A Case for Love (25 page)

“Ready?” She tried to sound chipper.

“Yep. Got you a bottle of water, too.” He handed it to her.

She took the bottle and grabbed the extra garage-door opener and mailbox key out of the kitchen junk drawer. She clipped the remote to her waistband and slipped the key ring onto her left pinkie finger. “Let’s go.”

They walked in silence the first several minutes—and at no leisurely strolling pace, either. By the time they’d made it up the gentle hill leading into the heart of the community—toward Forbes’s more exclusive section—Alaine almost had to jog to keep up with his long, quick strides. And since she hadn’t walked regularly since the beginning of summer—which meant sometime around the end of April—every muscle in her legs and every air sac in her lungs protested painfully.

After fifteen minutes of this, she stopped and leaned down, bracing her hands on her knees, to catch her breath—hard to do when the evening air clung to her like a sweaty gym sock in a steam room. “Forbes—if you want to run some more, why don’t you take a few laps and then come back and get me when you’re ready to slow it down.”

He stopped and looked around as if surprised to discover she no longer bobbed along beside him. The fierceness in his eyes vanished when he saw her. “I’m sorry. I guess I still have more frustration to work off. I thought I’d worn myself out before you got home.” He walked back to rejoin her.

Holding her water bottle between her knees, Alaine straightened and pulled her hair band out, combed the escaped curls back up off her forehead, face, and neck into a ponytail near the top of her head, and wrapped it up with the band again, keeping it all folded up together instead of letting it swing free. She then took a huge swig of the water.

Forbes reached over and touched a curl she’d missed behind her ear. “The managing partner at the firm threatened to terminate me if I don’t drop the case.”

Alaine staggered back, the uncertainty in her knees in direct proportion to the blow to her soul. “That settles it. You have to drop the case. We’ll find another lawyer—your friend, Russ LeBlanc. Surely he’d be willing to take on the case. I’ve already made you lose your family; I couldn’t bear it if you lost your job, too.”

He actually smiled at her. “Hold on, now. I’ve reviewed the partnership agreement we all signed, and they have no grounds on which to terminate me. But...” He reached for her hand and started back up the hill, much slower this time.

Alaine matched his pace. “But?”

“You know I’ve spent a lot of time in prayer about this case, about what taking it might do to me and to every relationship in my life.”

“Yes. I’ve been praying, too.”

“I am certain God is telling me to continue on with the case, that He’ll take care of everything else—my family, the law firm, everything.”

Alaine glanced up at his stoic profile. His dark hair curled around his temples, forehead, and neck where he was sweaty. And even though perspiration rolled down his face—as it was about to do on hers—she didn’t find his very masculine, very sporty aroma the least offensive.

Shaking her head, she looked away from him so she could concentrate on the subject at hand, not on all his attractions. “It’s good you have that confidence. I just wish we could see where this is all headed—if it’s going to go to trial or if your parents will see the light and decide to change their plans and help the people in the Mills instead of trying to run them out.”

“See, here’s the thing. I met with Russ LeBlanc this afternoon. Because my partners are going to be pains about the case and not let me use any resources at the firm, I needed to find some help. And the more I talked to Russ, the more I realized just how much I envy him.”

“What do you mean, envy him?” Alaine tripped over a rough spot in the pavement, but with her hand firmly held in Forbes’s, she didn’t lose balance and recovered before he could react.

“I mean he’s so happy, so fulfilled with what he does at the community legal aid center. He hardly makes any money—I have no idea how he is going to make ends meet with four brand-new babies.”

Alaine gasped. “He had quads?”

“His wife did, yes. Three girls and a boy. And Carrie’s going to have to go back to work as a social worker in less than five weeks because Russ barely scrapes a living from that center. But I’ve never met two happier, more contented people than the LeBlancs. And I can’t help comparing my own sorry excuse for a life with his. He’s done something, made his mark on the community. He may not have material possessions, but he has something more. He has dignity and honor and the title of ‘neighbor’ as Jesus defined it in the parable of the good Samaritan. And you want to know the sad thing?” He pulled her into a grassy area under an enormous oak tree.

“What?” Her throat ached in sympathy for the pain and longing in Forbes’s voice.

“Even with as much as I envy what Russ has and wish I could be that kind of lawyer, the idea of giving up my share of the law firm’s profits, of losing my extremely high hourly billing rate, of foregoing the incentives and bonuses we dole out to ourselves every year, of not being able to afford the luxurious life to which I’m accustomed—the idea of losing all of those things, those material things and more, terrifies me.”

