Cara Putman - Trial by Fire

“Truly?”

He took a deep breath. Why did she push so hard? “Yes. I know it’s hard to worry about someone you love. I promise, as soon as there’s information, I’ll get it to your mother.”

“All right.” A hitch in her voice communicated how important this must be to her. “I need to know that she’ll be okay.”

“There’s no reason to worry.” He looked at his watch and slid down the hall to his bedroom. “Anything else?”

“I guess not.”

“Great.” He kicked off his shoes. Time to end this conversation. “Next time call the fire department.”

A huff of air sounded. “Don’t worry. I won’t bother you with questions again.” She hung up before he could respond.

He stared at the phone, tempted to call her back and apologize. He’d been rude, which wasn’t like him at all. She was right—he let their past influence his behavior. But the thought of admitting it made his stomach turn. Besides, did it matter if she thought him rude? It wouldn’t bother her for long. He remembered how she’d been at the trial—so confident and self-assured. She hadn’t cared about what he’d thought or said back then. If she had, she wouldn’t have let him down.

Nope, he didn’t need to call her back. He needed to plan tomorrow night’s date. If he concentrated on that, then maybe he’d forget the hot-tempered attorney with beautiful doe eyes and a great smile.

Saturday

Tricia parked in front of the Green Gateau Café near the Haymarket area and collected her thoughts. The day had lagged, not helped at all when Mom had called to remind her that today was their weekly tea and dessert. Tricia loved her mom and the café, but exhaustion weighed her down. She didn’t have the energy to enjoy the company or the treat.

She stared at the ivy crawling up the brick front of the building and steadied her breathing. The café was one of her favorite spots, with its stained-glass window embedded in the ceiling and the antiques, lending an old-world feel to the place. If only the conversation could match the ambience. Some hitch in her mom’s voice had a knot tightening in Tricia’s stomach. The tension wouldn’t ease no matter how often she breathed slowly or told herself that she was once again over-thinking a nuance she might not have heard.

A car door slammed and Tricia looked up. Mom hustled toward the door. She should stop her, let her know she hadn’t made it in the café, but she didn’t.

Father, help me.

With the Parker trial barreling down on her, each day made it harder to maintain the cheerful mask. The one she’d perfected over the years to hide the pain and roiling emotions. Mom couldn’t see the way she really felt—not today. Mom had pushed her toward Andrew and told Tricia they were a great match. She’d chosen to ignore the aggression and violence that shimmered under the surface. Tricia shouldn’t be surprised, since her mother had never noticed those traits in Frank, either.

Someday she had to repair her relationship with her mother. It would be so much easier if Frank weren’t around. How could Mom remain so oblivious to the tension and love a monster? Tricia’s face pinched, and her scar warmed. Maybe if Frank hadn’t sauntered into her bedroom one too many times, she wouldn’t have run to Andrew Parker.

Tricia squared her shoulders. Somehow she’d hold on to her happy mask. She deflated at the thought that Mom didn’t care enough to notice the facade.

Tricia stepped from her Miata and pulled her jacket closer. A nip teased the air as it swirled around her. She crunched through dry leaves dusting the sidewalk, feeling as fragile as the dried remnants. Ready or not, fall colored the landscape.

Enough stalling.

A sweet aroma filled her senses as she entered the restaurant and passed the pastry case. She followed the hostess to a table tucked in one of the restaurant’s many nooks. Mom looked beautiful, a rust-colored turtleneck highlighting her placid face. She turned her face, tilting it up to accept Tricia’s kiss.

“You look nice today.” Mom’s voice carried a lilt.

“Thanks.” She grabbed the menu before she had to say anything else, grateful for the wail of a saxophone in the background that caught her mom’s attention.

Mom winced. “That note was a bit off.” She shook her head as if to clear the lingering sound from her mind. “What tickles your taste buds today?”

“The green gateau and a cup of espresso.” A sure recipe to charge Tricia up on sugar and caffeine to survive the hour.

The waitress placed a glass of iced tea in front of Mom and took their orders.

After she left, Tricia searched for words to start the conversation. She hadn’t been tongue-tied around Mom until Daddy died. Then Frank came, and the nightmare started.

“I’m so glad you could join me for tea today, Tricia.” Mom smiled, the one that made her whole face light up. “Frank’s fifty-fifth birthday is coming up in a few weeks. I thought we should throw a party for him, and you could help me plan it.”

Tricia stared at her mother. A party for Frank? “What?”

“Plan a party. Streamers. Cake. Singing. I thought we could get some of his buddies together, Caleb can grill and we’ll have the obligatory cake.”

“I can’t do that.” It felt as if the dentist had suctioned her mouth dry. Celebrate the man who had molested her?

“Why not?”

“Mom…” Tricia tried to hold back the words. Now wasn’t the time to bring everything out in the open. She’d held it in for years—why not keep doing that? “I’ve got an intense trial coming up at work. I’m focusing all my time on preparing for it.”

The waitress approached the table with a tray laden with her drink and the desserts. “Here you go, ladies. Need anything else?”

Tricia tried to smile her thanks, then took a sip of the rich espresso. God, show me what to do. I want to move past this pain that has me trapped in the past.

“I don’t understand why you’re always too busy to help when it comes to Frank.” Mom doctored her tea with two packets of sweetener. “Don’t worry about the party. Maybe I should make it just for us old folks anyway.” Mom dabbed at her lips with her linen napkin. “Did your week wrap up well?”

“Yes. Fairly routine things. In and out of court.” Tricia cleared her throat. “Everything back to normal with the shed?”

“Yes.” Mom placed her elbows on the tabletop and leaned toward her. “What went on with the firefighter and you? How do you know each other?”

So Mom wanted the background. Tricia rolled her eyes, then froze when Mom caught her.

“The Lincoln Life case last year. He testified for the fire department and thinks I set him up during the trial.”

Mom puckered her lips. “So long ago. I doubt he remembers.” She waved her hand in the air as if brushing away a pesky thought. “Don’t you think it’s time you got out? You’re always using work or something else as an excuse to hide in your house on the weekends.”

“Mom, you know that’s not true. I spend a lot of time with the singles group from church.”

“When a trial doesn’t keep you working all hours of the day and night.”

“It’s my job.” Tricia resisted the urge to pout.

“And in ten years you’ll wish you’d rearranged your priorities.”

The hostess showed a young family to a table near theirs. The husband and wife held hands, even as he carried a baby carrier with a baby decked out in pink from head to toe. The image could have come from the dream she’d buried in her heart. A husband who adored her and treated her like a treasure, who could see beyond her past and its pain to the promise of a future. A baby who shared the best of both of them, and served as a reminder that the future could always be a fresh start.