Wife-in-Law Page 9

  “I appreciate your advice, Forrest,” I told him. “Really, I do. But this isn’t a matter of legalities. Kat’s the only true friend I’ve ever had. I can’t have her arrested.”

  “All right, then,” he said. “But the others … surely you don’t want to support such lawlessness.”

  My whole body ached from the humiliation of Kat’s betrayal and the insult of having my private business hung out on public display. “I just want this to be over.” I gripped his forearm with a desperate, “Please. I want it to be over.”

  He sighed in disagreement, but addressed the judge. “Your Honor, against counsel’s advice, my client does not wish to press charges.”

  The judge studied me with a mixture of admiration and disappointment. “While I admire the loyalty of your decision,” he said, “I cannot approve its wisdom. Nevertheless, be it so noted that Mrs. Callison has declined to press charges against the criminal trespassers.”

  He glared across the aisle and banged his gavel. “Will all the parties please rise and face the court for my decision?”

  I could barely stand, shaking at the prospect of actually being thrown in jail.

  “In the matter of Mr. Julius Rabinowitz’s charges of simple battery against Mrs. Betsy Callison, the court hereby dismisses the charges and warns Mr. Rabinowitz that if he ever comes before this bench again, his previous disrespect for this court and the law of the land will weigh heavily against him.” Scowling, the judge banged his gavel one last time. “Court is dismissed. You are all free to go, though the majority of you shouldn’t be.”

  “All rise,” the bailiff ordered with a grin as the judge flounced out.

  Cheers and applause broke out among the onlookers as the reporters rushed forward to get statements.

  Ignoring their clamor, I shook Forrest’s hand. “Thank you so much. And please thank Cindy for me. I was scared to death.”

  Cindy rushed forward to give me a hug. “I told you this would work out,” she said with a wink. She gave Forrest a peck. “Good job, Counselor. You’re the best.”

  He circled her waist for a sidelong hug. “See why I love her? I didn’t do a thing, but she compliments me.” He let go of Cindy and nudged her my way. “Let me take care of the press. Hon, why don’t you get Betsy some lunch at the club? Give things time to settle down. Then you can take her home.”

  “Sure thing.” Cindy stepped over and put her arm around my shoulders. “Come on. I’m buying you a nice lunch. And wine. Plenty of wine.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” Maybe it would bring back the circulation in my extremities.

  “Okay. Out we go,” Forrest said to me. At least Forrest would get some good publicity out of this.

  He led me into the hall, where glaring TV lights kicked on, almost obscuring the mob of reporters who barraged me with questions.

  Clearly, the UFOs hadn’t materialized, and the Berlin Wall was still standing.

  Forrest stepped between me and the reporters, looking gorgeous as he lifted a hand for a perfect photo op. A battery of flashes went off.

  Cindy drew me aside while the attention was on him.

  “Ladies and gentlemen of the press,” Forrest said without so much as a blink. The press fell silent, microphones thrust forward as my lawyer declared, “Fortunately for Mrs. Callison, Judge Blount saw through the spurious charges brought against her by the criminal trespassers who assaulted her guests and committed obstruction. Only my client’s loyalty to her friend, however misplaced that loyalty might be, spared the perpetrators from the punishment they so richly deserved.”

  Maybe my loyalty to Kat was misplaced, but I couldn’t help caring about her, or grieving for what had happened.

  “Come on, honey,” Cindy murmured, pulling me toward the elevators. “Forrest can handle this. Let’s get some food in you, then I’ll take you home.”

  I nodded in gratitude. “I may never go outside again.”

  When we were safely in her car and on our way, I humiliated myself further by bursting into tears.

  Cindy patted my arm. “Don’t cry, honey. It’s all over now.”

  “No it’s not,” I wailed. “It’s all over the network news and the front page of the paper! I won’t be able to show my face in this town. Greg is gonna kill me for embarrassing him like this.”

  “Aw, sweetie, don’t cry,” she told me. “You’re a hero. You forgave those who despitefully used you. That’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

  Brokenhearted, I put my face into my hands and sobbed out, “I can’t believe Kat did that to me. I finally trust somebody, and this is what I get!”

