Danielle Steel - Crossings

He looked over at Greer, poring over some notes next to him, and he shook his head. “You know, sometimes I think this thing will never end.”

“It will.” Greer looked up at him. “It will.”

“But how?”

“That we don't know. We have to wait for the judge to decide that.”

Nick sighed. “Do you have any idea what it's like to have all that you hold most dear, in other people's hands?”

Greer slowly shook his head. “No, I don't. But I know what you're going through, and I'm sorry as hell.” He looked at him for a moment not as an attorney, but a friend. “I hope to hell you win, Nick.”

“So do I. And if I don't? Can I appeal?”

“You can. But it would take a long time. My advice to you would be to wait. Give her six months with the boy and she'll come running back to you with him. I've been watching her all this week, and she's everything you said she was. Tough, cold, shrewd. She doesn't care about him. You started something and she's going to get you back, where it hurts most.”

“She has.”

“But she won't. She'll give the boy back, mark my words. All she wants right now is to win. Publicly. So she looks like a good mother. America, motherhood, and apple pie, you know about that stuff.”

Nick smiled for the first time in a week. “I didn't think she did. She's more interested in sable and Van Cleef.”

Greer smiled too. “Not in court. She's a smart one, and her attorneys have been very good.”

Nick looked at the man who had become his friend. “So have you.” And then with a lump in his throat, “Win or lose, Ben, you've been great. I know you've done your best.”

“That doesn't mean a damn unless we win.”

“We have to.”

Greer nodded, and both men fell silent as they watched the winter sky as the limousine glided swiftly uptown.

The next week was agony for them all as they waited for the call from the judge. Nick paced his room night and day, went to the office, ran home, tried to spend each spare moment with his son, and Greer felt like an expectant father. He had never cared so much about a case as he had come to care about this one in the past year. And in the Markham apartment, Hillary was as nervous as a cat. She wanted to go out and play, and for once Philip exerted some influence on her and insisted she stay home.

“How do you think it'll look if some gossip columnist sees you at El Morocco?”

“What am I supposed to be doing? Sitting here building a hobbyhorse for my son?”

“Don't be so smart. Sit tight. It's almost over.” He didn't want to aggravate his mother. She was beginning to feel sorry for him, and one slip could spoil everything. He almost had to sit on Hillary, but she didn't go out. It made her very hard to live with, but Philip insisted. He played backgammon with her for hours, and bought her gallons of champagne to keep her happy, which only made him hope more ardently that his mother would relent soon. Hillary was an expensive woman to support, and his tastes weren't simple either. They had a great deal in common, as his mother pointed out whenever she could, in an unpleasant tone. Not that either of them cared. And once they had the Markham funds, or Johnny's child support, they would be happy again. Philip was just playing it safe, he told his wife as he carried her to their enormous bed. He had just pulled off her clothes and thrown them on the floor when they heard the phone ring.

It was the firm of Fulton and Matthews. Court was to convene at two. The judge had reached a decision at last.

“Hallelujah!” she told Philip with a grin as she stood naked beside the bed. “Tonight I'm free!” And not a word about Johnny was said as Philip pulled her roughly into bed and spread her legs with his own.

he judge walked somberly into the courtroom, his robes flowing, his face set. The bailiff made the necessary announcement. All rose and then sat down again. And in his seat, Nicholas sat waiting with bated breath. Johnny was waiting at home for the news, Nick hadn't wanted to expose him to the tension here, and the corridors outside were already thick with reporters. Like vultures, they had sensed meat, and someone from the courthouse had tipped them off. The parties involved in the case had been barely able to fight their way in.

“Mr. Burnham,” the judge began, “would you be good enough to approach the bench?” Nick looked at Ben, surprised, he had not been prepared for this, nor was Ben, it was a departure from the usual proceedings. And then the judge turned to Hillary and asked her to do the same.

They both got up and walked toward the bench and one could have heard the proverbial pin drop, and then the judge looked at them both. He was an old man with wise eyes, and he looked as though he had given the matter a great deal of thought. It had been a bitch of a case, and a tough decision to make, although to Nick the right solution to it all was clear.

“I would like to tell you both,” the judge began, “that my heart aches for you both. And I have been given the ungrateful task of Solomon. Who does one give a child to? Does one cut him in half? In truth, in a situation like this, whatever one does injures the child. Divorce is a very ugly thing. And whatever decision I make, I hurt the child and I hurt one of you. It is a source of great sorrow to me that you couldn't work your problems out, for the sake of the child.” He looked at them both and then went on. Nick could feel his palms sweating and his back was damp, and he could see by the way Hillary stood that she was nervous too. Neither of them had anticipated this speech and it only made matters worse. “In any case, you did not work your problems out. You are already divorced. Remarried, in your case”—he glanced at Hillary—”and because of that”—he glanced at Nick, who was in no way prepared for what came next—“I feel that the child will have a more stable home with you, Mrs. Markham. I award the child to you.” He looked down at Hillary with a fatherly smile, he had been completely taken in. And suddenly Nick realized what had been said and he exploded into life, forgetting where he was.

He turned to the judge and almost screamed.

“But he held a gun to my son's head! That's the man you're giving him to!”

“I'm giving the child to your wife. And it was an empty gun, Mr. Burnham, as I recall. Your wife knew that. And … The voice droned on as Nick felt faint. He wondered if he was having a heart attack or only dying of grief. “… you will be able to visit the boy. You may submit a visitation schedule to the court, or arrange it among yourselves, as you prefer. You will turn the child over to Mrs. Markham by six o'clock today. And in light of your income, sir, the court has set the sum of two thousand dollars a month as child support, which we do not feel will be a hardship for you.” Hillary had won all around and she beamed as she ran back and hugged Philip and both of her attorneys before the judge was through, and Nick stared at him and shook his head as the judge stood up and the bailiff called out “Court is adjourned!”

Nick turned on his heels then and rushed out of court, his head bent low, with Ben Greer running right behind. They pushed their way through the crowd outside, refusing to say anything, and at last they almost fell into the limousine as a cameraman shot a last flash at the car, and Nick turned to stare at Ben.

“I don't believe what I just heard.”

“Neither do I.” But he did. Ben had heard it all before, but it was not the same for Nick, who sat stony-faced all the way home, wondering what he would tell his son. He had until six o'clock to pack Johnny's things, and send him away to a life he knew was wrong. And for an instant he thought of doing what Hillary had done. Kidnapping his son. But he couldn't stay hidden forever, and it would be too hard on the boy. He had to do what the court said, for now anyway.