Four Wives (30 page)

T
HE CALLS WERE STILL
coming at ten thirty and Marie was scattered. The caterer, florist, even the band had last-minute problems, none of which were serious. Still, the collective ineptitude was eroding what little patience she had left, and she was now verging on belligerence.

“Just get your asses there by five. Someone will show you where to set up. Come on’this isn’t brain surgery!”

She pounded the phone on the receiver, then let out a frustrated sigh. She could feel Randy watching her from his desk, knowing not to say a word until she found her way back to center. That he knew her this well only added to her misery.

“If I make it through this day …”

“It’ll be OK. Like you said, it isn’t brain surgery. They’ll figure it out, and you’ll be there well before five.”

The sound of the office door pulled them back to the present moment.

“That will be Farrell,” Marie said, taking a breath. Nothing about the next hour was going to be easy.

Randy waited for his boss, filing in behind her as she walked to the conference room to meet their client. Carson Farrell had taken a seat at the table, his hands folded in the customary fashion. His face was blank, his demeanor nonexpressive. But through it all, his nerves were showing.

“Thank you for coming, Carson,” Marie said, taking a seat across from him. Then she was silent.

Randy took a seat next to her. Everyone was in position, yet Marie was still quiet, and Farrell quickly became unsettled.

“So, what are we doing here?” he asked.

“Right now, we’re waiting.” Marie’s voice was decisive and remarkably calm given the state she’d been in just a moment before.

As for Farrell, the sense of alarm was escalating. “I don’t understand … ,” he started to speak, but stopped himself when he heard the door open. One after another, his wife, her lawyer, and the lawyer for their children walked in and sat down at the table. They all seemed surprised at the full house of guests.

“What the hell is this?” As expected, Farrell’s fear had turned to anger when he realized that his wife had been summoned.

“Thank you all for coming on such short notice,” Marie said, her tone exceedingly formal. “I first want to say that I am acting here as an officer of the court, not as the attorney for Mr. Farrell.”

Carson Farrell sat frozen, shocked into silence.

“That’s a tricky position, Marie. Even for you.” Tim Connely sounded unusually sincere. Still, Marie could sense his excitement. Farrell’s lawyer was jumping ship, which was a sign that there might be blood in the water.

“I know I’m on a limb here. I’ve weighed my responsibilities to Mr. Farrell against my ethical duties regarding the Farrell children, and this is where I’ve come out. Believe me, I was up half the night with the bar’s Code of Ethics, reading between the lines.”

Sitting at the far end of the table, intentionally equidistant from the Far-rells, the attorney for the children was now concerned. “What do you mean, Marie? Why are you concerned for the children?” Patricia West had been representing children in custody battles for many years. It was required by the court when custody was being contested, and she had seen her share of ugly battles in the name of the children. What was happening in this room was a first.

“In the course of conducting due diligence in this case, I came across some conflicting information regarding the accident,” Marie said. Then she paused, giving the room time to turn back the pages.

“The accident involving the youngest child, Simone?” Patricia West asked.

“Yes.”

Farrell was suddenly on his feet. “You had no right!”

“Please, Carson, sit down. You can seek your vengeance later.” Marie’s voice, her words, were commanding. Still, part of her was uneasy’the part that wasn’t convinced she was within her rights to do what she was about to do.

“What do you mean,
conflicting information?”
It was Connely’s turn to be worried. He looked at his client for clues but, as before, Vickie Farrell wasn’t all there.

Now Marie turned to her client. “Carson, you told the police you were watching Simone that morning. That Vickie had taken the others to school, and you were working from home.”

“That’s right,” Farrell said, his position steadfast.

“There was a call placed from your home to your office in downtown Boston a little over thirty minutes before the call was made to 911.”

Carson Farrell shrugged defiantly. “I called to check in. That was when I turned my back, when Simone headed for the stairs.”