  “Good riddance to bad rubbish,” Cindy fumed. She patted me again. “She didn’t deserve you. You can have any friend you want. I’ll be your best friend, if you want.”

  Curling in the seat, I turned away from her and wept for what Kat’s misplaced principles had cost us. “It’ll never be the same.”

  Her eyes on the road, Cindy reached across me and opened the glove compartment, then grabbed a wad of Varsity napkins and proffered them. “Here you go, honey. Dry those tears. We’re almost at the club, and you don’t want anybody knowing how much those awful people upset you.”

  She had a point. With a broken exhale, I wiped the mascara from under my eyes, then put on some fresh lipstick.

  “That’s my girl,” she said as we turned off Piedmont into the club. “Never let the bastards see you cry.” She pulled into the porte cochere, where the cute valets opened our doors. Cindy came alongside me as we entered. “Nothing some wine and chicken salad can’t cure.”

  I wasn’t sure, but didn’t contradict her.

  Fortunately, I was able to keep the chicken salad down while Cindy small-talked about anything but the day’s debacle, God love her. But after two glasses of wine, I was semicomatose when we got back in the car and headed north.

  By the time we got to Roswell Road, I lay my head back against the seat and fell asleep. I didn’t wake up till we got to my driveway and Cindy said, “I cannot believe that bitch has the nerve to be there!”

  Kat sat huddled on the edge of my front porch with her soup pot, her eyes swollen to slits from crying.

  “You wait here,” Cindy said as she pulled up to my front walk. “I’ll take care of this.”

  “No!” I grabbed her arm before she could get out. “I appreciate it, Cindy, really I do, but I can handle this just fine.” I got out, then leaned back inside before closing the door. “She’s my friend.” The only real friend I’d ever had. “One stupid mistake doesn’t erase that. I can see she’s sorry.”

  Cindy looked at me with a new respect. “You make me wish you really were my best friend. That kind of loyalty and grace is hard to come by.”

  Spoken by a woman who’d probably never known what it meant to be really lonely, to have a shameful secret to hide.

  I managed a sad smile. “Please don’t let the others be mad at Kat. I should have just called the police. It’s my fault as much as hers that this whole thing blew up into a federal case.”

  Cindy nodded. “I wish you were running for president.”

  I laughed, cleansed by it. “Honey, I am too smart to ever do that. Talk about a no-win job. Spare me.” I shut the door and watched, waving, as she backed out.

  Then I turned and faced the music. Kat stood, tears running from her swollen eyes, the big pot in her hands. “Betsy, I am so sorry. Please forgive me.” Seeing her, the anger all ran out of me. “I figured you’d call the police and we’d get some publicity, that’s all,” she sobbed out. “I never meant for it to end up like this.” She proffered the pot. “I made you some soup.”

  I took the pot, then gave her a sidelong hug. “Thanks, honey.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  I drew her close. “I know, sweetie. I know.” Resentment is such a heavy burden to carry, and I was glad to feel it lighten. “Let’s just forget it, okay? We both did something stupid, but it’s over.”

  I wanted it all to go away
.

  I got the key from under the mat and unlocked the front door. Inside, the house was clean to perfection, the food cleared and the rented chairs gone, bless the refreshment committee’s hearts. I drew Kat in. “Come on. Let’s put some cold teabags on those eyes. It wouldn’t do for Zach to come home and find you like this.”

  “Zach doesn’t give a rat’s ass what I look like,” she fretted, “or he’d never have taken up with me in the first place.”

  I stroked her frizzy hair. “Zach thinks you’re beautiful, and so do I. If you’d just fix up a little, so would the rest of the world.”

  “I’m not letting you make me over,” she grumped.

  I laughed. “You don’t have to. I love you anyway.”

  Kat started sobbing afresh. “I don’t deserve you. I don’t know why you’re even speaking to me.”

  Guilt must be satisfied, so I hauled off and whacked her on the butt. “You want punishment, is that it?”

  Kat straightened in disbelief.

