Just Destiny (27 page)

When a knock sounded at the back door, Jenny got up and grabbed a tissue. On her way through the kitchen, she wiped her tears and blew her nose. Knowing it was pointless to try and pretend she hadn’t been crying, she clutched a hand full of tissues and let Steve in. Not even attempting a smile, she backed away from the door.

Dressed in dark blue slacks, a sweater, and loafers, he’d probably just gotten home from dinner with his family—or maybe Annie’s.

“Driveway looks good.” He brushed some snow off his shoulders and shut the door behind him. “You shovel it?”

She shook her head. “Michael.”

Steve took in her disheveled appearance and shifted a gold box sporting an elaborate bow in his hand. “I can leave if you want me to.”

Jenny blew her nose again and shook her head. Sitting around feeling sorry for herself hadn’t made her feel any better. Besides, Jenny was anxious to see how Steve liked his presents. She forced a wobbly smile. “Come on in.”

She led Steve through the living room onto the patio, turning on the room lamps as she passed. The Christmas tree magic was her and Gabe’s special thing; she wasn’t ready to share it. On the couch, she tucked slipper-clad feet under her. “Why does everyone say that crying’s good for you? It always makes me feel like shit. My eyes get all gritty and my stomach kills. Wha’s so good about it?”

Steve shrugged. “Got me. Makes me feel like I’ve got the flu and a hangover at the same time. Maybe because crying’s a physical release and it exhausts you?”

She blew out a deep breath through her mouth since her nose was stuffed. “’S not worth it.”

“I agree.”

She threw the used tissues on the coffee table. “I am sooo tired of crying.”

“It’s getting easier.”

“Slowly.”

He sat down next to her and jostled the wrapped box in his hand awkwardly. “This might cheer you up.”

She retrieved Steve’s presents from under the tree and handed them to him. “Merry Christmas.”

Jenny lifted his gift and gently shook it. “What is it?”

“Open it.”

She pulled the ribbon and bow aside then ripped the wrapping off to reveal a beautiful wooden music box with a picture of Gabe, Jenny, and Steve encased in the lid. Out on the boat, a grinning Gabe sat between Jenny and Steve with an arm thrown around each. When she raised the lid, it played James Taylor’s “You’ve got a friend.” Jenny gasped and put a trembling hand to her mouth.
How sweet
.

“Gabe was the best friend I ever had.” Steve cleared his throat. “We had some great times together. I don’t want to forget our friendship—either of us.”

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered and stroked the polished wood.

“You missed something.” He opened the lid and pointed to the cream business card nestled on top of the maroon velvet lining.

Jenny fingered the crisp card with embossed black script. “Helen Johnson, Attorney at Law?”

“Your attorney. If you want her.” He paused. “Helen’s been retired a few years, but when I explained your case, she was intrigued and agreed to meet you.”

“How’d you find her?”

“She’s the mother of a baseball buddy. I helped her son out of a little trouble years ago.”

“You called in a favor, for me?” Tears swamped Jenny’s eyes, stinging her aching sockets.

“Don’t make too much of it. Being a bit out of practice, she’s not the most ideal attorney for you, but she has a solid track record and she’s sharp.”

“And she’s willing. That’s the amazing part.”

“Call her. See if you can work with her.”

“You got me an attorney for Christmas?” She frowned and pursed her trembling lips. “Even after the terrible things Judith said to you.”

Steve looked away. A flush crept up his neck. “She was right. A part of me is afraid of losing. Maybe I’m a coward, but losing for you would be a lot worse than if it were just me.” He shook his head. “I won’t risk it.”

“You got me an attorney.” Jenny covered her mouth with one hand and sniffled. She grasped the lapels of her robe and closed them tightly around her neck, needing the comfort.

“Helen might not be what you want,” he warned.

“I can’t exactly afford to be picky. And you’d never recommend someone incompetent. I’m sure she’ll be perfect.” She smiled brightly, touched by his gifts. “Thank you so much. They’re both wonderful.”

Jenny hugged him close as she’d done a hundred times before, but this time she detected a wariness—almost stiffness—in this embrace that had never been there before. Prior to Gabe’s death, Steve’s big body had been nothing more than a comforting brother-shoulder to cry on; now, something was different.

Backing away, Jenny pushed aside the observation and smiled regretfully at her own gift. “Your present isn’t nearly so special.”