“No,” Marie said, trying to hold steady. “You didn’t make that call. You were at the office that morning, and you were still there at nine forty-five when the call was made from your home.”

The room fell silent. Farrell, Connely, and Patricia West each scanned the present faces for signs of recognition. Marie and Randy Matthews were the only two who were not visibly taken aback.

“I know about the depression, the outbursts. Mrs. Farrell was seeking treatment, maybe even recovering from what, I can only imagine, was a terrifying experience of postpartum illness. But the fact remains that Carson Farrell was not home at the time of the accident.”

Farrell jumped in quickly, attempting to recover a situation that was now getting away from him. “I was home. I was at the office early on,
then
I came home. Vickie left when I walked in the door. Simone fell, and I called 911. Check with the police. It’s my voice on the tape.”

Marie shook her head. “It’s not possible, Carson. The drive from your office to your old house is a good half hour, any way you slice it. There’s just not enough time for things to have happened that way.”

“Marie, what afo/happen?” Patricia said in a tentative voice.

Marie took a long breath. It was painful, even for her, to rehash the death of the Farrell baby. But it had to be done. “Carson went to the office. The older children were at their schools. It was
Mrs.
Farrell who was home with Simone. We know she was ill, struggling with her emotions. She was taking antidepressants. There were many factors, but in the end, she was the one who left the gate open, who wasn’t watching Simone when she crawled to the staircase.”

“Stop!” Farrell said, but Marie continued.

“After the fall, Vickie Farrell called her husband at the office. I don’t think she realized what had happened. Carson left the office abruptly, making it home to find Simone already dead. That’s when he called 911.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Tim Connely had caught up with it now’he could see where this was headed, and it wasn’t good for his case. “We have the police report. Farrell gave his statement.”

“That’s not the end of the story. That’s the beginning. We spoke with Farrell’s secretary, who was there that day. She remembers him being there right up to the time when he received a phone call, the same time the phone records show a call placed from the Farrell home to the office. The 911 call came in almost exactly half an hour later’just enough time for Carson to get home and find the baby at the foot of the stairs.”

Connely looked at his client. The face that had been as empty as stone was now flushed. All eyes turned to Vickie Farrell as the emotion filled up inside her’until, finally, it had consumed every space. She looked at her husband.

“Is it true? Did I kill our baby?” Her face was riddled with confusion, and it became clear to everyone in the room that Carson had worked hard to protect his wife, even from herself. For years, he had allowed her to believe that he was the one who’d let their daughter fall to her death, and the truth had buried itself in the depths of her mind. Still, it was there, and keeping it buried had required a complete shutdown of emotion, until there was no sign of life at all.

Carson Farrell rose from his chair and walked slowly to his wife’s side. Her eyes grew wider as time continued to pass without an answer. “Did I?” she asked again, as Farrell knelt beside her.

“No one killed our little girl. It was an accident,” he said. “It’s OK. It’s going to be OK.”

With the answer now confirmed by his avoidance, Vickie Farrell’s face began to coil with anguish. “No!” she said defiantly, grabbing at his shirt until he pulled her to him and held her tightly, trapping her arms at his chest. Her cries were too painful to witness, yet no one moved’as if the slightest shift in the air would break the woman entirely.

Finally, Patricia West whispered across the table to Marie. “We need to talk,” she said.

Motioning to the other lawyers in the room, Marie got up from her chair and led them to her back office. As she passed by her client, she placed a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll work this out. I promise.”

But Carson Farrell did not look up. He was lost now, in a place two years ago’the place they should have been had he not tried to shield his wife with impudent devotion. The picture was finally in focus, the price he was willing to pay to spare her the hell she was now facing. He told the lie, but then the lie took on a life of its own, growing like a cancer inside Vickie Farrell. All this time, she had believed it’to the point of leaving Carson and fighting to keep his children from him. Her anger was that profound. And now, it would be turned on herself.

