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

like those labels, never have.” Antoine shakes his head. “But one thing I do know, is Cristina, that’s her life. If Luz thinks something isn’t good for Cristina, something’s going to jeopardize her being Cristina’s entire world, she is going to see it as something to get rid of.”

The brutal truth of that statement cuts through Abby like a frigid wind. “So you hid the report because what, you thought I couldn’t handle it?”

“I didn’t think you needed to handle it. There’s been a lot going on. And this would not have helped.”

“You should have told me.”

“I’m telling you now. Abby, you did your best. Better than your best. And like I said, my money is on you. My money is always on you. But if our girl goes down, I hope you remember that we had this conversation.”

She takes a deep breath, picks up the report again. “Is this the original?”

“Yes.”

“You make any copies?”

“No.”

Abby swivels in her chair, bends down, and feeds the report to the shredder. They both listen as the machine whirs to life, watch as it sluices out paper spaghettini.

A wave of dizziness comes over Abby, similar to what she felt in the early days of her pregnancy. Like a carsick passenger, she straightens, keeping her eyes fixed on the horizon line, in this case the blank wall space directly in front of her. Images move in and out of focus: Cal’s face on her screen saver, Rayshon’s picture on the wall, Nic’s eyes on her, staring up from the couch when she’d tiptoed from the house that morning in stockinged feet, holding her shoes.

“Hey. Abby. Look at me.”

Slowly, she turns back to face Antoine, his face swimming, then coming into focus.

“Guys like Travis Hollis, they need a killing.”

She presses her locket into the base of her neck. “Do you think that justifies what she did? Oh, my God, Antoine. Look at what she did.”

“You would have done it,” he says. “For Cal.”

They look at each other for a long moment, interrupted by the ringing of her office phone from a blocked number. Abby’s heart stops. She picks up the phone.

“Hello?”

“The jury—” the clerk begins, but Abby cuts her off, her eyes on Antoine.

“They have a question?”

“A verdict.”

Abby looks at the clock, then back at Antoine. “A verdict,” she repeats, and in an instant, Antoine is out of his chair, phone in hand, texting, then out the door. “But,” she says helplessly into the receiver, “it’s been less than an hour. Don’t they even—don’t they even want to take the weekend to think it over?”

There is silence on the other end of the phone.

“I’ve never had a verdict that fast,” Abby babbles, “and not—I mean, it’s a murder trial. This can’t be—this can’t be...” She puts her hand over her mouth to smother the final word. Good. This can’t be good.

A pause, and then the clerk says, almost apologetically, “It was just the one count, you know?” And then, “Judge Ducey wants you here right away.”

Luz is curled up on the floor in the corner of Jonathan’s office—he had offered it to her before heading out for court on one of his own cases. Cristina is asleep in her pop-out car seat. As Abby gets closer she realizes that Luz is asleep, too, her arm flung over Cristina’s body.

Abby kneels down, brushes Luz’s hair off her face. “Luz,” she says softly, “you have to get up now.”

Luz blinks, and Abby forces herself to wait while her eyes focus. “What is it?”

“We have to go back to court. The jury decided.”

Luz pushes herself into a sitting position. “But you said it might be days. You said they were going home for the weekend.” Her fingers wrap around Abby’s forearm, the nails digging in.

“I was wrong.”

Abby tries to keep her gaze steady as Luz searches her face. “You think it’s guilty. That’s what you think.”

“I don’t know. But we have got to prepare for the possibility that—”

“No.”

Blood beads appear on the soft skin above the inside of Abby’s wrist as Luz bears down. Abby takes a breath. “Luz, we have to talk about Cristina and we don’t have much time. Father Abelard is in my office now, he’s going to take care of her until—”

“No.”

The blood is sliding down Abby’s arm now, dripping onto her stockinged knee. “We have your signature on the guardianship papers. The other paperwork we needed to go to court for and we didn’t have time. But Mr. Estrada is getting out any minute now. Once that happens, we’ll deal with the rest of it.”

Luz is shaking her head. “Even if it is guilty, there will be an appeal. I can stay out on my bond. I’ve never violated.”

“There is no bail pending appeal. Not for this kind of crime. The prosecutor will ask the judge that you be taken into custody immediately.” Abby hates herself right now. This conversation should have happened days ago. But in the ensuing madness—Maria Elena’s death, Luz’s disastrous performance on cross, Abby’s near-jailing, the barreling toward closing argument—explaining the consequences had dropped out of her mind. There hadn’t been time to think. To tell her client, If they convict you of first-degree murder, you will not be walking out of the courtroom afterward. You will never go outside again.

“Luz,” she says, “I need you to—”

But Luz has thrown herself on Abby, and she now has to struggle to stay upright. Then Luz smacks Abby’s face, her wedding ring hitting her mouth. “No, no, no.” Luz’s voice is a strangled whisper, then a scream. Cristina starts to cry, then wail. The sound temporarily distracts Luz and Abby grabs hold of her shoulders, pinning her to the wall, their faces inches apart. Abby’s lip is stinging and she tastes blood in her mouth.

“Stop it.” Abby has to raise her voice above the baby’s crying. Luz is struggling to get free, and Abby tightens her grip. Finally, Luz stops fighting. Her body falls forward, chin to her chest, and suddenly