scared that it won’t sell.”
“Benjamin Blaine scared?” she said with real surprise, and then pondered this. “I guess when you’re that big, people notice failure—including other writers who are jealous of your success. Schadenfreude kicks in.
“I just never thought of someone like your father as being vulnerable. And then you go and tell me that every age and status has its own terrors.” Suddenly, she laughed at herself. “Whatever do I live for now? Until you shattered my illusions, I thought that when I got famous I’d be a whole different Jenny. I was looking forward to getting up every morning feeling great about myself.”
“Speaking for me,” Adam assured her, “I think you’re pretty okay now.”
He expected that this compliment would please her. Instead, she answered seriously, “You’re the okay one, Adam. There’s something real at your core that no one will ever take from you.”
He caught something wistful in her tone, a kind of guileless envy. Then she asked, “So why do you want to spend your life defending criminals?”
Adam watched an osprey fly low across the water. “Who says they’re all criminals?” he parried. “Some might actually be innocent. Others may need someone to explain them. There are reasons why we become the way we are, which often aren’t apparent on the surface of our lives.” He paused, then added gently, “You’ve told me that your father drank too much, and that your mother worked too hard to be around. But I don’t know how that affected you, and it matters quite a lot to me. Because you matter to me.”
Jenny’s expression turned opaque. “It’s all I know. So I don’t think about it much.”
“Your father vanished, Jenny. Wasn’t that important to you?”
“No,” she answered coolly. “It’s only important that he’s gone.”
This was so unlike her that, too late, Adam sensed the wall between them. “My modest point,” he temporized, “is that most people have hidden stories. A defense lawyer has to tell them in a sympathetic way.”
“Even if they’re murderers or rapists?”
“Even then.”
Jenny fell quiet, deep within herself. They paddled in silence until they reached the shore.
They beached the kayak, and Adam led her through the trees into a grassy clearing dappled with sunlight. Spreading a blanket, he laid out the picnic he had prepared. “How did you find this place?” she asked.
“Teddy and I found it together. When we wanted to get away, we’d paddle over here with food or books to read. Sometimes we’d camp out for the night, looking up at the night sky, listening to the wind stir the leaves and branches.”
“It sounds peaceful.”
Especially for Teddy, Adam thought. For his brother, this glade was more than a refuge from Benjamin Blaine. Adam still remembered the day Teddy had discovered it. One of the joys of painting, his brother had enthused, is that you can be out in the world and suddenly find yourself looking at something, the image you might create growing in your mind’s eye—at those moments life becomes art, and nothing is wasted. Listening, Adam saw the world as Teddy did. When Teddy painted the glade, he gave the painting to Adam.
“It was,” he told Jenny. “We both loved it here.”
Jenny smiled. “So do I.”
At the bottom of the cooler was a bottle of chardonnay. “A little wine?” he asked.
“Just mineral water, thanks.” She hesitated, then gave him a tentative look. “I’ve started taking meds that wouldn’t mix too well with wine. A good thing, probably. Alcohol hits me too fast, and I like it too much.”
She was on antidepressants, he guessed, though perhaps her fear of alcohol came from her father. “Then I won’t drink either,” he told her.
They shared the picnic in companionable silence, Adam letting Jenny’s thoughts drift where they would. After a while she took his hand, her fingers interlaced with his. “You’re the only person who ever lets me
“Benjamin Blaine scared?” she said with real surprise, and then pondered this. “I guess when you’re that big, people notice failure—including other writers who are jealous of your success. Schadenfreude kicks in.
“I just never thought of someone like your father as being vulnerable. And then you go and tell me that every age and status has its own terrors.” Suddenly, she laughed at herself. “Whatever do I live for now? Until you shattered my illusions, I thought that when I got famous I’d be a whole different Jenny. I was looking forward to getting up every morning feeling great about myself.”
“Speaking for me,” Adam assured her, “I think you’re pretty okay now.”
He expected that this compliment would please her. Instead, she answered seriously, “You’re the okay one, Adam. There’s something real at your core that no one will ever take from you.”
He caught something wistful in her tone, a kind of guileless envy. Then she asked, “So why do you want to spend your life defending criminals?”
Adam watched an osprey fly low across the water. “Who says they’re all criminals?” he parried. “Some might actually be innocent. Others may need someone to explain them. There are reasons why we become the way we are, which often aren’t apparent on the surface of our lives.” He paused, then added gently, “You’ve told me that your father drank too much, and that your mother worked too hard to be around. But I don’t know how that affected you, and it matters quite a lot to me. Because you matter to me.”
Jenny’s expression turned opaque. “It’s all I know. So I don’t think about it much.”
“Your father vanished, Jenny. Wasn’t that important to you?”
“No,” she answered coolly. “It’s only important that he’s gone.”
This was so unlike her that, too late, Adam sensed the wall between them. “My modest point,” he temporized, “is that most people have hidden stories. A defense lawyer has to tell them in a sympathetic way.”
“Even if they’re murderers or rapists?”
“Even then.”
Jenny fell quiet, deep within herself. They paddled in silence until they reached the shore.
They beached the kayak, and Adam led her through the trees into a grassy clearing dappled with sunlight. Spreading a blanket, he laid out the picnic he had prepared. “How did you find this place?” she asked.
“Teddy and I found it together. When we wanted to get away, we’d paddle over here with food or books to read. Sometimes we’d camp out for the night, looking up at the night sky, listening to the wind stir the leaves and branches.”
“It sounds peaceful.”
Especially for Teddy, Adam thought. For his brother, this glade was more than a refuge from Benjamin Blaine. Adam still remembered the day Teddy had discovered it. One of the joys of painting, his brother had enthused, is that you can be out in the world and suddenly find yourself looking at something, the image you might create growing in your mind’s eye—at those moments life becomes art, and nothing is wasted. Listening, Adam saw the world as Teddy did. When Teddy painted the glade, he gave the painting to Adam.
“It was,” he told Jenny. “We both loved it here.”
Jenny smiled. “So do I.”
At the bottom of the cooler was a bottle of chardonnay. “A little wine?” he asked.
“Just mineral water, thanks.” She hesitated, then gave him a tentative look. “I’ve started taking meds that wouldn’t mix too well with wine. A good thing, probably. Alcohol hits me too fast, and I like it too much.”
She was on antidepressants, he guessed, though perhaps her fear of alcohol came from her father. “Then I won’t drink either,” he told her.
They shared the picnic in companionable silence, Adam letting Jenny’s thoughts drift where they would. After a while she took his hand, her fingers interlaced with his. “You’re the only person who ever lets me
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