Successful people fascinated Steve, so she’d thought he’d enjoy reading Bill Gates, Michael Eisner’s, and Steve Jobs’s biographies.

Ripping into them like an eager boy, he carefully examined each hardback, reading the jackets and first pages. “How’d you get Bill Gates’s signature?”

She flashed a wry smile. “I waited a very long time, in a very long line, on a very hot day outside Barnes and Noble when he was in town last summer.”

Steve nodded, eyes still glued to the books, then looked up and slowly smiled. A lopsided smile so beautiful it pulled at her heartstrings. “Thank you. It’s great.”

“Too bad you’ll breeze through them in a week or two.”

“I’ll read them again.”

“After I do. The one about Gates sounds interesting.”

He chuckled. “If you’ve had it that long, I’m surprised you didn’t already read it.”

“Before you? That’d be rude.” Jenny handed him a long, slim, flat box. “This is from me and Gabe.”

“You and Gabe, eh?” He tapped the light box in his hand and raised an eyebrow. “You got me a tie?”

“Just open it.”

Steve flipped the lid off and stared at the box. “Red Wing tickets?” He stared in awe at the pack of season tickets.

“He’d want you to have them. I would have given them to you earlier, but I only found them last week.”

He carefully folded the tissue paper over the red tickets, put the lid on and handed it to her. “This is too much. I can’t accept it.”

“Yes, you can. You love hockey. For god’s sake, you’ve practically got a shrine to Wayne Gretzky in your rec room.”

His arm dropped to his lap. “That was your and Gabe’s thing.”

“Not really. I never really liked hockey.”

“Yes, you did.” He tilted his head and narrowed his eye, clearly skeptical. “You never missed a game.”

She shook her head. “Nope. I just went for him.”

“Gabe thought you were a diehard fan.”

She shuddered. “Too violent. Now if they got rid of checking…”

“Nobody would go.” Steve stared at the oblong box several seconds, then lifted his head. A deep frown contrasted with the hope and excitement gleaming in his eyes.

“Enjoy. Freeze your butt off. Revel in the violence.”

“Sooo I take it you’re not going to go with me.”

“Not a chance. Take Annie.” Jenny couldn’t help the smile that curved her lips, hoping it didn’t look as evil as she felt.

“Hockey’s hardly Annie’s thing.”

She widened her eyes in innocence. “No?”

He reopened the box, his gaze settling on the tickets, and he absentmindedly shook his head. “Row six, section one twenty-four? That’s right on the blue line. Thanks, Jen.”

“You’re welcome.” She smiled, glad he was pleased with the gift.

Jenny ran a finger around the edge of the gold-trimmed business card while studying the picture of the three of them. She looked up and caught Steve watching, a wistful but contented look in his blue eyes. Lord, he was a handsome man. A good man. He deserved to be happy.

“How’re the wedding plans coming along?”

“They’re not. We called it off.”

“What?” She must have heard wrong.

“Called it off.” Steve methodically smoothed the red tissue paper back across the tickets and fitted the gold lid back on the box. He lifted his head and met her gaze. “She wasn’t ready to give up her ex-husband, and I wasn’t willing to be that accommodating—even if he is the father of her children.”

Jenny suddenly felt lightheaded with relief, but one look at his sober face reminded her that her friend was hurting. No wonder he’d been so subdued. Selfishly wrapped up in her own pain, she’d that assumed Steve was grieving for Gabe, when the truth was he’d suffered a more personal blow.

She scrambled for something appropriate to say when she really wanted to know all the nitty-gritty details.
Who broke up with whom? When? How?
She hoped Steve had done the breaking up, though either way hurt. “I’m sorry. I know how attached you were to her kids.”

“Yeah. They’re great little guys. It’s not really fair to them.” He blew out a deep breath and looked at her. “I thought you’d be thrilled—you never liked Annie.”

“I—” she wanted to deny it, but he would know better—“I want you to be happy. I want you to experience what Gabe and I had.”

“Yeah, well, we might not have been a perfect fit, but I really thought we could make it work.” Steve looked at her. “Great relationships don’t have to be like yours and Gabe’s. Love looks different on different people.”

Thinking about her parents and other happily married couples she knew, Jenny pursed her lips and nodded. She had to give him that one. “You okay?”