Marie left Randy with them in the conference room. As she turned to go, she gave him a sad smile. There was no victory here, no elation that they had finally gotten to the bottom of this disturbing case. And although the truth was finally out, Marie knew the work in the matter of
Farrell v. Farrell
was only beginning.

“L
OVE?”

Marie had tried for over an hour to reach her on her cell. Finally, she got through.

“Where are you?”

“I’m in the air. I was held up in Chicago.” Love’s words came in and out with the signal.

“Shit.” Marie said it under her breath but it made it through the line.

“What’s wrong?”

It was after four and now apparent that Marie would never make it to the party in time. Sorting out the Farrell case had taken the entire day, and they were still waiting on a call from Patricia West.

“I’m running late. It’s a long story. I was hoping you could get to Gayle’s to make sure everything gets done.”

“I’m sorry. I won’t land until after six. That won’t put me at the house until nearly eight o’clock.”

Marie started to tell her something’not to worry, get there when she could’but the line went dead again. Pacing now, with the phone pressed to her chest, Marie felt it coming on.

They’d done the best they could for the Farrells. For the better part of five hours, the three lawyers had laid out a strategy, made phone calls, researched legal precedents, and’somehow’worked as a team to find a solution. Vickie Farrell needed help, now more than ever. Carson had pulled her out of treatment when Simone died, terrified the truth would come out and push his wife over the edge. For over two years her depression had gone untreated, and now she had the death of a child to grieve all over again. As for the children, everyone agreed they should be placed with Carson until their mother recovered. But Connely fought hard to protect his client’s rights. Draft after draft was forged, rejected, revised until they found the terms they could all live with. Farrell would have temporary custody. The divorce would be placed on hold. And Vickie Farrell would be admitted to a nearby private facility for treatment.

Still, when their work was done, the plan had to be executed. Connely and Carson Farrell drove Vickie to the hospital. They picked the children up from their schools, drove them home. Carson brought a bag of clothing and personal belongings. They explained that their mother was sick, that their father would be living with them now until she came home. It was a heartrending scene, and Connely had returned to Marie’s office completely spent. For all his repulsive qualities, Marie’s least favorite opponent had shown extraordinary compassion in the face of a terrible situation. And that left them where they now were, waiting for Patricia West to get a judge’s signature so they could close the file and call it a day. Not that it would ever be that simple for the Farrell family.

As for Marie, the repercussions of her actions would not be known for some time. She had done nothing illegal, and in actuality had aided her client’s case for custody. There could be no criminal charges, no malpractice suit. Still, Carson Farrell had one avenue left to vent his anger, and he was, in fact, now hellbent on filing a complaint with the state bar association. After two years of holding back the tide, his wife was now in a mental facility, his children were without a mother, and it was all at the hand of his own lawyer. That his children were at least safe now, that his wife might actually get the treatment she needed was beside the point. At the end of the day, Marie had made the decisions for him, and everyone involved with the case knew she would pay a price for that.

All of this was weighing down on her. Alone in the office, Randy studied the face that once again had captured his attention. She looked close to breaking. He started to get up from his desk, but then stopped, folded his arms, and leaned back in the chair.

“What are you thinking about? “ he asked her.

“The party.” Marie had stopped pacing in front of the window, and was now peering down at the parking lot.

“Just the party?”

“Yes,” she said with resolve to ward off further inquiries. It didn’t work.

“And not about the Farrells?”

“Well, Randy, I am now.”

He got up and walked to the window. Maybe he was unduly biased from knowing her. Maybe he was too inexperienced to know better. Still, he couldn’t help believing that what she’d done was right.

“Vickie’s illness led to the death of one child. Carson was being reckless. You saw children in danger’we both did’and you acted.” He spoke with fervor, hoping to persuade her.

Marie shook her head. “Well, in any case, it’s done.”

“No, you’re not listening.” He was beside her now, and he reached out, gently holding her arm. “What you did took courage. The bar will see that.”

