He knew one thing that would take his mind off her.
He steered the car to Greenpoint, slowing going down Fourth Street. It looked like his family home was closed up, which was odd since the weather was so pleasant. He drove further, and came upon Lena’s house. Her place was beautifully landscaped in the front, but the whole side was left grassy. From where he was, he couldn’t see the back of her house, but even down here, he heard the noise.
He parked down a bit closer to the large side yard and saw a sprinkler had been set up with that yellow, slippery thing kids used to slide on when it got wet.
His heart clutched hard in his chest. It started to feel like a heart attack. Because before him were one, two, three…eight children. He’d rarely allowed himself to think about having nieces and nephews. And he’d never seen them on his incognito trips to the street. Now, he studied them. They were all different heights, mostly dark-haired, but a few were blondes. Some were small-framed, some large, but they all were sturdy. Then one came around the side, on crutches. Was he ill, or had he had an accident? Paul cringed when he realized he had no right to know.
But as they screeched at the cold water, slid down on their stomachs, called out to their cousins, Paul had to face the fact these cherished young ones lived only thirty minutes from him, and he’d never seen them. Never touched their down-like skin when they were born. Never smelled their baby shampoo. Never changed their diapers, or gone to a dance recital or school play or baseball game. His entire body ached with knowledge.
And one tear worked its way down his cheek.
Chapter 7
* * *
“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, we’re here today to right an unconscionable wrong. This couple, seated with our illustrious colleague at the defense table, is accused of Medicare fraud. They single-handedly cheated a government program out of hundreds of thousands of dollars.” Hayley cocked her head. “Those thousands of dollars are no longer available to you, each of you, when you turn sixty-five.” She saw a gray-haired man scowl. A young juror was wide-eyed. “Not only that, the Feinsteins insisted on dangerous surgeries for these vulnerable victims who sought their help with back pain that, according to experts we’ll bring in, could have been treated with medication. But their policy was to only prescribe that medication if the patients went through operations first.”
She turned and walked in front of the accused couple. These were the kind of people she despised. And Paul was defending them. “Mr. and Mrs. Feinstein have committed crimes against humanity and the prosecution is asking for reparations to each person they abused and twenty years in jail for their crimes.”
The woman gasped. Good.
“How could they do such a heinous thing?” she asked, crossing back to the jury. “Pure greed. Money gained by hurting others. They’ve betrayed—no, wait—stomped on their Hippocratic Oath, Do no harm, which every doctor swears to uphold. They deserve the maximum sentence.” She gave the jury a nod, walked close to the defense table, glared at the three people sitting there, then dropped down into her own chair.
The judge said, “Mr. Covington, are you ready with your opening remarks?”
“Very much so, after that.”
Judge Larson, a younger man recently appointed to the bench scowled at Paul. This was the first case he and Hayley argued as opposing counsel since their contempt charge. A different judge, but his expression was meant as a warning.
Paul walked to the jury box. His stride was long and masculine, his shoulders wide, his hair attractively tousled. If she was a female juror, she’d swoon.
But she wouldn’t swoon now. She’d fought all week to inure herself against him. She refused to talk about him to Seth and Finn. She viciously stopped herself from thinking about him when she was alone. Or when memories preyed on her during work. She kept her head down and ploughed through the pain.
Still, she was miserable.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” he began. “The prosecution has her suppositions wrong. In cases like these, overzealous district attorneys often cherry pick the facts. In the coming days, the defense will show that those treated by the Feinsteins are not victims, as she calls them, but patients who wanted the surgeries and are recovering from them. We’ll also show the judicious distribution of necessary pain meds, not the willy-nilly prescribing the prosecution alleges. They are doctors. They knew what they were doing. And it wasn’t illegal or immoral. It was right.”
Oh, brother, Hayley thought. He didn’t believe that any more than she did. An overwhelming sense of loss hit her. How could the man she cared so much about compromise himself this badly? In short, he wasn’t the person she thought he was.
That should help cure her. God help her, she’d get over him—and soon!
* * *
As Paul sat back down after opening statements, he blanked his mind of the detestable case he’d taken on. He’d been under extreme pressure by the partners to argue this one. So, he told himself everybody deserved a defense. Told himself that these were the kind of cases that established a reputation for cut-throat defense attorneys. And that’s exactly what he wanted to be. He was done playing the good guy.
He glanced to the side. His new attitude was because of the woman who was checking her phone, and when she did turn her gaze toward him, she looked right through him. Fuck her.
Judge Larson asked, “Are you prepared to call witnesses, ADA Casella?”
“Yes, your honor. I call Amelia Bailey to the stand.”
Hayley approached a hunched over woman with gray hair and an almost-emaciated frame, who used a walker to come forward. Solicitously, Hayley asked, “Do you need any help, ma’am?”
“Maybe getting up the steps.”
“Judge, may she testify from the floor, please?”
“Yes, of course.”
If he hadn’t known Hayley so well, he’d think she was performing for the jury. But she would treat an old woman like this, one who was sick. Sicker than she should be, Paul knew in his heart.
Once Mrs. Bailey reached the front of the courtroom, Hayley lowered the fold-down seat on the walker and the woman eased herself onto it. “Are you comfortable? Do you need some water?”
Paul gritted his teeth.
“No thank you.”
The bailiff swore the witness in and Hayley started her questions. “Mrs. Bailey, could you tell the court where your pain is?”
“In my lower back.”
“On a scale of one to ten, what is your pain level right now?”
“It’s a nine.”
“You’ll have to speak up ma’am.” The judge’s tone was kind.
“A-a nine.”
“Are you sure you’re all right, Mrs. Bailey? Your hands are shaking.”
“They shake all the time since the surgery.”
Hayley continued, “Have you taken the oxycodone prescribed by the Drs. Feinstein?”
“Yes. I’m taking them three times a day.”
“What was your original pain level, when you first went to the clinic?”
“About a six. On a bad day.”
“I see. So, you’re in more pain now, than before surgery?”