“You heard about that?”
“David. Please. It’s a small community. Everybody who was at that party was talking about how wonderful it was to see you and Delores looking happy again. In any case, I saw Connor at the club soon after, and he said he regretted the plea bargain. Well, I told him right there and then that he was making an awfully big assumption—that I would go with the lower end of the sentencing guidelines.” Bob smiled broadly.
David leaned back in his chair, stunned by what he was hearing.
Bob raised an eyebrow. “Well? Have I truly rendered the Honorable David Coleman mute?”
He knew he should say something, pump Campbell’s hand and thank him. He knew that was what the burly man across from him was expecting. But David felt cold and removed, as if watching himself and Bob from a distance. He had an urge to tell Bob that he had made a terrible mistake, that a law greater than the one they both practiced had triumphed—the law of unintended consequences. He had quarreled with Connor, yes, but once he’d calmed down, he had accepted the decision. He had not wanted anyone to intercede on his behalf and corrupt the law, this law that he had embraced precisely because it was so much cleaner and more clear-cut than the family business of politics; he did not want to be the recipient of Bob Campbell’s largesse or pity; did not want Connor to compromise his ethics in order to salvage the friendship with his best friend. And yes, he didn’t want a poor, uneducated black woman to be railroaded by a bunch of white guys with law degrees, to be cheated by a legal system that she and her ancestors had played no role in designing; or to be robbed of her own child by duplicitous means. He wanted Anton, yes, but not like this. Never like this.
But how could he say any of this to Campbell without earning his contempt and enmity? How could he prevent some part of his heart from reacting with joy, from believing that, in denying justice to Anton’s mother, a greater justice had been done? The world belonged to the young, he had always believed that, and what if locking the woman up for a little longer gave Anton a chance to shine, gave him and Delores more time to rub off the grime of poverty and bad nutrition and a failed education? Who could claim that this was a lousy trade—that instead of lying half-dead in a crack house, Anton’s mom would instead spend her days in jail, where there was at least a reasonable chance that she could get clean and, by doing so, give her son a shot?
Bob Campbell cleared his throat. “Whatsa matter, David? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Connor and I—we’d expected a different reaction.”
David looked up. His eyes were misty. “No. Sorry, Bob. No, of course I’m happy. I just . . . It’s a lot to take in.”
Bob rose to his feet with a grunt. “Well, if that’s your happy face, David, I’d hate to see your sad one.” He stuck out a beefy hand. “See you around.”
David mustered up a grin and shook Bob’s hand as heartily as he could. “Thanks again, Bob. Really. Thanks.”
David left work early that day, but instead of going home, he drove to a nearby park. He wanted to walk along the mulched pathway beside the lake but decided against it for fear of running into someone he knew. Instead, he sat in the Audi with its tinted windows and peered out at a pair of squirrels chasing each other. It was the first week of August. Anton would be starting at his new school in twelve days. David and Delores would work extra hard to make sure that he was ready. Everything was different than it had been just a few hours ago. Two and a half years. Now there was a real chance to have an impact on the boy’s life, to create changes that would last a lifetime.
Connor. David didn’t want to wait until he got home to thank him. He pulled out of the parking lot and drove to a restaurant at the corner of Hive and Broad where there was a phone booth. David dialed Connor’s direct line. “Joanne, it’s me,” he said to Connor’s secretary. “Is he in?”
“Just a minute, Judge Coleman,” she said, putting him through.
He held the phone, not knowing which should come first—his apology or his thanks. As it was, Connor made the decision for him. “Hiya,” he said. “You talk to Bob yet?”
David swallowed the lump that formed in his throat. Connor sounded so excited—for him. He knew how seriously Connor took the law and what it must’ve cost him to talk to Bob Campbell. “I did. Connor, I . . . I don’t know what to say.”
“There’s nothing to say. In any case, it was up to Bob to determine whether to accept the plea or not. And however it came down, it’s in the kid’s best interest.”
So that’s how Connor would justify it to himself—not as a favor for a friend but as a service to a young boy who deserved better than the cards fate had dealt him. That was a story they both could—would—live with.
“I’m sorry for my reaction at the party. I . . . You just caught me by surprise.”
There was a brief silence and then Connor said, “David. Let’s not do this. We don’t need to talk about this again. The only thing I ask is you don’t ever let slip to Anton that I prosecuted his mom.”
“I’m fine with that.” David’s voice was husky. He didn’t deserve a friend like Connor. He never had.
“So go home and celebrate. Go home to your wife and your . . . family.”
“Okay. We’ll see you guys soon, right?”
“Right-o.”
David hung up, got in his car, and drove directly home. Delores and Anton were at the kitchen table, a bunch of biology textbooks scattered around them. David bent down to kiss his wife, rubbed Anton’s back in greeting, and then said to Delores, “Can I talk to you for a moment?”
“I’ll be right back,” she said to the boy. “Keep reading.”
“Can I get a glass of chocolate milk?”
“Anton,” she said warningly. “I’m hip to your procrastination. If you haven’t finished this chapter by the time I get back . . .”
The boy grinned. David marveled at how easily the two of them got along. Would he ever have as close a relationship with Anton?
As they left the kitchen, he took his wife’s hand and led her to the far end of the house, to the guest bedroom. He shut the door.
She shot him a look. “David, if you’re . . .” she started, and he shook his head. “No. Not that. Would love to, but—”
Without warning, her face crumbled. “Well, what, then? Is it bad news?”
He knew exactly what she was thinking, her mind flying back to that awful night when he’d received the phone call from the police and entered their bedroom unsure of how to form the words that he knew would destroy her life forever. She was remembering how he’d come up behind her, turned her around, held her by both shoulders, and sat her down on the bed.
“No, no, no,” he hurried to reassure her now. “Honey. It’s not bad news. Not at all. It’s terrific news, actually.”