Twilight Child (33 page)

 “We missed
our grandson,” she whispered.

 Peck leaned
over and cocked an ear.

 “A bit
louder, please, Mrs. Waters.”

 “We missed
our grandson,” she repeated, only slightly louder. “Is there something wrong
with that?”

 The big
lawyer rubbed his nose, a quirk that Annie thought detracted from the high drama
he was trying to create. Suddenly, he looked up at Annie.

 “There has
never been a decision in this state that considers the welfare, interest, or
well-being of grandparents above those of the child. This case cannot be
considered on the basis of the needs of grandparents—”

 “I'll be the
judge of that, counselor,” Annie said, foreclosing on the younger lawyer's
protest. But Peck had made his point. The woman on the stand looked confused
and demoralized.

 “Thank you,
Mrs. Waters,” Peck said, making no attempt to finish his impromptu statement.
She watched the woman return to her seat. Her face had paled. As she sat down,
her lawyer leaned over and patted her arm. But she did not respond, merely
shook her head in a gesture of resignation and defeat.

 Peripherally,
Annie observed the younger woman, wondering what was going through her mind.
Her own widowhood had generated a different reaction in Harold's parents. They
did not seem to have this overwhelming need to see her children. Perhaps, in a
way, they somehow blamed themselves, their upbringing, as a cause of his death.
Or maybe they blamed her. Again she had to abort the drift in her thoughts and
recall her concentration to the proceedings before her.

 She watched
as Mr. Waters walked to the stand, noting the exaggeration with which he
carried himself, shoulders squared, head high, in a kind of ramrod military
posture. He was a rugged man with a weathered face, obviously trying to appear
solemnly respectable and very much in charge of himself. A bit rough-edged.
Backbone-of-America type, she thought oddly, wearing his pride like a shield.

 Forte quickly
brought out the routine questions, establishing the man's relationship and
background details. Mr. Waters answered him with clipped efficiency. For some
reason, she felt the atmosphere in the courtroom change, the tension rise, the
expressions on the faces of Mr. and Mrs. Graham and their lawyer grow more
intense.

 “How would
you describe your relationship with your grandson, Mr. Waters?” Forte asked with
a smile.

 “We were
pals,” Mr. Waters said pleasantly. “He's quite a kid.”

 “You saw a
lot of him then?”

 “Are you
kidding? Every chance I got.”

 “Both before
and after your son was killed?”

 “Even more
after.”

 “Why was
that?”

 “Well . . .”
Mr. Waters shrugged. Annie decided that he was a bit embarrassed to be showing
vulnerability. “A little kid loses his dad. That's rough. Kind of rough on me,
too. He obviously needed me even more than before. Had to be both a Grampa—a
grandfather—and a father. We spent lots of time together. Had fun, too. We got
a kick out of each other.” He was growing expansive, and his lawyer made no
move to stop him, letting him meander. “We both looked forward to the weekends.
I made him lots of toys. A wagon. It was—” He swallowed deeply, heading into
more emotional territory. Forte let him, and soon Waters had to clear his
throat and swallow a sob, but not before one had escaped. The point made, the
young lawyer jumped in again with a question.

 “Did it come
as a shock to you to learn that your daughter-in-law had decided to cut you
both off from any visits to your grandson?”

 “Worse than
that.”

 “You were
angry?”

 “Damned
right.”

 “And you made
it known to your daughter-in-law and her future husband?”

 “Yes, I did.
It was wrong. Unnatural. He was my flesh and blood.” He glanced quickly at his
wife. “Our flesh and blood.”

 “And you made
a scene when you found out?”

 “I expressed
my anger. Yes.”

 “And then you
agreed to go along with it?”

 “What choice
did I have?”

 “And Tray?
How do you think he felt about it?”

 “He had no
choice either. How can anyone have expected him to feel? No sooner did he lose
his father than he lost his grandfather and grandmother. I mean, you don't have
to be a genius to figure out how that can hurt a little kid.” He hissed air
between his teeth and shook his head. “Wrong is wrong. There's nothing on earth
we wouldn't do for that boy.” He stopped suddenly and stared at his former
daughter-in-law. “She knows that.”