She laughed sarcastically. “You don’t know the bar, Randy. What they’ll see is that I didn’t do my job as a lawyer. I made choices against my client’s will. It’s a cardinal sin.”

“Hey,” he said, squeezing her arm once, then again to get her attention. She took a breath then turned to face him.

“What?”

“Maybe you acted as a mother first. But you’re a damned good lawyer.”

Marie smiled, pretending to be reassured. Good lawyer, bad lawyer’ those were bold lines in the sand, which would ultimately be irrelevant. She would need subtle strategies now, detailed research of the association’s decisions. The investigation into Simone’s death and Vickie’s illness would have to continue until she could prove that the surviving children had been in danger under their mother’s care. Every meeting with Carson, every lie he’d told, nuance he’d manipulated, would be brought to bear. And all of this would be done with a singular intent’to force Farrell to back down. Because in the end, the severity of the sanction would be immaterial to her career. She would not be disbarred. She could wait out a suspension, pay off any fines. What she could not do was save her reputation if a hearing went down on the books.

“Thanks,” she said to Randy, meeting his eyes. And what she saw there, for the first time since he walked into her office, was the inescapable chasm that time had carved. She could see how much he wanted to help, how deeply he adored her, believed in her. But none of that could help her now. She needed to talk through the evidence, the arguments she would make on her own behalf. And she needed to do this with someone who was wise, experienced, and mature enough to be impartial for a moment. She needed Anthony.

“I can’t think about this now. I have a party to throw, and it looks like I’m on my own.”

Randy watched her as she walked back to her desk. “Is there anything I can do?”

Marie tried to smile at the gesture. “No, thanks. You’re a great almost-lawyer, but I don’t see you arranging flowers.”

Randy let out a small laugh. “I’m good at getting coffee, though,” he said. “I’ll be right back’cream and sugar?”

“And make sure it’s cream. No skim milk. I’m not in a fat-free mood.”

“I can see that.”

Randy walked down the stairs to the street. He walked past Joe’s to the corner, where a pay phone was nestled on the front of a stone office building. Without a second thought, though he knew it was lurking inside him, he dialed the number.

“Mr. Passeti’s line,” a woman answered.

“I need to speak with him. Tell him it’s about his wife.”

When he returned to the office, Marie was packing her briefcase.

“Patricia called. I have to get down to the courthouse to meet with the judge. She wants to speak with all the lawyers before she signs off on anything.”

She sounded tired, and now defeated. There was no way she would get to the party in time for the setup.

“Thanks for the coffee. Let’s take it on the road. Do you mind driv-ing?”

Randy felt a deep anguish run through him. The rift between what he had to do and what he so desperately wanted to do was too vast to comprehend. As he watched her rush about packing things up, closing the office, he stood still, paralyzed by his own resolve.

When she stopped moving, she stood before him’coffee in one hand, briefcase in the other, and a set of keys clutched between her front teeth.

“Let’s go,” she mumbled, and Randy couldn’t help but laugh.

“Give me those,” he said, taking the keys from her mouth.

She started to walk by him to the door but stopped when she felt the distance grow between them. It wasn’t like him not to follow close behind her.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, facing him now.

“If you don’t mind, I thought I’d finish something up for Nancy’s trial.”

Marie looked at him, confused. Never had he turned down a chance to be with her, and she could see in his face that he wanted that now. But his words were clear when he said them again.

“If you don’t mind.”

“No, that’s fine. I’ll see you Monday?”

Randy smiled and nodded. “Monday.”

“OK, then. You did a great job today.”

The escape was in place and Marie knew she had to take it. The silent space in the room was begging for something to give, something to pull them either together or apart’ending the uncertainty. There was no question that she had to go.

She heard him call her name as she was turning to leave.

“What is it?”

He waited for her eyes to see him, to return from the place they had already shifted to and be again in this room’on him and only him. Then he said, softly, “Good-bye, Marie.”

“Yeah. See you Monday,” she said.

Then she left without looking back.