Alaine rested her hands on the sides of his waist.
Let Your words flow through me, God, because I don’t know what to say to him.
She breathed in and opened her mouth. “I don’t think it’s giving up the material things that is what you’re really afraid of.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“I think it’s the sense of control that having all those material possessions gives you the illusion of. With your money and power and prestige, you can fix any problem, keep any situation from getting out of control. And if you can’t personally do it, someone in your Rolodex can.” Shocked at herself, Alaine tried to stop the harsh sounding words. “But if you think about it, your friend Russ is the one who’s really in control. He’s in control because he’s given up control—to God. He isn’t controlled by the need for money or luxury or power or prestige. Sure, he doesn’t control who his clients are and how much they can pay him, but he controls his own happiness. You’ll never know what it is to have true control of your life until you realize you have to let it go and let God have control of every aspect of your life—including where your next paycheck is coming from.”

Forbes stared at her. Alaine started to apologize several times for what she’d said, but the words wouldn’t come. After a long time, his expression eased and a smile slowly overtook his eyes and lips.

“So are you saying that you wouldn’t care if I went to work with Russ LeBlanc and didn’t have a steady income and couldn’t afford things like Jaguars and the most expensive town house in Bonneterre?”

She swallowed hard and thought about what her sorority sisters would say—which was exactly the opposite of what was right. “I wouldn’t mind. Because I didn’t fall in love with your income or your car or your house. I fell in love with who you are, what you stand for.”

His eyes flickered in the reddening sunlight as they darted back and forth, searching hers. “Say that again,” he whispered.

“I love you, Forbes Guidry. I don’t care if you have to sell the town house and buy a cheaper car. What I care about is that you’re happy and that you do what God is calling you to do so that you can be proud of your work every day.”

He cupped her face with his large, soft hands and kissed her until her eyes—and toes—crossed. “I don’t deserve you, Alaine.” He pressed his forehead to hers with a mischievous smile. “But you don’t have to worry about me losing the town house and the Jag. They’re paid off.”

The next weeks passed in a blur for Forbes. He hadn’t worked such long hours since his first few years as an associate at the firm in New Orleans. Though he’d convinced the other three partners that they couldn’t terminate him—his argument for its being a case of conscience worked—they still refused to allow him to use company resources for it. And with the threat of a review of his book of business pending—the record of all of his clients and the money he was bringing in with each one—he not only had to keep up with all of his current clients but still work on bringing in new business.

The flurry from the media over the case died down after his initial filings for injunctions to keep all of the claimants in the suit from being foreclosed upon, but it flared up again the second week in August when Forbes officially filed the class-action lawsuit.

His one attempt to try to reconcile with his parents and see if they could resolve this without the legal action—by dropping by their home on a Sunday evening and being unceremoniously turned away—had resulted in his receiving a phone call from Sandra Landreneau, legal counsel for Boudreaux-Guidry Enterprises, telling him to cease and desist from trying to contact her clients directly.

To try to make things easier for the rest of the family, especially Meredith and Major, he stopped going to all family functions, including the Thursday night cousins-and-siblings dinner. But at least in that, he had some consolation: Thursday night became his regular date night with Alaine—a welcome relief in what had become a routine of sixteen- to eighteen-hour days, at least six days a week.

Russ LeBlanc had made a small room in his converted-house law office available for Forbes to use for working on the Mills case, but most of the time, Forbes worked on it at home. He’d filled the formerly vacant large guest suite on the fourth floor of his town house with long folding tables and plenty of boxes to hold the sheaves of paperwork the case generated—on both sides. But he had Sandra Landreneau address everything to him at Russ’s address.

Before Russ had left the courtroom one afternoon, he informed Forbes a package had been dropped off for him at the legal aid center from FLM—Forbes had long since stopped thinking of his initial as part of the firm’s name in this case—no doubt yet another round of motions to dismiss to which Forbes would have to spend all night writing responses.

Mr. Pichon pumped his hand again. “Thanks, Forbes. I really appreciate your work on all of this. I don’t even care that we have to share the court costs with them. I’m just glad we won.”

“You’re welcome. I’ll be in touch about when and how to make that payment early next week.” Instead of euphoria over winning the case, all he could think about was how much that neighborhood would change now that Mr. Pichon could sell his lot to anyone willing to pay the price he’d ask. He dawdled in the hallway until his client disappeared into an elevator rather than share one with him.

The halls of the courthouse echoed with emptiness. Forbes checked his watch—and drew in his breath between clenched teeth. With an elevator all to himself, he called Alaine.

She picked up on the second ring. “Hey. I’ll be ready in about fifteen minutes.”

“Hey to you, too. And don’t rush. I hate to do this to you again, but I’m going to have to push our date back about an hour. And would you mind if we didn’t go see that movie? I’ve got to go by Russ’s and pick up some paperwork on my way home—motions and briefs I’ll need to read through tonight.” He exited the elevator and waved at the security guards who buzzed the main doors so he could get out.