 Annie saw
Mrs. Waters raise her hand in a gesture that appeared to mean that he stay
calm. Peck saw the gesture as well and smiled thinly. Trouble ahead, she
thought.

 “Based on
your observations of your daughter-in-law both during the marriage with your
son and after his death, was there any reason to expect such treatment?” Forte
asked, apparently choosing his words carefully.

 “Definitely
not,” Mr. Waters said, perhaps too quickly, indicating that he had been
carefully rehearsed. She saw the big lawyer hunch over his pad and quickly
scribble some notes.

 “Did you
welcome the idea of your grandson's adoption?”

 “I didn't
think it would create these kinds of problems.”

 “So you
didn't contest it?”

 “I didn't
know you could.”

 “Would you
have done so if you knew you could?”

 “Considering
what I know now, yes.”

 “Did you
object to your daughter-in-law's marriage?”

 “Not exactly.
I just felt that they should have waited a proper amount of time. That's all.
Just a few more months is all. Okay, I was getting over that. No big deal. I
was even considering going to the wedding. Letting bygones be bygones. I
understood all that. Maybe I was a little too heavy-handed at first.” He shook
his head and looked down at his hands. “He was my only son, my only child, and
he was gone less than six months before—less than six months.” He sniffled and
lifted his head. “But whatever I did, she had no cause not letting us see Tray.
As if we were garbage. I mean, that's dirty pool.”

 “And did you
attempt to see him?”

 “Not at
first. We wanted him to have time to adjust to his new dad. I didn't like the
idea, but I was willing to let time pass if it was to help Tray. I understood
what he might be thinking,” he said, looking up at Mr. Graham. “That he wanted
to be number one for Frances, that he didn't need no reminders. I could see his
attitude. I really could. Maybe at first. As I say, I didn't like it—”

 Now she could
see Mr. Graham cock his head in a way that showed the increasing intensity of
his interest.

 “But after
one year passed and nearly another, it began to eat us up. She wouldn't even
let us send him Christmas gifts. That really stuck in my craw. It was wrong to
do that. Wrong for Tray, too.” She could see that it was becoming more and more
painful for him to continue. “So one day I upped and visited Tray at school.”
He took a deep breath and forced a smile. “I had this old wagon that I had
repainted. It was Chuck's, and I just had this irresistible urge to give it to
him. So I went.”

 “And you saw
him?”

 “Yes, I did.”
She could see that he wanted to cry, but he laughed instead. It came out as a
kind of a strained cackle. “Should've seen him. He must have grown three
inches. And I could tell that he was happy to see me. But we both played it
cool.” He took another deep breath and paused. Forte made no attempt to prod
him. “Then suddenly it was a big deal. They called Frances, and when she got
there, I was asked to leave the school. Then Frances said that if I ever tried
to do that again, she would call the cops. Crazy, right? Call the cops on
Tray's grandfather.”

 “How did you
feel about that?”

 “Lower than a
snake. And a little ashamed. For her. And for Tray.”

 “You made no
attempt to see him again?”

 “What was the
use?”

 “It was then
that you realized that the only recourse was the courts?”

 He shrugged.
“All we want to do is visit our grandson.” He looked up at Annie, misty-eyed,
his Adam's apple working up and down his throat. “Is that too much to ask? We
mean no harm to Frances and her husband. We just want to get to see Tray.”

 It was
pitiful, Annie thought, engaged despite herself, suddenly realizing why the
other judges hated this job. Like reading
True Confessions
, Judge
Compton had said. He was giving a man's reaction, being deliberately oblique.
What he had meant was that it was just too emotional to bear, that it clouded
one's sense of neutral judgment. Worse, she discovered. In her heart, she
wanted to cry.

 “You don't
cry,” Peggy had said that morning. Well, Peggy was wrong.

