Despite himself, David grinned. “Knock it off. I’ve known you too damn long for the I’m-just-a-poor-redneck routine to work.”
Don poked him in the ribs. “You got my number.” They stood quietly for a minute. “So, changing the subject here. Rumor is that Michaels is going to retire from the appellate court next year. If that happens, the governor will have a seat to fill. What do you think?”
David glanced at Don. “What do I think about what?”
“Come on, David. You haven’t gotten this far by playing coy. You know we all have big plans for you. Want me to put a bug in the governor’s ear? I’m having dinner with him next month.”
David hesitated. He knew that Don was a big donor to the Democratic Party and was on friendly terms with Richard Tufts, the current governor; and he was too busy a man to waste his time on idle promises. But did David want to move up to the appellate court? He knew what his father would say. Pappy would be incredulous that he was even debating this. “Never look a gift horse in the mouth,” he always said.
“Let me think about it,” he said.
“Okay. But don’t think for too long. You know some of your fellow judges would be chomping at the bit for this offer.”
“I know. I don’t mean to be ungrateful. Thank you, Don.”
The older man leaned in toward David. “Your father was always a friend of the insurance industry when he was senator. I never forget a favor. And you’re going to go far. Everybody knows that. If I can be a stepping stone, I’d be proud to help.”
“Thank you,” he said again. It always made him uncomfortable to be compared to Pappy or to be reminded of whom he had helped as senator. Not to mention the expectation that David would follow in his footsteps. David had chosen the legal profession to escape that pressure, believing that he didn’t have the temperament for the deal-making and glad-handing that had come so easily to Harold Coleman. But it was a small state, and many assumed that David would eventually enter the family business. Hell, many residents still had not forgiven his dad for stepping down from the Senate because he had gotten fed up with the partisan bickering during the Reagan years. David knew that they expected him to atone for what they considered to be the senator’s folly by running for office himself someday.
“Uncle David!”
He spun around to be greeted by the full force of Bradley Stevens racing down the wooden porch to run smack into him. “Oof,” David grunted. “You almost knocked me over, Brad.”
Bradley looked up at him with a grin. “Sorry.”
David rubbed the boy’s back affectionately. “You remember Connor’s son, right?” he said to Don, who nodded. “Where’s your dad?” he asked, but before Bradley could reply, Connor came out of the house, a highball in his hand.
“Smithie,” he said, putting his arm around the older man. “Sorry we’re a little late.”
Don glanced approvingly at Connor’s glass. “At least you’re not wasting any time with the libations.” He smiled. “Unlike your prissy girlfriend here.”
The three men laughed. “So where is he?” Connor asked after a second. “Anton?”
“Over there.” David pointed with his chin. He glanced around quickly, making sure Delores was still in the house. “Come on,” he said, deciding that it was foolish to not introduce Anton to his best friend. “You and Bradley should meet him.”
Connor shot David an inquiring glance. “You think that’s a good idea?” he murmured.
David looked him in the eye. “I do.” He kept eye contact with Connor until the latter finally looked away. “Okay,” Connor said, shrugging.
“Excuse us for a moment, Smithie,” David said, and the two men stepped off the porch. Bradley followed them across the lawn to where Anton was playing with some younger kids. “Anton,” David called as they approached, and the boy stopped midsentence and ran up to them.
David stood behind Anton with his hands on the boy’s shoulders. “Anton,” he said, “this is my friend Connor.”
“Hey there,” Connor said, smiling. “This is my son, Bradley.”
“Hi,” Anton said shyly, keeping his eyes on Brad.
The two boys stood looking at each other until David gave Brad a nudge. “Anton’s new here. How about you introduce him to your friends?”
“Sure.” Brad flashed Anton a disarming smile. “Come on.”
They waited until the boys had run off together before Connor turned to David. “Well, this is a new one for me. Can’t say I’ve ever socialized with the child of someone I’m prosecuting.”
David shrugged. “What’re you gonna do? Just the luck of the draw that I got him.”
“Yup. A little awkward, though.”
Connor was right, of course, but David felt a worm of irritation crawl under his skin. “Well,” he said lightly. “Here we are.”
But Connor wouldn’t drop it. “Be a bit awkward if someone saw me here with the kid. Or if he—”
David made a dismissive sound. “Connor. Stop it. You’re sounding just like Dee. She didn’t even want to come today because of you.” He made a sweeping gesture with his hand. “Look around you. You’re at a party with sixty other people. I’ve known you since we were twelve. What are we supposed to do? Not be friends because of this situation? As for Anton, don’t worry. He still thinks the president of the United States flies his own plane.”
Connor smiled. “That’s funny. Okay. Sorry. How’ve you been?”
“Great. Busy. The boy has kept me on my toes. But he’s a great kid, really.”
“Glad to hear. I heard from the mother’s lawyer just yesterday. Looks like she’s ready to cop a plea.”
David felt the flutter in his heart. A plea bargain meant a lesser sentence. Anton was going to get his wish after all. He waited to compose himself before he spoke. “So what’s the deal?”
Connor shrugged. “Well, we’re offering to drop the drug possession charge. So that leaves only the child endangerment.”
David did not attempt to hide his disgust. “So that’s, like, what? Six months?”
“Probably.”
David curled his upper lip. “Figures.”
“What?”
He shook his head and turned to walk away, a sour feeling in his stomach. “Forget it. Just forget it.”
“David. What’s the matter?”
He swung back on his heels and turned to face Connor, his face flushed and sweaty. “I’ll tell you what’s the matter. You’re going to uproot Anton from the only chance he’s ever going to have to make something of his life, and put him back in that . . . filth.” He leaned in and jabbed his finger in Connor’s face. “You know what’s going to happen, right? A year from now she’ll do exactly the same thing again. Except this time the boy may be dead.”
“Wait a minute—”
“No. You wait a minute. You think six months in the slammer is going to change anything? Straighten her out? You know better’n that.”
“David. For Christ’s sake. Lower your voice. And get your finger out of my goddamn face.” Connor waited and then continued, “You know how crowded our jails are, better than anyone. Jeez. I don’t get this. You’ve always advocated rehab for first-time offenders and—”