“Do you ... do you want to just cancel tonight?” Alaine’s voice went reedy.

Guilt—tinged with resentment—pierced him. If it weren’t for having met Alaine, this case wouldn’t be taking up most of his life. But if it weren’t for this case, he might never have fallen in love with her. “No, I still want to see you tonight.”

“Oh, okay.” Her voice returned to a more mellow, happier tone. “Because if you need to cancel and spend all evening working, I’d understand.”

“I’ll pick you up at seven thirty. Are you still thinking favorable thoughts toward Italian food?”

“So long as it’s at Palermo’s, yes.”

“That’s what I thought. I’ll call and see if they can move our reservation back.”

She let out a dry laugh. “They will.”

“How do you know?” He climbed into the Jag.

“Because everyone always does what you ask them to.”

He snorted, thinking about the paperwork facing him tonight. “Not anymore.”

“Okay, everyone outside of your family and the law firm.”

A drop of rain with the volume of a fire bucket doused the windshield when Forbes pulled out of the parking garage. “I’d better get off the phone. It’s starting to rain, and there’s still a lot of traffic in downtown. I wouldn’t want to have to cancel permanently.”

“See you in a little while.”

“Bye.” He dropped the phone into a cup holder and pointed the car south, toward Moreaux Mills and Russ’s legal aid center. As Alaine had predicted, the hostess who answered the phone at Palermo’s Italian Grill was only too happy to change their reservation to seven forty-five.

Lights still blazed through most of the windows of the center when Forbes pulled up. Even with his large umbrella and a short few feet to the door, his back and legs got a pretty good soaking from the diagonal rain. The front door was locked and he’d left the key in his briefcase in the car, so he rang the bell.

The glow of the interior backlit Russ when he opened the door. “I was wondering where you were.”

Forbes shook off the umbrella before crossing the threshold. “Did the paralegal I hired come by with something for me, too?”

“Yeah, while we were in court, apparently. My secretary put both of them in your office.”

Forbes smirked at him. Both of them had gotten quite comfortable with the idea of Forbes having his own office space here. But all things considered, having watched what Russ did on a daily basis, Forbes had to admit he wasn’t cut out to provide community legal aid. He much preferred paying clients. He just wasn’t sure he’d be able to go back to FLM&G after this. If he didn’t need his income from his partnership there to finance the Mills case, he’d have already separated from them and hung out his own shingle—over that vacant Victorian row house office building on Town Square, right next door to Anne’s wedding planning business—and a ten-minute walk from his home.

He greeted Russ’s assistant and paralegal—hard at work in the kitchen with paperwork spread out all over the lunch table—and went down the hall to the small former bedroom serving as his office. Atop the thrift-store desk sat two thick, yellow envelopes. He scooped them up, gave the shabby room one more look, and turned off the light.

At Russ’s office door—which had been the house’s master bedroom—Forbes stopped and leaned against the jamb. “How’s Carrie holding up?”

“Fourth day back at work. Called me at least a dozen times before noon in tears wanting to quit her job and stay home with them.” Russ sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “I can’t help thinking that if I’d gone your way—if I’d taken that job with Folse, Landreneau & Maier as a senior associate when you were promoted to partner—she’d be able to stay home with the babies and we wouldn’t have to worry about how we’re going to balance paying all the bills with making sure the kids have more than just the crucial essentials for survival.”

“And if you had taken that job, you would have had money, yes, but your soul would have died. You would have hated being on that side of the courtroom, defending the big business owners and trying to squash the little people. I’m finding it harder and harder to stomach these days.” Forbes’s head felt suddenly heavy, and he leaned it against the door facing.

Russ gave Forbes a sympathetic look, even though Russ had been the lawyer for the losing side in the Pichon case. “Yeah, can’t wait to see what the papers have to say about that tomorrow—that you stuck it to one community while trying to stick up for another.”

Forbes groaned. “Oh, that’s poetic. Why don’t you call the editor and give them that line?”

“Sarcasm doesn’t suit you, Forbes.” Russ wagged his index finger at him in an admonitory gesture. “Besides, their prose is purple enough without my help. They should be paying you a bonus for all of the news you’ve generated for them this year.”

“Yeah, well, between the society pages and the front page, I can’t tell if they love me or hate me. They love showing pictures of Alaine and me at any public event we attend—which is just about every event she covers and drags me along to. And they love digging up every last sordid detail of how this case has created a wedge between me and my family, how I’m the black sheep.”