 CHARLIE
was magnificent, Molly thought, controlled, sincere, candid, just
as their lawyer had urged him to be. She was certain that he had made an
impression on the judge, who, at first, had seemed cold, all business. The
worst, she knew, was yet to come. But Charlie seemed comfortable and
self-assured. She had felt awful on the stand, but it was a relief to discover
that they had not chosen to make an issue of her visit to Frances, which
indicated to her that Frances had kept their secret.

 It all seemed
so unreal and unnecessary. And it was bizarre to think that that woman up there
had the fate of all their lives in her hands. But at least they had been
forewarned by Forte that the odds, the issues, and the law were against them,
which didn't leave much room for high expectations. It was something that they
had to do, for themselves, for Chuck, for Tray. Just hold it together, Charlie,
she urged, closing her eyes and concentrating, hoping that she might
telepathically transmit her message to him.

 Of course,
the message that Frances had transmitted with her pregnancy was a real
surprise. Cagey lady, Molly thought. Not telling her when they had had their
little get-together. All part of the strategy. It was ominous, she decided,
wondering what else they had up their sleeves.

 She watched
as the big lawyer slowly rose, like a bear moving in for the kill. The odd,
random image frightened her. But Charlie seemed to be reacting well, chin
thrust out, hands on his knees. Be the old tough gyrene, baby, she urged in her
heart. She glanced toward Frances. Their eyes met briefly, then parted.

 “Mr. Waters.”
The voice of the big lawyer boomed in the cavernous courtroom. It was meant to
be intimidating. Even the judge, reacting to the sound, raised her head and
tilted her chin forward.

 “What is your
occupation, Mr. Waters?” the lawyer asked. He did not smile. His pose was
unmistakably aggressive, and Molly grew frightened.

 “I used to be
an inspector in the pipe division at Bethlehem. Sparrows Point.” She noted the
sudden glazed look in his eyes. “Just retired.”

 “And now?”

 “Well, I work
in a nursery.”

 “How long
have you been at it?”

 “Couple of
weeks.”

 “And before
that?”

 “I had some
other jobs. But I didn't stay.”

 “Why not?”

 “Didn't enjoy
them, is all.”

 “You left
them quickly. Each in a day or so.”

 “More or
less.”

 “And how long
do you think you'll keep the nursery job?”

 Forte jumped
to his feet.

 “Objection,
your Honor.”

 “Please
rephrase the question, Mr. Peck.”

 “How long do
you expect to keep this job—”

 “I object to
these questions, your Honor.”

 “I don't see
why. They seem perfectly proper to me,” Judge Stokes said.

 “I don't see
the point,” Forte said, sitting down.

 Peck turned
once again to Charlie.

 “Do you like
your nursery job?”

 “To tell you
the truth, it's pretty good. Outdoors. I think I'll hang around awhile.” He
winked at Molly.

 “All right
then, I'll put it another way. Are you enjoying your retirement?”

 She knew what
he was getting at, of course. Trying to make Charlie appear unstable. Well, so
far he had been outfoxed on that point.

 “I'm not that
retired,” Charlie said, smiling.

 Peck lifted
his hands in a studied gesture of futility.

 “Why did you
choose that particular day to visit your grandson at school?”

 “I—I just
couldn't stand it anymore. I missed him, is all.”

 “But why that
particular day?”

 Charlie
looked toward Molly, and she forced a smile and a nod.

 “My birthday.
It was my birthday.”

 “How old were
you?”

 “Sixty.”

 “A very
significant milestone, wouldn't you say?”

 Charlie
nodded.

 “What else
did that day mark?”

 Charlie
cleared his throat.

 “My
retirement day.”

 “Voluntary
retirement?”

 “They have
this new program. When you hit sixty, you can retire.”

 “Isn't that
kind of young to retire voluntarily in today's world?”

 “I put in my
years.”

 “In fact it
was an involuntary retirement. A real blow. Wasn't it?”

 Molly's
stomach knotted.

 “Sort of.”

 “And you
felt—well—lousy.”

