John Grisham - The Rainmaker

“Right. Abused. You’re abused, Kelly. Don’t you know that? That pin in your ankle means you’re abused. That purple spot on your cheek is clear evidence that your husband beats you. You can get help. File for divorce and get help.”

She thinks about this for a second. The room is quiet. “Divorce won’t work. I’ve already tried it.”

“When?”

“A few months ago. You don’t know? I’m sure there’s a record of it in the courthouse. What happened to the paper trail?”

“What happened to the divorce?”

“I dismissed it.”

“Why?”

“Because I got tired of getting slapped around. He was going to kill me if I didn’t dismiss it. He says he loves me.”

“That’s very clear. Can I ask you something? Do you have a father or brother?”

“Why?”

“Because if my daughter got beat up by her husband, I’d break his neck.”

“My father doesn’t know. My parents are still seething over my pregnancy. They’ll never get over it. They despised Cliff from the moment he set foot in our house, and when the scandal broke they went into seclusion. I haven’t talked to them since I left home.”

“No brother?”

“No. No one to watch over me. Until now.”

This hits hard, and it takes a while for me to absorb it. “I’ll do whatever you want,” I say. “But you have to file for divorce.”

She wipes tears with her fingers, and I hand her a tissue from the table. “I can’t file for divorce.”

“Why not?”

“He’ll kill me. He tells me so all the time. See, when I filed before, I had this really rotten lawyer, found him in the yellow pages or someplace like that. I figured they were all the same. And he thought it would be cute to get the deputy to serve the divorce papers on Cliff while he was at work, in front of his little gang, his drinking buddies and softball team. Cliff, of course, was humiliated. That was my first visit to the hospital. I dismissed the divorce a week later, and he still threatens me all the time. He’ll kill me.”

The fear and terror are plainly visible in her eyes. She shifts slightly, frowning as if a sharp pain has hit her ankle. She groans, and says, “Can you put a pillow under it?”

I jump from the bed. “Sure.” She points to two thick cushions in the chair.

“One of those,” she says. This, of course, means that the sheet will be removed. I help with this.

She pauses for a second, looks around, says, “Hand me the gown too.”

I take a jittery step to the table, and hand her the fresh gown. “Need some help?” I ask.

“No, just turn around.” As she says this, she’s already tugging at the old gown, pulling it over her head. I turn around very slowly.

She takes her time. Just for the hell of it, she tosses the stained gown onto the floor beside me. She’s back there, less than five feet away, completely naked except for a pair of panties and a plaster cast. I honestly believe I could turn around and stare at her, and she wouldn’t mind. I’m dizzy with this thought.

I close my eyes and ask myself, What am I doing here?

“Rudy, would you get me the sponge?” she coos. “It’s in the bathroom. Run some warm water over it. And a towel, please.”

I turn around. She’s sitting in the middle of the bed clutching the thin sheet to her chest. The fresh gown has not been touched.

I can’t help but stare. “In there,” she nods. I take a few steps into the small bathroom, where I find the sponge. As I soak it in water, I watch her in the mirror above the sink. Through a crack in the door, I can see her back. All of it. The skin is smooth and tanned, but there’s an ugly bruise between her shoulders.

I decide that I’ll be in charge of this bath. She wants me to, I can tell. She’s hurt and vulnerable. She likes to flirt, and she wants me to see her body. I’m all tingles and shakes.

Then, voices. The nurse is back. She’s buzzing around the room when I reenter. She stops and grins at me, as if she almost caught us.

“Time’s up,” she says. “It’s almost eleven-thirty. This isn’t a hotel.” She pulls the sponge from my hand. “I’ll do this. Now you get out of here.”

I just stand there, smiling at Kelly and dreaming of touching those legs. The nurse firmly grabs my elbow and ushers me to the door. “Now go on,” she scolds in mock frustration.

At three in the morning I sneak down to the hammock, where I rock absently in the still night, watching the stars flicker through the limbs and leaves, recalling every delightful move she made, hearing her troubled voice, dreaming of those legs.

It has fallen upon me to protect her, there’s no one else. She expects me to rescue her, then to put her back together. It’s obvious to both of us what will happen then.

I can feel her clutching my neck, pressing close to me for those few precious seconds. I can feel the featherweight of her entire body resting naturally in my arms.

She wants me to see her, to rub her flesh with a warm sponge. I know she wants this. And, tonight, I intend to do it.

I watch the sun rise through the trees, then fall asleep counting the hours until I see her again.

I’m sitting in my office studying for the bar exam because I have nothing else to do. I realize I’m not supposed to be doing anything else because I’m not a lawyer yet, and won’t be until I pass the bar exam.

It’s difficult to concentrate. Why am I falling in love with a married woman just days before the exam? My mind should be as sharp as possible, free of clutter and distractions, finely tuned and focused on one goal.

She’s a loser, I’ve convinced myself. She’s a broken girl with scars, many of which could be permanent. And he’s dangerous. The idea of another man touching his cute little cheerleader would surely set him off.

I ponder these things with my feet on my desk, hands clasped behind my head, gazing dreamily into a fog, when the door suddenly bursts open and Bruiser charges through. “What are you doing?” he barks.

“Studying,” I answer, jerking myself into position.

“Thought you were going to study in the afternoons.” It’s ten-thirty now. He’s pacing in front of my desk.

“Look, Bruiser, today is Friday. The exam starts next Wednesday. I’m scared.”

“Then go study at the hospital. And pick up a case. I haven’t seen a new one in three days.”

“It’s hard to study and hustle at the same time.”

“Deck does it.”

“Yeah, Deck the eternal scholar.”

“Just got a call from Leo F. Drummond. Ring a bell?”

“No. Should it?”

“He’s a senior partner at Tinley Britt. Marvelous trial lawyer, all sorts of commercial litigation. Rarely loses. Really fine lawyer, big firm.”

“I know all about Trent & Brent.”

“Well, you’re about to know them even better. They represent Great Benefit. Drummond is lead counsel.”

I would guess that there are at least a hundred firms in this city that represent insurance companies. And there must be a thousand insurance companies. What are the odds of the company I hate the most, Great Benefit, retaining the firm I curse every day of my life, Trent & Brent?

Oddly, I take it well. I’m not really surprised.

I suddenly realize why Bruiser is pacing and talking so fast. He’s worried. Because of me, he’s filed a ten-million-dollar lawsuit against a big company that’s represented by a lawyer who intimidates him. This is amusing. I never dreamed Bruiser Stone was afraid of anything.

“What did he say?”

“Hello. Just checking in. He tells me the case has been assigned to Harvey Hale, who, son of a gun, was his roommate at Yale thirty years ago when they studied law together, and who, by the way, if you don’t know, was a superb insurance defense lawyer before his heart attack and before his doctor told him to change careers. Got himself elected to the bench, where he can’t shake the defense notion that a just and fair verdict is one under ten thousand dollars.”