Justice. Faye Kellerman

“Wait. Don’t leave.”

      “Teresa, are you all right?” my grandmother asked.

      I spoke into the phone. “Grandma, can you hold for a moment?” I covered the receiver and said, “Chris, don’t leave me alone.”

      Chris walked up to me and held my face, wiped my tears with his thumbs. “I’ve got to go. I’ll be back. Talk as long as you like. Good-bye.”

      He was out the door.

      I put the receiver back to my ear. Actually, it was good that he did leave because the conversation became very emotional. We laughed, we cried; I asked questions and so did she. Then my grandfather got on the extension and soon we were all talking so fast, it was hard to understand anyone. But it didn’t matter. Because within minutes, I was talking to family. Eleven years of emptiness vanquished in a single stroke, all because someone had cared enough to make a phone call.

      I gleaned a history of what had happened to them. They had faded into the breeze at my father’s request. He had felt that as long as my mother’s memory was kept fresh in my mind, I would never develop a close relationship with my new stepmother, Jean. They had wanted only what was best for me, so they had pulled away. They related my history, defending my father at every twist and turn. But I could feel only anger and resentment.

      Did I ever receive the Christmas cards and presents they had sent me?

      I told them I hadn’t.

      How about the birthday cards and presents?

      Not them, either.

      I told them I would write. I told them I would send pictures. I told them I would call whenever I got the chance. If they wanted to send anything or write back, I told them to address the letters in care of Chris, then gave them his address. After forty-five minutes of nonstop dialogue, I finally relinquished the line to a dial tone.

      I was so exhausted, I sprawled out on Chris’s leather couch and closed my eyes. He came back ten minutes later. His face looked drawn, his eyes looked dead.

      I stood up. “Are you okay?”

      “I’m fine.” He brushed hair out of his eyes. “How’d it go?”

      I smiled. “Great … it went …” The tears came back. “I don’t know how I’m ever going to thank you.” I moved toward him, then stopped.

      He laughed. “Come here.”

      I ran to him and hugged him tightly. It was like embracing granite. His arms wrapped around me, his fingers in my hair. He kissed my forehead. “I’m glad it went well.”

      I burrowed myself deeper into his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. After a few moments, I became aware of something hard pressing into my hipbone. I adjusted my position in his arms, then went warm with embarrassment when I realized what it was. I giggled out of nervousness.

      Chris whispered, “Yes, I have an erection.”

      “At least I know you like me.”

      “I like you very much.”

      My eyes found his. “Then why—”

      “Not now, Terry. Please.” He broke away and took off his jacket. Poured himself a shot of Scotch and drank it in a single gulp. “We’re going to have to forgo the lesson. I have a gig lined up. I have to pack.”

      His voice was calm but his posture was tense.

      I clapped my hands once. “If you need help, I’m a really good packer. I do all of my stepmom’s packing whenever she goes out of town.”

      He smiled but it lacked warmth. “I’m fine.”

      “Okay.” I shrugged. “Thanks again. I’m going to owe you money for a very long phone conver—”

      “Forget it.”

      “I also told them to write to me in care of you. I gave them your address. I hope that’s okay—”

      “It’s fine, Terry.”

      He was very anxious for me to leave. But I couldn’t get my feet to move. “When will you be back?”

      “Don’t know. Maybe Thursday or Friday.”

      “Where are you going?”

      “Back east.”

      The room turned quiet. I said, “Are you going to be seeing your fiancée?”

      Chris raised his brow. “You really like to torture yourself, don’t you?”

      “I feel very comfortable on a cross.”

      “Yes, I’ll probably be seeing her.”

      “You’ll be seeing Lorraine?”

      “Probably. It’s getting late.”

      Actually, it wasn’t, but he wanted me out. I said, “I’ll leave now. Thanks again.”

      “Take my books.”

      “Why?”

      “Because I’m going to fall behind and you’ll need to prepare lessons to catch me up.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out three fifties. Showed them to me. “For the week I’m gone. I’ll deposit them in your bank account.”

      “Christopher, it won’t take me ten hours to prepare your lessons.”

      “Think of it as a retainer.” He brushed my nose with the corner of the bills, then pocketed the money. “You’re now in my employ.”

      “You say that with such glee.” I laughed softly. “Must be nice to be rich.”

      “I wouldn’t know. I work for every dime I have.”

      I turned hot, glanced at him, then averted my eyes. “God, that was an awful thing to say. Of course you do. I’m very sorry.” I picked up the books. “Thanks for everything, Chris.”

      He held my arm. “Terry, look at me.”

      Quickly, my eyes swept over his face.

      “Nuh-uh,” he persisted. “Look at me.”

      I managed to meet his eyes.

      Chris said, “You didn’t offend me. I knew what you meant.”

      “You don’t need to pay me—”

      “Terry—”

      “All I’m saying is, I’d tutor you for free.” I felt my eyes get wet and looked away.

      “I know you would, Terry. And that means a lot to me. But it’s not necessary.” He kissed my forehead. “Go home.”

      A very good idea. He’d been full of them this evening. Quietly, I shut the door behind me. I thought my grandmother had taken away all my tears. But I was wrong.

      5

      The trips had become so routine, he wondered why he didn’t keep a prepacked valise. Same inventory every time. Two white shirts, two black shirts, two pairs of black pants, couple of ties, underwear, socks, shoes, and a suit in case he decided to see Lorraine. Her daddy liked things nice and formal. Proper. He didn’t want things to get out of hand before the wedding. Not a problem for him. But daughter had undergone a severe case of hot pants over the past year.

      She had detested him when they were first introduced. And she had taken every opportunity to tell him so. He was immature, ugly, stupid, unmannered (that was a lie)—and worst of worst, he was a mick. It had been an insult to her intelligence that her father had ever agreed to the arrangement. She’d go through with it because she knew she had to. But he shouldn’t ever, ever, expect anything!

      Her words had stung his cheeks like a blustery day. But eventually he had learned to tune them out, just like everything else. His apathy to her had