A Good Mother by Lara Bazelon (classic books to read .TXT) 📕

Will takes another pull from the bottle. “One thought that’s been running through my mind since last week’s debacle is how Luz is supposed to get a fair trial, with you, as you say, knowing this judge like you do.”

“I’m relieved to hear there is a thought running through your mind,” Abby says sweetly. “For days now you’ve been like a dead man walking. One thought that’s been running through my mind is how Luz is going to get a fair trial with you sitting there like a zombie.”

Will rises in his chair as he considers dumping the rest of his beer down the sink and following Nic out the door. Maybe Will can locate Nic at the Short Stop and commiserate with him. They’d certainly have plenty to talk about.

Abby waves him down. “We can’t afford to fight. This is about Luz, not us, so let’s just focus, use the time we have.” She is back to rocking Cal, her eyes half-shut in concentration. “Ravel’s testimony is going to be damaging, the only question is how damaging. We need to be prepared. And we need to be on the same page.”

That she’s right only adds to Will’s frustration. He has to put aside the way he feels, they both do. He reseats himself, then says in what he hopes is a conciliatory tone, “With the right questions, we may be able to show that Ravel had his own feelings for Luz. According to her, he did.”

“What man can resist her?” Abby’s tone is light, but Will doesn’t like the way she’s looking at him. He changes the subject.

“Have we heard back from Antoine’s expert about Travis’s emails?”

“No,” she says. “Some kind of software issue, something about the hard drive, I don’t know. We had to request another copy of it. Antoine thinks we may not get it until in the middle of the trial.”

“At which point we’re supposed to do what with it? We already have admissibility issues and Shauna will say we’re sandbagging her.”

“It’s not sandbagging if it’s newly discovered evidence,” Abby says. “Let’s just deal with it when we get the report.” Her voice has risen, and now there is a stirring from the pouch. Will sees the shape of an elbow jutting against the fabric. Abby resumes her back-and-forth rocking and Will resumes drinking, getting up to set the empty bottle down by the sink. “There’s more in the fridge,” Abby says, in what Will guesses is her best attempt at a mollifying tone. He nods, not needing to be told twice.

“So,” she says, when Will is once again seated at the table, beer in hand. “I was thinking Tuesday for Luz’s mock cross-examination. In the conference room like you’ve been practicing so she’s in a familiar space. You’ll go through the direct, then I’ll cross her. Jonathan has agreed to play Shauna’s part in raising objections, Paul can be Dars, and I’ve invited a few other people from the office to observe and give us their feedback. I think it’s just as important to have other people weigh in on your direct as it is to have her practice getting cross-examined.”

The panic Will feels is scorched with rage. “You did this without asking me?” He fights to keep his voice in check, his expression in check, but his throat feels constricted and he’s starting to sweat.

Abby stares at him. “Without asking you? I thought you’d be happy that I dealt with the logistics of setting it up.”

“No,” he says, and it is an effort to unlock his jaw. “I’m not happy.”

“Clearly.” Another long stare and Will looks away.

“This is what our office does,” Abby says. “We put our witnesses through the meat grinder. Especially the clients who testify. Maybe it was different in JAG, I don’t know, but this is our procedure. We know we did our job when our clients say that dealing with us was worse than facing the actual prosecutor.” Abby’s voice has gone up again, and there is another shifting in the pouch, accompanied by an ominous mewl.

“What happens with Luz is my responsibility,” he says tightly. “You do not interfere.”

“This isn’t interference. Like I said, it’s our office’s procedure.”

“It’s not our procedure,” he says. “Hers and mine.”

Abby’s look is one of amazement, and Will can see that she is starting to feel a panic of her own. “You—you want to put her up there, a nineteen-year-old girl, without letting anyone have a crack at cross-examining her? Without letting anyone—not even me—watch the direct examination before you actually do it in court?”

The mewling from the pouch has become louder, more sustained, and Abby is back to rocking, furiously now. Will stares out of the kitchen window to his right, drinking steadily. Eventually, Cal stops making noise and there is silence, deep and prolonged; Will can hear the clock on the far wall ticking.

“We made a deal,” he says, “that day in the car. I expect you to stand by your end of the bargain.”

“No,” she says fiercely, “we agreed that when it comes to her testimony you would have the primary relationship with her, not own her. We’re a team, Will.”

“You are a piece of work, you know that?” Will tries to laugh—both at the truth of this statement and the homely expression, which might as well have come from a ventriloquist dummy on his father’s lap—but the sound strangles in his closing throat and he has to stop to drink some more beer. “You don’t even know what the word team means.” He leans across the table and zips his index finger across her face as he raises his voice to imitate her. “That’s my problem to figure out. Just file something, I’ll deal with it afterward in my own fucked-up secretive way.” He fixes her with a hard stare, then settles back in his seat. “You have never wanted me, you have never trusted me, and you have never told me the truth.