someone who would break the rules.”
“Maybe not. Except she broke the rule on confidentiality.”
He nodded. “Yeah, I guess so. But the girl’s dead.”
“True. So we don’t think Molly was sleeping with Jupiter. Can we agree that she was in love with him?”
He nodded. “Looks that way. And maybe a little in love with her boss.”
I wrinkled my brow. “Maybe,” I said doubtfully. “Or maybe she just admires him. How much weight do we give to her opinion of Chloe?”
Al frowned. “I believe her. That Chloe seems like a bad apple. Marrying her boyfriend’s father? Maybe we should use Molly as a character witness? In favor of Jupiter, and maybe even against Chloe if Wasserman can figure out a way to get that in without an objection from the prosecution.”
“I don’t know. I mean, she’d probably make a good witness. Juries like blondes. But I’m not sure she wouldn’t do more damage than good.”
“Why?”
“She cares for Jupiter, and she hates Chloe, that’s obvious. So she might seem biased in his favor. But even worse, she knows just how messed up Chloe made Jupiter. She told us that Chloe had really interfered with his therapy, that he’d loved her, and that he’d been utterly devastated when she’d married his dad. That plays right into the prosecution’s theory of motive.”
“Good point. Well, what about the doctor?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know how he’ll play. He’d have to give testimony about Jupiter bailing out on the program. And a jury might have a problem with the clinic. It’s pretty posh.”
“Disgusting. They should be sweating it out in jail, not in a hot tub,” Al said.
“Al, for God’s sake. Addiction is a disease.”
“Yeah, right. Show me a cancer ward that looks like that.”
We argued all the way back to Los Angeles and until Al dropped me off at the front gate of Isaac’s nursery school. I’d called when it became clear that we weren’t going to make it in time, and begged the school to allow Isaac to stay in the afterschool program until I showed up. I’d also called Peter, who had agreed to leave a meeting at the studio early to pick up Ruby. I found Isaac sitting at a table, gluing macaroni to a piece of construction paper and chatting with two other little boys.
“Mama!” He stood up, his hands on his hips. “You’re late! All the other one-ers went home and I had to stay with the three-ers. But I’m
not
a three-er.”
“I know, honey. I’m sorry.” I took him in my arms. “Did you mind being a three-er just for today?”
He kissed me on the cheek and rubbed his nose on mine. “It’s okay, Mommy. Except they only had apples for snack. And that’s not really a good enough snack. So I’ll need a cookie. Or some ice cream.”
“We’ll see, buddy.” I squeezed him tight. There was only the barest hint of baby left in him, around his soft full cheeks and tender-skinned neck. The rest of him was pure little boy—all pipestem legs, sharp elbows, and bony knees. The dimples were disappearing from his knuckles, and his sweet baby fragrance had been almost entirely replaced by a little-boy smell vaguely reminiscent of puppies, sand, and the contents of his pockets. In a few months this little boy would be my baby no more. He would stumble off into the world, pushed out of the way by another round, soft bundle. I wished I could keep him with me for just a little longer. As I clung to my son, and he clung to me, I rebelled against the end that I knew was coming. Someday, Isaac was going to stop wrapping his arms and legs around my body, stop hugging and kissing me. He was going to grow too big, too self-conscious to express his love with such utter abandon. I anticipated his abdication with dread. The tragedy of parenting is that if you do your job well, your love is doomed to become an unrequited passion. I would always remain as obsessed with Isaac as I was at that moment, but his job would be to find other objects for his
“Maybe not. Except she broke the rule on confidentiality.”
He nodded. “Yeah, I guess so. But the girl’s dead.”
“True. So we don’t think Molly was sleeping with Jupiter. Can we agree that she was in love with him?”
He nodded. “Looks that way. And maybe a little in love with her boss.”
I wrinkled my brow. “Maybe,” I said doubtfully. “Or maybe she just admires him. How much weight do we give to her opinion of Chloe?”
Al frowned. “I believe her. That Chloe seems like a bad apple. Marrying her boyfriend’s father? Maybe we should use Molly as a character witness? In favor of Jupiter, and maybe even against Chloe if Wasserman can figure out a way to get that in without an objection from the prosecution.”
“I don’t know. I mean, she’d probably make a good witness. Juries like blondes. But I’m not sure she wouldn’t do more damage than good.”
“Why?”
“She cares for Jupiter, and she hates Chloe, that’s obvious. So she might seem biased in his favor. But even worse, she knows just how messed up Chloe made Jupiter. She told us that Chloe had really interfered with his therapy, that he’d loved her, and that he’d been utterly devastated when she’d married his dad. That plays right into the prosecution’s theory of motive.”
“Good point. Well, what about the doctor?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know how he’ll play. He’d have to give testimony about Jupiter bailing out on the program. And a jury might have a problem with the clinic. It’s pretty posh.”
“Disgusting. They should be sweating it out in jail, not in a hot tub,” Al said.
“Al, for God’s sake. Addiction is a disease.”
“Yeah, right. Show me a cancer ward that looks like that.”
We argued all the way back to Los Angeles and until Al dropped me off at the front gate of Isaac’s nursery school. I’d called when it became clear that we weren’t going to make it in time, and begged the school to allow Isaac to stay in the afterschool program until I showed up. I’d also called Peter, who had agreed to leave a meeting at the studio early to pick up Ruby. I found Isaac sitting at a table, gluing macaroni to a piece of construction paper and chatting with two other little boys.
“Mama!” He stood up, his hands on his hips. “You’re late! All the other one-ers went home and I had to stay with the three-ers. But I’m
not
a three-er.”
“I know, honey. I’m sorry.” I took him in my arms. “Did you mind being a three-er just for today?”
He kissed me on the cheek and rubbed his nose on mine. “It’s okay, Mommy. Except they only had apples for snack. And that’s not really a good enough snack. So I’ll need a cookie. Or some ice cream.”
“We’ll see, buddy.” I squeezed him tight. There was only the barest hint of baby left in him, around his soft full cheeks and tender-skinned neck. The rest of him was pure little boy—all pipestem legs, sharp elbows, and bony knees. The dimples were disappearing from his knuckles, and his sweet baby fragrance had been almost entirely replaced by a little-boy smell vaguely reminiscent of puppies, sand, and the contents of his pockets. In a few months this little boy would be my baby no more. He would stumble off into the world, pushed out of the way by another round, soft bundle. I wished I could keep him with me for just a little longer. As I clung to my son, and he clung to me, I rebelled against the end that I knew was coming. Someday, Isaac was going to stop wrapping his arms and legs around my body, stop hugging and kissing me. He was going to grow too big, too self-conscious to express his love with such utter abandon. I anticipated his abdication with dread. The tragedy of parenting is that if you do your job well, your love is doomed to become an unrequited passion. I would always remain as obsessed with Isaac as I was at that moment, but his job would be to find other objects for his
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