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

“Where are you going?” Luz says, and then, when several turns later it becomes clear, she says, the pitch of her voice sharper, “What are you doing?”

Will waits until he has parked in front of Maria Elena’s house to answer. He turns off the engine, and turns to Luz. He strokes her cheek with his thumb. “We have some time before court,” he says. “I picked you up early.”

She is staring at him now, barely breathing.

“Let’s go inside,” he says, “Be together.”

Luz is shaking her head: short, sharp gestures.

“I know this sounds crazy and I wasn’t going to say anything but, Luz, I love you.” He reaches for her and she pulls away. “It’s not just for now. I am going to leave my wife. I am going to be with you, always. And I know you probably don’t believe me, you think it was about—that it was only to—” He stops. “But what I am telling you is the truth.” He leans forward to kiss her, pulling her toward him over the gearshift as he slides his other hand up her skirt. He waits for her mouth to open, for her legs to part, but she is rigid, unyielding.

“I love you,” he says again in her ear, knowing he sounds desperate but unable to help himself.

Luz’s shove sends Will back against the steering wheel with enough force that his neck muscles contract reflexively, causing whiplash. “What are you talking about? You want to leave your wife? You want to fuck me in my dead grandmother’s house? You think that’s what I want?” The words feel violent, but underneath he hears a strangled sob and then she is weeping, her hands over her face, her shoulders shaking.

Flooded with shame, Will tries again to reach for her, apologizing, saying that he just wants to be close to her, to comfort her. “I know,” he says, “it’s a lot. Maybe I said too much just now. You need time. But let me hold you,” he says, again and again, “let me.”

Luz lifts her hands from her face. Her eyes are streaming, her nose is running, her makeup looks like a child has experimented with black and red finger paint, but to Will she is the most beautiful woman in the world.

“I love you,” he says again.

“Leave me alone,” she says in a fierce, quiet voice he has never heard before. Mortified now and also a little frightened, Will starts up the car again, making a U-turn to head back to where he came from. Luz turns away, making a small place for herself on the far edge of the passenger seat. For the rest of the ride, she never once looks in his direction.

Friday, March 23, 2007

8:30 a.m.

United States District Court

for the Central District of California

“First,” Dars says, “some ground rules before we call in the jury.” He seems to have put extra gel in his pompadour today, aspiring to a regal look, his gaze imperious as he looks out over the packed courtroom.

Lawyers from both offices are out in force, but a sizable part of the crowd is reporters. The Los Angeles Times and every other local paper has diligently covered the trial. In addition to leading the local news—radio and TV—Will and Abby have fielded calls by CNN, Court TV, and even People magazine, which is running Luz as one of their true-crime features. The fact that neither they nor Shauna are permitted to talk to the press has made the feeding frenzy worse; into the void have jumped so-called experts of every stripe: former prosecutors and defense attorneys–turned–law professors spouting nonsense, speculating about the lawyers, their strategies, and most especially about Luz. Beaten Wife or Cold-Blooded Killer, screamed yesterday’s headline in the National Enquirer, which was apparently having a slow week on the celebrity muckraking front.

“Number one,” Dars says, looking at the lawyers, “there was a last-minute request from the defense for a break in the trial to allow the defendant to mourn her grandmother, who passed away yesterday. That motion is denied. The jury is here and we are not going to stop this trial.”

Will sees Luz sag visibly in her chair, and even though he knew this was coming, he is suddenly so angry that it takes all of his self-control not to hurl a stream of invective at Dars. How is it possible to be so inhumane? Then he thinks about his own behavior in the car and his face grows hot. He was no better than Charles, who in the novel’s pivotal scene had forced himself on Sarah under the delusion that they were seeking the same kind of intimacy. Depending on which ending of the book one embraced, Charles’s decision to indulge his selfish hunger had cost him Sarah’s love. Will sighs, more loudly than he had intended, and is rewarded with a withering look from Abby.

“Number two,” Dars continues, “and on a related topic. The government has moved to exclude any reference to the grandmother’s death. I’m going to grant that motion. We are not going to have this jury contaminated by extraneous matters or moved by undue sympathy.”

That last comment gets Will to his feet. “Your Honor—”

“Sit down, Mr. Ellet. You got to put on your little show. Now it’s Ms. Gooden’s turn.”

Will takes a quick glance at Shauna, noting the careful choice of clothes: navy blue suit, white blouse, tasteful pearl necklace and earrings. Light touches of blush and eyeshadow. She looks all business: classy but not cold.

“Number three.” Dars lets his gaze settle on Luz. “I’ve given a lot of thought to the attorney-client communications here—the ones between the defendant and Mr. Estrada. Now, I’ve had my law clerk look into this, and it is clear to me that the defendant does not waive the privilege by taking the stand in her own defense. Not based on what we know. The only reason to break the privilege would be that she used her attorney to help her