“I’ve had better Christmases.” He lifted a corner of his lip in a little smile.

“Amen to that.” Jenny searched for a happier topic of conversation. “Gianna told me they collected twenty-five thousand dollars in Gabe’s fund. Joe and Gianna suggested investing it in prenatal education or updating the clinic’s trauma equipment. What do you think?”

“Either sounds worthy. Gabe would have appreciated it.”

“You know,” her voice lowered, confiding. “Some days I forget. I know it’s silly, but I feel terrible for forgetting him for even a day.”

“It’s natural. Maybe that’s why I got that,” he nodded at the music box and photo. “I don’t want to forget.”

She brightened. “Exactly. But then something sets me off. Last week I got the most touching letter from the man who received Gabe’s heart. The Organ Donor society forwarded it to me. Sometimes I wish they wouldn’t, because these people are so damn grateful and their stories are so touching that it makes me feel guilty I didn’t want to donate his organs.

“This man was only thirty-five-years old and his own heart had been destroyed by some virus. He’d been on the waiting list for three years and was losing hope, spending more time in the hospital than outside.” She ran across the room, pulled the letter from the bombay chest drawer, and handed it to Steve. “He’s got two little girls—aren’t they precious?”

Steve scanned the letter and looked at the family picture. “You’re a special lady.”

“No, I’m the lucky one.” She tucked the letter away carefully. “This is the fifth letter I’ve received. These people live through hell. Every time I feel sorry for myself, I read one of these letters and I feel so fortunate.”

Unable to argue that, they fell into a companionable silence, watching the snow fall.

The only thing Jenny dreaded more than being late was arriving late and sweaty. Just gonna have to take that chance, Jenny thought as she power-walked through the cold January day.

She rushed past a huge bronze statue of a muscular near-naked guy in an impossible yoga-pose, holding a shiny golden sun in one hand and mini people in the other, into the Coleman Young Municipal Center. She probably should know the story behind that statue—undoubtedly it had a real name. She’d check it out on her way home, but right now she wasn’t entirely sure of where she was going and she was late.

After asking directions from a guard, she took the elevator to the tenth floor and the appropriate courtroom. An iron-haired older lady carrying a generic brown leather briefcase immediately approached her. Smiling, she held out her hand. “Jenny, I’m Helen Johnson. It’s nice to finally put a face to your name and voice.”

Jenny shook her hand. Slightly rounded, with a no-nonsense walk and handshake, Helen wore an expensive navy tailored suit with a colorful cloisonné frog pin—impeccable taste. Jenny got a warm and fuzzy feeling from her, grandmotherly like, and worried if she could be tough enough. She instantly felt comfortable with Helen, so hopefully that was a good sign.

“There’s no need to be nervous. This is just a pretrial hearing. He is going to fix the date for the trial,” Helen explained.

“He? My judge is a woman. Christina somebody-or-other.”

“She was appointed to the appellate court. Apparently Judge Limber retired and recommended her. Andrew Delaney is the new judge presiding over our case.”

Judge Limber? Could that be George’s friend he was always bragging about? “Isn’t that rather sudden? I mean, I would have thought something like that would have been executed more slowly.”

Helen shrugged and settled in her seat. “I guess he had some health problems that worsened.”

“I’ll bet.” Jenny’s eyes narrowed suspiciously at George, lounging comfortably with his attorney, looking for all the world like he was a Wednesday regular here. She looked around the courtroom, intimidated by the formal surroundings. “Why are we in here? Last time we met in the judge’s chambers.”

Helen patted her hand. “It’s all right; some judges prefer the formality of the courtroom. They’re paranoid about being accused of shady dealings going on in chambers, so they have everything out in public. Or if a judge has a heavy schedule, he’ll often fit these hearings in here rather than run back and forth between his chambers and court.”

“All rise, Honorable Judge Andrew Delaney presiding,” the bailiff called out in a bored voice. Jenny stood. Mouth dropping open, she nearly flopped back in her seat when the judge entered the room.

“That can’t be the judge,” she whispered. “He’s my age.”

Andrew Delaney had a long, smooth face—too smooth. Was he even old enough to shave? Not a hair out of place, he was impeccably groomed from what she could see beyond his black robe. He couldn’t have been long out of law school. And he wasn’t wearing a wedding band. Great. Just great. How could some hotshot, bachelor judge sympathize with her?