  I whacked her again. “Is this what it takes to get you to let this go? ’Cause that suits me fine.” I tried to spank her again, but she dodged it.

  “Quit that!” Kat scolded with a blessed hint of her old spunk.

  “Make me.” I slipped in a quick whack.

  Kat bowed up. “I cannot believe you’d resort to violence.”

  I managed a quick hit from the side. “And I can’t believe you would orchestrate something like what happened today.” I got in another lick. “I thought you were my friend.”

  Indignant, Kat retreated out of range. “I am your friend. It was stupid. I already apologized.”

  “What about Julius?” I goaded. “Is he going to sue me, huh? Is he?”

  Kat settled down a bit. “Well, actually, no. There was an outstanding warrant on him for parole violation, so the cops were waiting when he came out. He’s on his way to finish his term in Florida.”

  “For what?” I asked. “Murder?” Maybe he would have killed me if Kat hadn’t intervened.

  “No.” She laughed in spite of herself. “For impersonating an officer, then beating the real officer up when he found Moose in the motel shagging the guy’s wife.”

  I let out a low whistle. “Not a smart move.”

  “Moose isn’t very bright,” Kat admitted.

  “You mean Julius?”

  Kat laughed, the tension cleared. “Boy, when his real name gets around in prison, and it will, Moose is dead meat.”

  “Serves him right.” I pulled some cold family-sized teabags from the fridge. “Here. Sit down.” When she did, I handed her the cold teabags. “These are left over from the party. Put them on your eyes.”

  Kat leaned back her head and obliged. After a few seconds, her breath caught. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Stop it. Apology accepted. All I ask is that we never, ever let politics come between us again. Agreed?”

  “Okay.” She sighed. “No more politics on Eden Lake Court.”

  “All right, then.” I turned on the stove. “While I’m heating up the soup, we’re gonna watch a funny movie. I went to the film rental place down on Spring Street and got a projector and rented three. You pick.”

  “No, you,” she said.

  Exasperated, I grabbed the one on top. “Okay. Young Frankenstein , it is.”

  Kat hiccupped a chuckle. “Perfect. Nothing like a little insanity to help get over the insanity.”

  “Amen, sister.”

  We ate our soup and laughed away the evening, and never talked about politics again.

  Till Ronald Reagan ran against Carter four years later.

  Ten

  July 15, 1984. Piedmont Hospital Medical complex, Atlanta, Georgia

  Kat had always insisted she and Zach didn’t want any children. They had dogs, instead—huge crazy Labs who whipped around neurotically in circles, and fat golden retrievers that exploded hair all over their house when they so much as breathed. And at least six cats. I wasn’t sure, because they always ran away whenever I came near them. Since earth-mother Kat didn’t believe in using chemicals on her pets, their whole place was probably riddled with fleas. Yuck.

  Ironic, that her hyperorganic self wouldn’t use flea powder, but she secretly smoked, puffing out tar and nicotine into the environment, along with whatever pollutants Zach contributed with his pot-smoking. I smelled the strong odor of cigarettes on Kat from time to time, yet—despite some heavy hinting on my part—she never acknowledged it, so I finally gave up and ignored it too.

  As for babies, I had wanted one ever since we’d bought the house. Greg had other ideas though, insisting that we shouldn’t start a family till he finished traveling, so I wouldn’t have to manage a baby on my own.

  Frankly, I’d learned to manage just fine without him ninety-nine percent of the time, but he wouldn’t budge about getting pregnant, so I dutifully took my pills.

  I didn’t know it at the time, but he’d agreed to do ten years on the road instead of the mandatory five, in exchange for early partnership. But did he tell me? No. All I heard was that he was doing so well, the company kept extending his time as a flying auditor.

  He could have told me. I never argued about his work.

  But when he called in May of 1984 to tell me that he’d be coming home for good on June twenty-second, I quit the pill and planned a stem-winder of a welcome-home weekend. Six weeks and a missed period after we celebrated his return, I sat in Dr. A. C. Richardson’s office with my urine sample double-bagged and wrapped in my purse. I’d picked Dr. Richardson because he was supposed to be the best in town. As instructed, I hadn’t had anything to drink since dinner, then collected the sample first thing, a most unsanitary process.

