Kathleen Creighton: One Summer’s Knight

That almost got by Summer. Almost, but not quite. A beat late, she gasped and said, “You what? My God-Bella-”

“Shh! Not so loud!”

“You mean you haven’t-”

“Of course not. I’m not even sure myself.”

“For God’s sake! Why don’t you take one of those home tests?”

“I’m afraid to,” Mirabella muttered furiously. Typical-there was nothing Bella hated more, Summer remembered, than being vulnerable.

“But at least you’d know for sure,” she said in a coaxing tone. “Maybe you’re worrying about nothing.”

Mirabella was quiet for a moment, but her eyes had gone soft and misty. And when Summer looked to see what it was that had turned her sister’s gaze so sappy with adoration, there was baby Amy, over on the lawn with her diapered bottom in the air, trying her clumsy best, with the help of her cousin Helen and big brother J.J., to negotiate a somersault Mirabella drew a quivering breath and murmured, “It’s not that I wouldn’t love another baby. But…Jimmy Joe’s got so much on his mind, and Charly’s having such a hard time, and I’m not so young…”

“Oh, Bella, it’ll be okay,” Summer said softly, in the tone she might have used to calm a nervous animal. “You know what Pop always said: things have a way of working out the way they’re supposed to.”

“Yeah,” Mirabella said with a shaky laugh. “Jimmy Joe says that, too.”

“Well, then,” Summer said, taking a deep breath, “you see? Everything’s going to be fine.”

It wasn’t that she had forgotten her own problems-far from it But as her own words settled almost gently into her consciousness, she felt a curious sense of peace. Of acceptance. She couldn’t possibly tell them. Any of them. They would worry so. So it seemed she had come once more to the place that was most familiar and, perhaps, most comfortable to her after all. She was on her own.

“Please-sit down. Nice seein’ you again.”

The woman sat somewhat gingerly in the upholstered chair Riley had indicated, a faint, rosy flush across her cheeks. “I’m surprised you remember me.”

“Of course I remember you.” Riley Grogan seldom forgot a name or a face; it was one of his gifts. “I have to tell you, though, I’m a little bit surprised myself-to see you, that is.” He settled back in his big swivel chair, adopting an attitude of relaxed attention. “What can I do for you, Mrs. Robey?”

She didn’t pick up on his cue but sat ramrod straight, which he knew wasn’t an easy thing to do in that big old chair, clutching her pocketbook in her lap as if she thought someone was about to take it away from her. He noticed that her hands looked as if they might be capable of stopping anybody who tried it, too. She had hands that could be either gentle or strong, with long bones and short, uncolored nails. No-nonsense hands. Nurturing hands.

She lifted one to cover her mouth while she gave a soft, voice-testing cough, then said, “The last time we met, you gave me a piece of advice.”

“Yes, ma’am, I did” He didn’t have to ask, or stop to think about it; he remembered that day all too well. It hadn’t been one of his proudest victories.

“Yes, well…” She had the look of someone who’d taken a bite that tasted nasty but was too polite to spit it out. No choice but to swallow it. “I’ve decided to take it.”

“I see,” Riley murmured, keeping both expression and tone neutral. “So…I’m to assume you are once again in need of an attorney?”

A smile quivered across her lips and was gone. “A good attorney. Isn’t that what you said?”

He allowed himself a chuckle at that “Yes, ma’am, I believe I did. So. You are in need of a good attorney. Well.” He leaned forward, inviting confidence. “That sounds serious. What sort of problem are you havin’, Mrs. Robey? You do know, if it’s anything related to that other matter-”

“It isn’t. At least…I don’t think it is. I don’t know very much about how these things work-legally. Just because you were against me in one case, that doesn’t mean I can’t hire you for something else?” A little crease of determination lodged itself between blue eyes that had suddenly gone bright and fierce.

A tiny shiver of anticipation worked its way down Riley’s spine. “Why don’t you tell me a little bit about the nature of your problem,” he said soothingly, “and then maybe I can tell you whether or not I’m goin’ to be able to help you out”

She drew a deep breath and nodded. He leaned back again, giving her the full force of an attentiveness so focused as to be almost hypnotic-another of Riley Grogan’s gifts. He would listen to and hear every word she said, along with every inflection and nuance, every hesitation and stammer, at the same time he would study her gestures and expressions, every twitch and quiver and blink. And he would forget nothing.

Her face, he decided, was interesting rather than beautiful, which he readily admitted was a subjective assessment, and dependent more on the current standards of beauty as set forth in television sitcoms, movies and fashion magazines than his own personal taste. No doubt her face would be considered too thin, the bones too sharply defined, her eyes too intense. And her mouth… ah, her mouth fascinated him, though not in the usual way, not the way of the lush, ripe-fruit, bee-stung lips that could just about be counted on to make his mouth water and his blood head south. Thin-lipped and intelligent, her mouth seemed never to be still, corners turning up in amusement or down in dismay, quirking sideways in irony, pursing in distaste, quivering and twitching, coiling around each word, molding and shaping it like a sculptor before revealing it to him with a caress of breath…

Astonished to find that his mouth had begun to water and his blood to head south, he gave his head a quick, hard shake.

She stopped instantly, looking nonplussed. “I’m sorry, was there something…?”

“No, I do apologize. I just had a thought. Nothing important-please, go on.”

“Well, you probably know some of this, anyway,” she said with the barely perceptible twitchiness characteristic of those who don’t much like talking about themselves. “About Hal-my husband-cleaning me out financially and then disappearing, and the divorce, and my moving to Georgia. Because of-” she coughed and colored slightly “-the other case.”

It was yet another reminder to him of the way her cheeks had burned with humiliation at their last meeting, and he shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “You said he has a gambling problem, as I recall.”

He watched her lips as they curled briefly into a smile, then softened with sadness. “Hal was-is-a compulsive gambler, Mr. Grogan. That’s an illness, you know, like alcoholism or drug addiction Living with a compulsive gambler is like living with a heroin addict. You can’t trust them or depend on them for anything, except to let you down. You learn to live with lies and uncertainty, violent mood swings and unexplained absences. You learn to live with worry and fear. You learn to live with the knowledge that the person you love will steal you blind, if you give him the chance, sell you and everything you own, plus his children and his mother, in order to get just one…more…stake.” She stopped there and looked away, her mouth restless.

Riley propped an elbow on the arm of his chair and leaned his chin on his hand, supporting it in a cradle made of his extended fingers. “And yet,” he said softly, “you stayed with him…for how long?”

“Ten years. He was-is-my children’s father,” she said on an exhalation, still not looking at him. “And as lousy a husband and, in most ways, a human being he was, he was a good father. He couldn’t hold a job, so more often than not he was the one who was home with the kids. They adored-they adore him. And he did try to get help. Especially toward the end. He’d joined Gamblers Anonymous and seemed to be doing better. That’s why it was so unexpected-” Her mouth quirked awry. “No-I should have expected it. I just said that, didn’t I? That’s what compulsive gamblers do-let you down. I still should have seen it coming.”