“Or the white sheep, depending on who’s writing the article.” Russ’s desk phone rang, and he glanced down at it. “It’s a client. I’ve got to answer.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Russ waved and picked up the receiver.

As if Forbes weren’t already stressed enough, the pounding rain and limited visibility wound the cords of his muscles even tighter. He smiled. Maybe he could convince Alaine to give him another one of her miraculous shoulder massages before they went to dinner. He glanced down at the clock. A quarter to seven. Maybe not. He’d be cutting it close just to get home and change clothes before time to pick her up.

When he turned into the cul-de-sac, the Jag’s headlights flashed on a dark object in his driveway—a car he didn’t recognize. Waiting for the garage door to open, he glanced up at the front door. A shadowy figure stood at the top of the steps. He pulled the Jag into the garage.

Before he could get around to the end of his car, the mysterious person hurried into the shelter the garage provided.

Evelyn Mackenzie lowered her blazer, which she’d been using as an umbrella with no effect. Her dark hair lay plastered to her head. He averted his eyes from the way her now-transparent white blouse clung to her torso.

“What are you doing here?” He hadn’t meant to sound that gruff.

“I need to talk to you.” Evelyn stepped forward, her feet making squishing noises in her spike-heeled sandals.

“Without your counsel present, that’s not a good idea.” He turned to retrieve the packages and his overstuffed briefcase from the car.

“This is off the record—just between you and me.” She grabbed his arm. “Please, Forbes, it’s important.”

“I have to leave here at seven thirty, so it had better be quick.” He risked another glance at her, and her trembling and bedraggled appearance gave him a little twinge. “Come inside and dry off and get warm.”

“Thanks.”

He led her up one flight to the main level. He was about to point out the powder room near the kitchen, but that wouldn’t do. He only had hand towels in there. “Come on upstairs.”

The guest bathroom on the third floor opened directly off the landing—the door adjacent to his bedroom door. The proximity couldn’t be helped. He reached in and turned on the light.

“Towels are there”—he pointed to the plush green ones hanging on the bar beside the tub—“and there’s a hair dryer in the linen closet. And if you’ll hold on just a second, I’ll loan you a dry shirt.” Because if they were going to talk, he was going to have to look at her.

In his closet, he grabbed the first T-shirt off the top of the stack he usually wore when running—the one he’d gotten for participating in the charity 10K run last weekend for the Warner Foundation to raise money for the cardiac care unit at University Hospital. Though his parents had helped start the foundation and were the biggest supporters and donors, he’d signed up to participate way back in the spring. And he never broke his promises.

He waved at Evelyn in the bathroom mirror. She turned off the hair dryer.

“Here.” He thrust the shirt at her. “It’s never been worn.”

“Thanks.”

He nodded and escaped back to his room. Closing the door of the closet behind him, he quickly changed out of his damp suit into dark-wash, slightly distressed jeans and a light blue, silk T-shirt, then grabbed his olive brown sport coat. The hair dryer stopped. He carried his shoes and socks out into his bedroom, just as Evelyn knocked on the open door.

“Forbes?” Her gaze swept his room, and she took a few steps across the dark hardwood to the area rug, putting her within five feet of him. She’d knotted the T-shirt in the back in such a way that what should have been a very unprovocative tent on her slender frame now had an almost indecently snug fit.

“His insides foamed. “Let’s go downstairs to my study.” He checked his watch. “I can give you about ten minutes.

“Okay.” She preceded him down the stairs, her blouse and jacket bundled under her arm, her sandals dangling by the heel straps from her fingers. At the bottom of the stairs, she halted, and he took over the lead, turning immediately left into the study that occupied the front corner of the main floor.

“Wow. This is some room.” Evelyn trailed her fingers over the back of one of the leather club chairs as her eyes scraped across the spines of all the books lining the built-in cherry cabinets.

Forbes draped his jacket across the back of his Queen Anne– style armchair and sat to put his socks and shoes on. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

“Hmm?”

He glanced up and almost bolted out of his chair to slap her hand away from Dickens. She ran her fingertips across the leather binding and gold lettering on the spines of the treasured volumes.

Gritting his teeth, he returned his attention to getting his feet encased in the dark brown socks and leather dress shoes. “Why are you here, Evelyn?”

“What—oh, yes.” She finished her slow circuit of the room and came back around to perch on the edge of the club chair nearest him. “It’s about your parents, Forbes.”

His heart and lungs froze solid. “What about my parents? Are they okay?”

She reached over and laid her hand on his knee. “Physically, yes, they’re fine. I’m talking about their emotional state. They miss their son—they miss
you.
They’re trying very hard to understand why you felt like you needed to take this stand against them, but they’re ready for you to come back home, to make a gesture of reconciliation.”