Judgment

34

Duncan had texted her asking if she’d pick up Jake after school, since Duncan had his afternoon class. She was happy to do it and left right after court was adjourned. Jake didn’t seem so happy about it. He gave her a brief surprised look when he saw her pull up and got into the car with a surly expression.

“Where’s Dad?”

She couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy. Considered making some sarcastic remark — Sorry, you’re stuck with me — but decided against it. “He’s meeting with students. Have you been getting my texts?”

He shrugged. “I’ve been busy.”

“How was soccer practice?”

He shrugged.

“Okay?”

“Fine.”

Okay, so he didn’t want to talk about soccer. “What do you think Mr. Wertheim wants?”

“What do you mean?”

“He wants to meet with your father and me.”

“Asshole.”

“Mr. Wertheim?”

“He’s a terrible teacher.”

“What do you think he wants?”

Another shrug. “How do I know?”

“How are you doing in precalc?”

“I don’t know.”

Of course he knew; he just didn’t want to say, which told her all she needed to know. He’d begun bending the fingers of his left hand backward as far as they’d go, a long-standing nervous habit. During chemo he did it all the time. He bent his fingers so far back they nearly broke. It must have hurt a lot. Maybe the pain was a needed distraction.

“What’s going on, sweetie?”

“Nothing’s going on. What do you mean?”

“I’m sorry I haven’t been around.”

He shrugged. “Doesn’t bother me. You don’t have to pick me up, you know. I could Uber. I know how busy you are.”

“But I like picking you up.”

He continued bending his fingers back, looked out the side window. They fell into silence for a minute or two. Finally she said, “You talked to Dad.”

“He told me.”

“We’re just taking some time apart.”

“You guys getting a divorce, is that what’s really going on?”

“No, sweetie.”

“This family is nothing but silences.”

“How so?”

“You think I can’t tell? You guys don’t hold hands the way you used to. Or kiss.”

Was it that obvious? Did he really notice that much, barricaded in his room with his giant recording-studio-quality headphones on?

“Is that true?”

He looked away.

“We can talk about anything you want to talk about,” she said.

But he said nothing. He kept bending back his fingers, staring straight ahead. His face was set in an adolescent scowl, but his eyes were a child’s.

She remembered one Saturday afternoon when he was ten, memorizing a poem for a school competition, helped by Duncan. Jake was marching up and down the stairs, declaiming, “O Captain! My Captain! Our fearful trip is done.”

And Duncan marching with him, saying, “Big gesture, big gesture — no, bigger!”

“The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won!” Jake called out.

“Yes!” Duncan said. “Outside!”

Jake and his father went out into the backyard, and Juliana followed, just watching, enchanted.

“O Captain! My Captain!” Jake said. He marched on the lawn, his arms swinging wildly. “Our fearful trip is done!”

Duncan marched alongside him, his arms swinging in sync. “Your body has to know it better than your mind does, you see? So you make it rhythmic to yourself by running while you shout it out — Here Captain! Dear father! This arm beneath your head!”

“Dear father! This arm beneath your head!” Jake shouted.

Duncan was playing coach, but at the same time it was as if they were really two boys playing together, Jake giggling sporadically, Duncan fighting to keep a straight face. He’d always had a bond with his father, she remembered. Different from the relationship between Jake and her. Duncan and Jake always seemed to be in sync, to just get each other. That had never changed. It probably never would.

Martie was having her dinner when Juliana arrived, eating a salad in front of CNN. “There’s salad and some chicken if you want it. And Sancerre.” She gestured toward some take-out boxes on the kitchen table.

“I had to pick up my son and decided to get some more clothes.”

“As long as you want. It’s a pleasure having the company.”

“I don’t want to turn into the houseguest from hell. It shouldn’t be for much longer. Duncan and I still need to hash things out.”

Martie muted the TV and put down her salad container. “Any more from Austin Bream at the Globe?”

Juliana shook her head, told her about the visit from the cop and the state trooper.

“This went all the way up to the AG’s office?”

She nodded.

“Boy, that must have been a hot potato. The cops find your prints on a pair of sunglasses and their supervisor must have freaked out. Bounced it all the way up to the Attorney General. Nobody wants to handle a case involving a Superior Court judge.”

Juliana winced as she told her about how she’d lied to the State Police detective. Martie listened, nodding, and didn’t react one way or another. “You had to do it,” she said. “You had no choice. Your connection would have become a matter of public record. You’re just in a terrible position. An unenviable position.”

“You know Kent, right?”

“Sure. But you don’t want me to call him. It’s not going to help, and it’s just going to backfire — shine a light on you — and you don’t want that.”

“No, you’re absolutely right.”

“Can they place you at the hotel?”

“If they have surveillance video they sure can.”

“Did they mention video?”

Juliana shook her head.

“Call Philip. Ask him to find out if the police took the video yet. They should have.”

“And if they have it?”

“If they have it, if they can see who entered his room, they probably have the identity of the killer. Assuming the guy was in fact killed and it’s not a suicide.”

“And they’ll also know I was in the guy’s hotel room too.”

Martie was silent for a while. At last she nodded. “Let’s hope they don’t find out.”