 “You would,
too. You don't work for a company more than thirty-five years and feel good about
leaving. It's only natural.”

 “So you
needed a bit of comfort?”

 “Happens to
everybody.”

 “And you ran
immediately to see your grandson?”

 “Anything
wrong with that?”

 “From your
point of view? Maybe not. From Tray's? That's another question.” He lifted his
head and looked up at the judge, who remained impassive. Peck began to pace in
front of the chair, then looked up suddenly and shot Charlie a question. “How
did your grandson react to the confrontation?”

 Charlie
squirmed in his seat.

 “He seemed
glad to see me.”

 “How glad?”

 “Just glad.”
He forced a laugh. It sounded hollow. “I brought him his wagon.”

 “Where was he
when you arrived?”

 “In class.”

 “And your
visit interrupted him?”

 “Well, yes. I
said it would only take a minute.”

 “How did he
express his—his happiness?”

 “He sort of
smiled.”

 “Did he rush
into your arms?”

 “Well, no. He
was probably embarrassed to do that.”

 “Did he say
something like, ‘Gosh, I missed you, Grampa'? After all, it had been two years.
Or did he show confusion and surprise?”

 “I guess he
was surprised.”

 “Not
confused?”

 “I can't be
sure.”

 “In fact, he
was totally confused, Mr. Waters. We have it on good authority from the adults
who were present. He was interrupted in his class. He really didn't know what
was happening. You simply bullied your way in. You did not use your real name.
You said you were about to leave town.”

 “I wanted to
see him,” Charlie said, obviously feeling the pressure of harassment.

 “Because you
needed him on that particular day.”

 “Is that so
terrible?”

 “But did he
need you, Mr. Waters?”

 “I'm his
grandfather.”

 “That was not
my question, Mr. Waters.” Forte began to rise. Peck saw it and lifted his
hands, palms up. “All right then, how did you feel when you saw him?”

 “Better. I
felt better,” Charlie said, rattled, but seizing the opportunity to report this
sense of relief. “At first. Then when they kind of eased me out, I felt
rotten.” He looked toward Frances. “She told me that if it happened again, she
would call the police. Tell me, what was my crime?”

 “No crime,
Mr. Waters. The tragedy here is that you needed Tray for therapeutic reasons,
to make
you
feel better about the things that had happened to you that
day. But Tray didn't need you. He was doing fine. He is doing fine. He was
happy. He is happy, adjusted, productive, a normal boy. As much as I hate to
say it, he neither needed nor wanted your visit, did he, Mr. Waters?”

 “If they'd
let it happen in the normal way—”

 “We are
dealing here with what is best for the child. That is the only issue in this
court, Mr. Waters.”

 “I'm not
saying it isn't.”

 As the
cross-examination continued, Molly felt a sinking sensation in her heart. Forte
must have seen how she was taking it, and he patted her hand.

 “He's throwing
everything he has at Charlie, Mrs. Waters,” Forte whispered.

 “How do you
think he's doing?”

 “Surprisingly
well.”

 “You think
so?”

 It encouraged
her, but she wasn't sure. After all those years together, she knew her man.
Just beneath the surface, he was at the breaking point. But she was still proud
of him, and she nodded and smiled.

 Then,
suddenly, Peck became ingratiating, leading Charlie through a series of
questions that focused on his early life, the things he and Chuck had done
together, boating, hunting, fishing, the affection and interests that both men
had shared.

 “It was a
terrible blow to lose your only child, your cherished son?”

 “Yes, it
was.”

 “You shared
so much.”

 “We did.”

 “Everyone
understands that.”

 Now Molly was
confused. It seemed odd that he wasn't dealing with Charlie's early objections
to Chuck's marriage and the cool relationship he had with Frances.

 “It depressed
you?”

 “Very much.”

 “Then came
the loss of your grandson?”

 “Yes.”

 “And of your
job after thirty-five years?”

 “What is he
getting at?” Molly asked Forte, who waved her to be silent.

 “No wonder,
then, that you were depressed, that you showed rather odd behavior.”