  I sat there on needles and pins, trying to concentrate on the ancient copy of Family Circle I’d gotten from the basket in the waiting room.

  Imagine my surprise when Kat walked in.

  I put down the magazine. “Well, hey. You didn’t mention coming here.” Usually, we told each other everything—except the smoking, of course.

  What was she doing there? Kat hated doctors. She used chiropractors and those whacky homeopaths instead.

  Something must be really wrong.

  She seemed as surprised as I was to see me there too. “You didn’t tell me either.” She sat several seats away, a dead giveaway that something wasn’t Kosher.

  “Are you okay?” I asked, worried.

  She glanced toward the ceiling, her signal that she was about to tell a lie, then said, “I’m fine. Just a checkup.” Her eyes narrowed toward me. “What about you?”

  Besides Greg, she was the first person I’d tell if the pregnancy test was positive, but I didn’t want to say anything till I was sure. So it was my turn to lie. “The same. Checkup.”

  The skeptical look in her eye told me she wasn’t any more convinced than I was.

  The door to the back office opened and a nurse said, “Mrs. Callison? We’re ready for you now.”

  I rose and asked Kat, “Want to have lunch after? My treat.”

  She glanced aside, clearly uncomfortable, but answered, “Sure. If you don’t mind waiting.”

  “Not at all.” I’d get the truth out of her then.

  After I turned in my specimen and got into the stirrups, Dr. Richardson examined me, then said, “We’ll have the test results in two hours or so. If it’s positive, I want to see you regularly. Since you’re over thirty”—by just two years—“you qualify as a high-risk patient. But don’t let that term worry you. You’re healthy, and clearly, your reproductive system is working fine, so I don’t anticipate any complications. It’s just better to be safe than sorry, so we’ll be doing a few extra sonograms, and maybe an additional test, just to be sure.”

  “What kind of complications?” I asked, worried for the first time.

  He patted my shoulder. “As I said, I don’t anticipate your having any, so put that out of your mind. If anything happens, I’ll let you know and we can deal with it then
.”

  Easy for him to say.

  He smiled his kind smile. “We don’t even know yet whether you’re pregnant.”

  “I’ve never missed a period in my life,” I told him for the second time.

  “We’ll call you as soon as we get the results,” he said, then left me to dress and check out.

  After I’d done that, I sat in the waiting room, waiting for Kat.

  Twenty minutes passed before she came out, flushed and upset under her forced smile. “Hey. Where do you want to eat?”

  “I’m in the mood for a real lady lunch,” I told her. “How about the tearoom in Vinings?”

  The service was slow, but I loved the ambiance and the food.

  Kat brightened. “Ooo, yes. Suddenly, chicken salad and buttermilk pie sound really good to me.”

  Or their chocolate chess pie. Yum.

  We walked to the parking garage together, our progress punctuated by strained silence. For the first time since we’d become friends, I felt a barrier between us, which was disturbing, because nothing before that had ever interfered, not even sending the police to my house that time. We differed on politics, abortion, nutrition, housekeeping, medicine, the ERA, religion, pacifism, and legal marriage, but we were still best friends.

  “Let me drive you to your car,” I said when we got to my secondhand Volvo.

  “That’s okay. Mine’s just down the row. See you there.” She seemed anxious to get away, another signal that something was wrong.

  “Okay. See you there.”

  Twenty minutes later, we parked side by side at the tearoom, then headed inside, both of us carrying our lunchbox-sized cell phones, but neither of us commenting about it. Inside, we got a window table despite the crowd of women who were already there. After the waitress took our orders and brought us our iced tea, we lapsed into pregnant silence till I couldn’t stand it anymore. “Kat, what’s wrong? I’m your best friend. Please tell me. Why were you seeing Dr. Richardson?” One of his specialties was female cancer surgery.

  Kat exhaled long and slowly, her eyes on the flowered tablecloth. “I … it was just a test. I didn’t want to say anything till the results came back. No sense troubling trouble.”