile. “So, tomorrow at lunchtime?” she asked.
Somehow in the past five seconds, he’d gotten a second wind. Feeling a little more like himself, Micah made her a counter offer.
“If you’re not in a hurry, I’d rather get this out in the open now.” He saw her hesitate for a moment and guessed at why. She was probably hungry. “I can feed you,” he offered. Realizing that hadn’t exactly come out right, he tried again. “I know you haven’t had dinner and there’s lasagna in the refrigerator that I just have to heat up—unless you’re a vegetarian,” he said as the thought suddenly occurred to him.
“Nope, not a vegetarian,” she assured him, and then she asked, “Your aunt made lasagna? What was the occasion?”
“No occasion,” he told her. Beckoning for her to follow him, Micah led the way to his kitchen. “And actually, she didn’t make it.” He stopped by the refrigerator and opened it. “I did.”
She stared at him. “You?”
“Why is that so surprising?” he asked.
Taking out a large, rectangular pan from the refrigerator, he placed it on the counter and removed the foil from the top. Micah cut two healthy-sized portions and placed them on a plate. He brought that over to the microwave and pressed the appropriate numbers on the keypad.
“Because to most of the men that I know—make that
all
the men I know,” she amended, silently including her ex amid that number, “
cooking
means putting something frozen into the microwave and making it hot.”
Well, that wasn’t the case with him, Micah thought, amused. As he waited for the microwave to go off, he gave her a thumbnail sketch of his background.
“My mother liked to cook. I used to spend time hanging around in the kitchen, watching her make these fantastic meals. When I cook, it makes me feel like she’s still around.”
She knew he was an orphan, that he’d lost both parents in a car accident when he was twelve. A lot of people would have closed up emotionally because of that—especially if their wife had died on top of that. But he obviously hadn’t.