Part 36 (2/2)
He knew enough not to smile, though he came close. His wife was so deep into rebellion that her concentration was shot. It was endearing. ”I asked what you thought I ought to do about what I learned about my father.”
She considered it. ”You have to do what your conscience dictates.”
”That tells me nothing.”
Her eyes flashed. ”Well, I'm just not very smart. If I was, you might have asked my opinion about other things in the last forty years, starting with whether I was worried that those rumors you heard growing up might be true. Honestly, Eaton, you are insufferable. Know what your problem is?”
Eaton could think of a couple, but he said, ”No.”
”You don't know the difference between docility and stupidity. I may have been docile over the years, because that's what married women my age were expected to be-well, actually not all women, only the women in our social circle, which is something that is starting to really bother me. But I have been docile. That doesn't mean I don't have opinions, and it doesn't mean I'm stupid.”
”I just asked for your opinion, and you couldn't give it,” he pointed out.
”Couldn't?” she asked, raising a brow. ”I certainly could, if I wanted.”
He sighed in frustration. ”Then please. What am I supposed to do about my less-than-ill.u.s.trious past?”
Her eyes went wide. ”Stop thinking about it as less than ill.u.s.trious.”
”Dot.”
”I'm serious, Eaton. Why is this a tragedy? Isn't it an opportunity to learn about yourself? It's not like someone's coming along to call you an impostor and take away your money.”
”I'm not worried about my money.”
She smiled. ”Good. That's progress.”
He wanted-needed-to get to the other. ”But don't you think it's a little shocking that my father isn't who I thought he was?”
”Of course. But is it worth all this brooding? I think not,” she said. ”Do you want the truth, Eaton? You're interesting because you write about interesting people. Accept who you are, learn a little about your past, maybe alter a little of your future, and you could actually be an interesting person all on your own.”
With that, she left.
Chapter 28.
Hutchinson-Loy pa.s.sed by a three-vote margin. This pleased Hugh. If Hutch was feeling victorious, he might be more generous dealing with Crystal Kostas and her son.
Or so his theory went.
Dan Drummond poked a hole in it Wednesday morning, calling soon after Hugh arrived at work. ”The senator will fight the allegation,” the lawyer said. ”He doesn't remember this woman and doesn't believe her son is his.”
Hugh was disappointed. He had hoped for a quiet settlement. ”Does he deny he was at Mac's Bar and Grille on the night in question?”
”No.”
”Will he deny having relations.h.i.+ps with the women from whom we have signed affidavits?”
”No. But he'll present the names of other women who have made claims which were subsequently proven frivolous, like this one is.”
Hugh ignored that. ”He'll 'present'? You're talking about a hearing. Hearings are public.”
”Given the senator's status,” Drummond advised, ”I think we can get an exception.”
”You do that,” Hugh said, swiveling to open a file cabinet behind him, ”and I hold a press conference.”
”We'll get a gag order.”
”I'll hold a press conference to denounce the gag order,” Hugh countered. He hadn't wanted it this way. But he could play hardball for the sake of the boy.
He pulled out the folder containing the complaint. ”I'm ready to go, Dan. I'll be at Probate Court in Lowell at two this afternoon to file an emergency motion for an adjudication of paternity and immediate support, based on the medical needs of a four-year-old child. Good guy that I am, I'll ask for a quick ruling so that the test can be done to accommodate the senator while he's in town Friday.”
”You won't get the ruling,” Drummond stated.
”Why not?”
”Because you're dealing with a United States senator.”
When the call ended, Hugh was uneasy. Dan Drummond was known for being c.o.c.ky, but there had been a smugness in this interchange that didn't sit right with Hugh. It suggested Drummond knew something Hugh didn't. Someone at the Probate Court must be pulling strings for the senator.
He was wondering if he should call his contact there when the man actually called him.
”Sean Manley is on the line,” said his secretary.
Sean Manley was an a.s.sistant clerk at the court. Hugh had come to know him several years earlier while representing his father on a vehicular homicide charge. Picking up the phone, he said, ”This is mental telepathy, Sean. I was about to call you.”
”I owe you, Hugh. You did right by my dad. Word is you're filing a complaint against a certain senator. I think you should know, Quidlark's grabbing the case.”
The Honorable Judge Quidlark was old school and misogynistic. He also happened to be a longtime pal of J. Stan Hutchinson, who had, in fact, been the force behind Quidlark's appointment to the bench however many years before.
Hugh smelled a rat. ”Thanks, Sean. I appreciate this.” Ending the call, he phoned the Probate Court's chief justice. This man's primary job was administrative. Among other things, he saw to court a.s.signments. Hugh had gone to law school with his son.
”Hugh Clarke,” the judge said with enthusiasm, ”it's been too long since we talked.”
”My fault,” Hugh replied. ”How's Mary?”
”She's fine. And your wife?”
”Great. We have a new baby.”
”Well, that's good news. But it isn't why you called.”
”No. I hate to hit you with this, but I've gotten word of a possible fix.” He outlined his case, stressing the urgent nature of the situation. He didn't reveal his source, and the judge didn't ask. He did ask several questions pertaining to Hugh's evidence, then promised an immediate inquiry.
”I'll be filing an emergency motion at two,” Hugh said. ”All I ask is a fair hearing.”
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