The Choice (50 page)

“I've never handled any criminal cases,” Dusty said, shaking his head. “Why is it that so many people open their mouths and convict themselves? Don't they realize the risk? I mean, is it that hard to understand a Miranda warning?”

“I think it's something God puts in each person,” Jeremy replied. “People have an innate desire to tell someone when they've done something wrong. Maybe not immediately, but most folks eventually want to clear their conscience.”

“I don't know,” Dusty remarked and pulled on his right earlobe with his right hand.

Sandy stared at Dusty's ear.

“There's no other explanation,” Jeremy said. “If people were only interested in self-preservation, they'd shut up and wait for a lawyer. I've never studied the psychology of guilt, or whether the medical community admits such a thing exists, but I know how powerful it is in real life.”

Sandy caught Jeremy's eye and tilted her head toward the door.

“A couple more bites,” Jeremy responded. “I don't want to feel guilty for leaving any of this sandwich uneaten on the plate.”

Sandy had no choice but to wait. The two men cleaned their plates, then had a brief argument over who would pick up the tab.

“I selected the restaurant,” Dusty said, grabbing the bill from the waiter as soon as he approached the table. “If I'm ever in Tryon, you can pay.”

“I was going to call you about that later, but I'll mention it now,” Jeremy said. “The judge thought you should meet Maria for yourself. I agree. You'll discover that she comes across as a normal Hispanic teenager learning English as a second language. If you still think she's incompetent after meeting her, proceed with the motion and the incompetency action in juvenile court.”

“She'll need to be psychologically evaluated in the juvenile court action.”

“I'm sure the juvenile court judge will order a battery of psychological tests if we reach that point. How many lawyers would grant you access like this to their client on such short notice?”

Dusty studied Jeremy for a moment. Sandy wanted to speak but knew Jeremy would be furious if she stepped in now.

“Are you talking about a deposition?” Dusty asked.

“You can start with a conversation, then decide if you want to depose her. All I ask is that everything be set up on the same day.”

“Okay, let's check our calendars and pick a date as soon as possible. I'd like to talk to her first and reserve the right to depose her the same day if I choose to do so.”

“That's fine. Either way, you'll want to have a translator present.”

“Do you know any translators who work regularly with the courts?”

“Yes, I'll send you a couple of names.”

They stood up from the table.

“You're pretty confident about this girl's mental capacity, aren't you?” Dusty said as they walked toward the door.

“I've spent enough time with Maria to form an opinion.”

Once outside, Jeremy and Dusty shook hands. Dusty faced Sandy, who wanted to turn and run.

“Thanks for being a good sport and joining us for lunch,” he said. “Lawyers are like professional wrestlers. They bluster in the ring, but once the lights are off and the crowd goes home, they go out and eat a Reuben together.”

Dusty got in his car. Jeremy and Sandy walked together across the parking lot. As soon as they were seated in Jeremy's SUV, Sandy spoke.

“Do you know who Dusty is?”

THIRTY-FOUR

I
assume you're going to say Dustin Abernathy is my twin brother,” Jeremy replied.

“When did you figure it out?” she asked in surprise.

“I didn't. But it was a reasonable guess based on the fact that you asked him if he was adopted, to which he replied without hesitation, ‘No.' ”

“I remember his parents' folder at the adoption agency. The father was a computer engineer, and the mother was a speech therapist. They lived on the West Coast.”

“Any pictures?”

“No, that only happened with your mother.”

Jeremy turned out of the parking lot onto the busy street.

“There are thousands and thousands of computer engineers and designers on the West Coast, which includes California, Oregon, and Washington.”

“I know U.S. geography.” Sandy sniffed. “And he looks like Brad Donnelly. When I show you the pictures from my high school yearbook, you'll see the similarity.”

Jeremy shook his head. “But he said he wasn't adopted. Who raises a child today and doesn't let him know?”

“It's possible.”

“Maybe, but there's not much circumstantial evidence to prove it. Do you think meeting me has sensitized you to the possibility of finding my brother?”