 “What?”
Charlie was rattled again, worse than before. He looked helplessly at Molly.

 “And you have
been known occasionally to lose your temper?”

 “Sometimes.
But I don't—”

 “All the
pressures of life suddenly coming together can wreak havoc on a man's psyche.”

 “I don't know
what you're talking about,” Charlie cried, his voice rising, his body taut.
Molly gripped Forte's hand.

 “I'm talking
about . . .” The big lawyer paused, his intense gaze scanning
the room, first the judge, then his clients, then Molly, and finally back to
Charlie. “I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Waters. But it has to be faced.” Molly felt
an invisible hand grab at her insides and squeeze.

 “What does?”

 “Your
suicidal tendency, Mr. Waters.”

 “My . . .”
Charlie rose out of his chair, then fell back, ashen, drained, defeated. Forte
jumped to his feet.

 “I totally
reject this line of questioning,” Forte said. “This is disgraceful and
unprincipled speculation.”

 “I'm sorry,
your Honor,” Peck said, shaking his head, as if the revelation were equally
painful to him. He turned and looked toward Molly. “The state of Mr. Waters's
mental health, as will be shown, was reported by Mrs. Waters herself in a
meeting with Mrs. Graham only a few weeks ago. I can discontinue this line now
and pick it up again with Mrs. Graham. But I assure you it cannot be swept
under the rug.”

 The judge
looked at Charlie with an expression that seemed like sympathy. She shook her
head. Forte looked at Molly, his eyes sad and questioning. His gaze seemed to
drill through her. She wished she could disappear and hoped that the heart
beating in her chest would suddenly explode. She turned toward Frances.

 “How could
you?” Molly asked. Frances turned away, saying nothing. Tears suddenly obscured
Molly's view, and she opened her handbag to look for a tissue. Finding one, she
sniffled and wiped her eyes.

 “May I
request a short recess, your Honor?” Forte asked.

 The judge
nodded, raised her gavel, and brought it down. She looked at the clock.

 “We're
nearing lunch. Back in session at one.”

 Revealing
nothing through her features or posture, she stood up, and the clerk called
them to attention as she left the courtroom. For a moment, no one moved. Then
Molly rushed forward to her husband.

 “I'm sorry,
Charlie,” she said, embracing him. He looked up at her with moist eyes.

 “You really
think I would have left you alone, babe?” he asked.

 Answers
tumbled in her mind, but she couldn't find the composure to speak.

 Later,
sitting at a booth in a delicatessen near the courthouse, Molly managed to find
some words of explanation. Forte listened while Charlie brooded and
occasionally shook his head in disbelief.

 “I was
worried,” she said, avoiding Charlie's eyes, forcing herself for Charlie's sake
to rise above her misery and remain as casual as she was able. Someday maybe
she could explain her actions more forthrightly. Now all she could offer were
makeshift explanations, hoping Charlie would understand. Betraying Forte was
one thing, but hurting Charlie, that touched her to the core. “Maybe I did read
into things more than I should have.” She touched Charlie's arm and felt a cold
shiver travel up her spine. “But you were depressed, and that night, seeing you
with that damned loaded gun across your lap, what was I to think, Charlie? You
weren't yourself. I admit that I shouldn't have even called her. But sometimes
you try anything.” She turned to the lawyer. “I never expected this.”

 “Tailor-made,”
Forte muttered. “And he used it with great skill. Great skill. If he wanted to
show instability, he scored a home run.”

 “He hit me
right between the eyes,” Charlie said with effort. He looked toward Molly and
sighed. “Not your fault, babe. You're right. I was acting strange.”

 “I've always
been scared of those guns, Charlie,” she said, seeking more ways to deflect his
gloom. She hadn't even mentioned it to him at the time, fearful that by saying
it she might somehow cause him to act. In her heart she knew she was right.
Those guns could never load themselves. The point was that it was a private
matter, and to say it to others, especially Frances, was a violation of their
intimacy. She bit her lip to stop it from trembling. “Me and my big mouth,” she
said.