The Wedding Party. Robyn Carr

to finally find someone who liked the same things. Someone I could talk to. I suggested we get married or at least move in together six months after we met.”

      “I didn’t know that,” she said.

      “She told me she’d never been happier, more in tune with a person…and she didn’t want to screw it up by changing everything so soon after we’d fallen into such a lovely little routine.”

      Routine, Gwen thought. Yes, that would describe it.

      “The day I met Charlene was one of the best days of my life. The past five years have been some of my most contented.”

      Gwen couldn’t bear the flat expression on his face, the murky look in his eyes. Sarah’s death had been a painful loss for Gwen, too, and for everyone even remotely related to them. They had been a beautiful, joyful young couple, without so much as an argument between them, and were now scarred by the utter tragedy of a life cut short. And almost overnight Dennis became a young widower locked in a powerful grief that lasted years. It was almost too much to bear remembering. She was afraid she might cry just thinking about it.

      Now he was getting married…. and he sounded perfectly miserable.

      In utter frustration she tore open the box of cookies and stuffed one into her mouth. She went for a second, then a third, chewing slowly and with much difficulty. Her cheeks puffed out and her teeth were smeared with chocolate. It took a long time to make room for two more, which she had to break into chunks to push into her mouth. Dennis watched this display in frowning confusion, but she didn’t see him. She had closed her eyes as she struggled with the clump of chocolate. When she was finally done, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, looked at her brother and said, “Just don’t bubble over with happiness, okay?”

      “That was disgusting,” he observed.

      “Thank you.”

      

      When Charlene arrived at the law offices of Bradley & Howe, Sherry Omagi was waiting in the foyer, looking as nervous as a cat. Charlene pasted that smile of confidence on her face. She hadn’t spent as much time as she should have preparing for tonight, for she’d had only one meeting with Sherry, but it should be cutand-dried. Sherry was willing to discuss visitation, as long as she maintained custody, and would not ask for support payments. She was a self-supporting accountant who worked mostly at home and the child was young, circumstances that all heavily favored the mother.

      “He’s already here,” Sherry said, wringing her hands. “I saw him go in.”

      “Sherry, I want you to calm down and let me do the talking.”

      “I’m so afraid,” she said. “Frankie means everything to me.”

      Charlene pulled her client along with her to the elevators. She pushed the button for the third floor. “Now, we’ve talked about this, Sherry. Your ex-husband is entitled to some quality time with Frankie, and the same is good for Frankie, but that’s no reason you can’t retain primary custodial care. You should rethink the issue of compensatory support as well.”

      “I don’t need support,” she said. “Kim isn’t as attached to Frankie as I am. He only wants him because I want him. He’s even said that having him is stupid.”

      “People say things in the heat of the moment.”

      “He said he’s sick of Frankie shitting all over the place. Really, Charlene, I worry about Frankie in Kim’s care. I don’t know that he’d be…safe.”

      “Well, there are definite messes involved when you have little ones running around. This is the first time you’ve indicated Kim could be abusive. Are you serious about this?”

      “I just don’t know. I suppose that’s just my temper talking, but still. Charlene, I just want custody. That’s all.”

      “Compromise will get you a lot further, Sherry. Especially since it’s the best thing for the entire family.”

      “But it hardly costs anything to keep Frankie. Really.”

      “But it will, believe me. Wait till he wants to drive. Wait till college. We have to settle these things now, make it part of the divorce settlement.”

      The elevator arrived on the third floor and Charlene got off. When she realized that Sherry wasn’t beside her, she turned around. Her client stood in the elevator, paralyzed. “You’re kidding, right?” Sherry asked.

      “About what?”

      “About driving. About college.”

      Charlene laughed. “I have a twenty-five-year-old daughter—it’s nothing to kid about.”

      “Charlene, Frankie is a goose.”

      Charlene’s expression was frozen, her mouth hanging open slightly. She did a memory check of all the times Sherry had said things like, “Frankie is such a precious goose,” and “I don’t know what I’d do without my little goose.” She couldn’t remember one time she’d actually been informed that this was not a minor child.

      “A goose…with tail feathers?”

      “Beautiful tail feathers.”

      “The kind of animal down comforters are made of?”

      Sherry gasped. “God forbid!”

      “Oh my Lord,” Charlene prayed.

      

      That night Jake entered Coppers. The bar, once named Toppers, had been rechristened when the owner realized a large percentage of the clientele was from the police department. Jake stopped first at the bar, procured a beer, said hello to a couple of guys he knew, and finally migrated to a booth near the back. A woman waited there, nursing a cola.

      “Hiya, Merrie, honey.” He slid in across from her. “You’re all set. You have an appointment with Charlene next Tuesday—10:00 a.m. Can you do that?”

      “I reckon so…. But does she know I ain’t got nomoney?”

      “She understands about that. Charlene is good, Merrie. You’re going to need someone good to get ahead of this guy.”

      “Jake, I just don’t get it,” she said, shaking her head. “He didn’t want nothing to do with us. Only saw Josie one time, that’s all. Never gave me any money, let the apartment lease run out with me sitting there with no place to go. And now? He wants his daughter so she can have a good life? What does he think she’s been having the last eleven years up till now?”

      Meredith was a thin, washed-out blonde, all of twenty-seven years old. She was just a little bitty thing, about five foot two, a hundred and ten pounds maybe, soaking wet. If it hadn’t been for her little tiny breasts, she’d look like a kid. A tired and worn-out kid. She had hardly any fat on her, and her eyes were big and blue and innocent…but she was not. She’d had a hard life. Even before this. She’d been only fifteen when she’d gotten pregnant with the child in the custody dispute. Her ex, Rick, had been thirty, and quite possibly agreed to marriage as a means of escaping any charge of statutory rape.

      Meredith was broke, not terribly bright and didn’t live the most wholesome of lifestyles. She also had a daughter at home, aged eight, fathered by another man who was not her husband. Rick, on the other hand, was forty-one, stable and married with a second child. He made a good living, lived in a decent house and went to church on Sunday.

      Jake saw a dark shadow on her cheek. “Merrie?” he asked, leaning across the booth and squinting. “Merrie, you got a bruise?”

      Self-conscious, she touched the exact place. Then she reached into her purse to retrieve her compact and studied her reflection. She powdered the spot. “It ain’t no big deal. Not really.”

      Jake took a long pull at his beer, pursed his lips and looked away, trying to mentally gather restraint. “He’s really starting to piss me off, Merrie.”

      “You?”