“No. What's his birthday?” Sandy asked.

Jeremy sped down the ramp onto the expressway.

“Take the wheel,” he said to Sandy, “while I try to find the answer.”

“No, we've already had one close call. I'm not going to cause another one.”

Jeremy took his phone from his pocket and braced the steering wheel with his knees while he entered information.

“That's not legal or safe,” Sandy said, crossing her arms over her chest.

“No, but there's no place to pull over, and you want answers now.”

Jeremy used his hands to change lanes, then continued to press keys.

“Okay, here it is,” he said. “According to the website for Dusty's law firm in Los Angeles, Dustin L. Abernathy, Esq., was born in Escondido, California, on April 15, 1975. He attended UCLA, then went to law school at Northwestern.” Jeremy glanced sideways at Sandy. “We're the same age, but I assume you weren't in labor for ten days and didn't travel three thousand miles to a different hospital to deliver a second baby.”

“That could be a mistake or they changed the records. And just because he has a birth certificate doesn't prove anything. They put the adoptive parents' names on it.”

“Anything is possible, but in a court of law you just lost your maternity case on a motion for summary judgment.” Jeremy returned his phone to the front pocket of his shirt and put both hands on the steering wheel. “Could you let me enjoy getting to know you without complicating everything?”

Sandy's face fell. The inside of the car was silent for several miles.

“It's okay,” Jeremy said. “You've been under a lot of pressure today.”

“I bet your mom in Charleston is always calm and poised.” Sandy sighed. “She looked so at peace in the picture I saw.”

“She keeps things in perspective,” Jeremy said. “But I'm not trying to compare you to her. It's a lot more fun finally finding out who you are and discovering where some of my traits come from. For example, Leanne noticed the way both of us look at other people when talking to them.”

“Like this?” Sandy looked at Jeremy, who glanced sideways at her.

“Yeah. It's intense and can put people off.”

“I'm just paying attention.”

“I know. But it can be interpreted as an attempt at intimidation.”

“I do it because I'm a schoolteacher who has to use every trick in her bag to control a classroom.”

“And I'm a lawyer who wants a witness to know I mean business when I stand up to ask questions. But that look is genetic, not learned.”

Sandy relaxed a little bit. It made her feel good that Jeremy wasn't secretly criticizing her. They dropped the subject of Dusty Abernathy and spent the next thirty miles discussing inherited tendencies and common interests. Sandy discovered that not only did Jeremy like Reuben sandwiches, he also loved well-buttered popcorn.

“I'll go to a movie just to eat popcorn,” Sandy said. “I'm careful about my diet most of the time, but don't tell me I can't have popcorn at the theater.”

“Then we'll each get our own bucket,” Jeremy replied.

As they left Atlanta behind, Sandy's confidence that Dusty might be “Baby Jones” weakened. She had to admit she'd jumped to a conclusion she wouldn't have considered at the time she met Jeremy. His pedigree was certain. Dusty's wasn't.

“Did you know they use coconut oil to cook popcorn at the theater?” Jeremy asked after a long silence.

“No.”

“It gives it a flavor you can't duplicate at home.”

“Are you craving popcorn right now?” Sandy responded.

“Yes.”

When they reached Rutland, Jeremy asked, “Could we swing by your house? Not to go in. I'd just like to see the outside.”

“Sure, and we can go inside if you have a few minutes. I don't have children at home. If it gets messy, there's no one to blame but me.”

They reached the corner of Sandy's street.

“There's my church,” she said. “My family went there when I was growing up.”

Jeremy slowed down. The sermon topic for the following Sunday was “Leaving Without Cleaving—How to Stay Married Without Killing Each Other.”

“Our minister is doing a series on marriage and family,” Sandy said. “He tries to come up with catchy sermon titles. And since I'm not married, I might visit your church again if it's okay with you.”

“Sure, and Deb will be thrilled. She'll treat you like a rock star.”

When they turned down Sandy's street, Jeremy got a call on his phone. It was Deb. The lawyer on the other side of the case scheduled for four o'clock in Tryon was sick and the hearing was going to be postponed for two weeks.

“Postponements happen a lot, don't they?” Sandy asked.

“Yeah. I get all psyched up and then have to dial it down. But this will give me a chance to spend more time this afternoon with you.”

Jeremy's words made Sandy feel warm inside.

“That's my house,” she said when they reached the dead end, then quickly added, “Where's my car?”

“At your brother's office,” Jeremy said. “I'll take you there next.”

“I forgot. A lot has happened since we left this morning.”

Nelson was in the backyard. He barked in warning at the strange vehicle. When he saw Sandy, he wiggled his entire body.

“Someone is excited to see you,” Jeremy said.

Sandy introduced Nelson to Jeremy, who rubbed the top of the dog's head.

“I got a dog for my fifth birthday,” Jeremy said. “He lived until just before I graduated from high school. Nicky was a member of the family.”

“Do you have a dog now?”

“No. Leanne and I have talked about it, but she's not an animal lover. Maybe when Chloe and Zach are old enough to help take care of a pet, we'll get one. My dog and I went everywhere together. Nicky loved the water, so as soon as it was warm enough each year, we spent a lot of time at the beach. He would attack the surf and try to bite the tops of the waves.”

Sandy unlocked the kitchen door. Nelson trotted in, followed by Jeremy and Sandy. Jeremy looked around.

“This is nice,” he said.

“Thanks. Would you like something to drink?”

“Water would be great.”

Sandy poured a glass of ice water. On the corner of the kitchen table was a stack of photographs. Jeremy looked down at the top one.

“Is this you as a little girl?” he asked.

“Yes. I was five years old, and we took a family trip to Tybee Island. Ben was in diapers, which doesn't go very well with a week at the beach.”

Jeremy picked up the photograph.

“You can look at those now,” Sandy offered, “or wait until I make the scrapbook and surprise you.”

“Are all these going to be in the scrapbook?”

“I'm not sure.”

Jeremy sat down at the table with the photos. Sandy stood behind his shoulder. He picked up a picture of Sandy and Ben sitting in a porch swing at their maternal grandmother's house.

“Go ahead,” she said. “I'll be back in a minute. These shoes are killing my feet.”

Sandy went to her bedroom and changed into another outfit. When she returned to the kitchen, Jeremy was sitting at the table with his face buried in his hands.

“What's wrong?” Sandy asked in alarm.

Jeremy looked up. There were tears in his eyes. He pointed to a picture on the table. It was the photo of Sandy and Jessica in the kitchen taken a few weeks before the babies were born.

“When I saw you in that picture, it hit me,” he said. “You went through so much to bring me into this world.”

Sandy tried to smile, but tears quickly filled her eyes too. Jeremy picked up the photo again and stared at it.

“It would have been so easy for you to end the pregnancy. But you didn't.” Jeremy rubbed his eyes. “You gave everything you had for me, and there wasn't enough left to have your own family.”

“That's not true. It just never worked out.”

“I want to make it up to you,” Jeremy persisted. “To love and respect you the way you deserve.”

And with that Sandy lost it. She sat in a chair opposite Jeremy and sobbed. When she finally looked up through blurry eyes, she could barely make out his face.

“I'm sorry I made you cry,” he said. “But I had to say that to you.”

“It's the most wonderful thing anyone has ever said to me,” Sandy managed through sniffles.

Jeremy touched the photo. “I'd love a copy of this picture, but I'm going to have to be careful no one else is around when I look at it.”

All Sandy could do was nod. She watched as Jeremy went through a few more photographs. She wanted to provide a running commentary but was too emotionally fragile to speak. There would be time later for the stories behind the pictures. She dabbed her eyes with a tissue.

On the corner of the table was her high school yearbook. Sandy opened it to the page that contained Brad's senior football picture. He was wearing his uniform and kneeling on the grass with a football cradled in his right arm. She slid the yearbook across the table.

“This is your father. He was the star wide receiver on the football team our senior year.”