Family Tree by Susan Wiggs

something more for her to want—a better house, a country-club membership, a vacation home in South Beach, expensive jewelry, a more prestigious social life—but attaining it never brought her joy. Her anger swirled in the atmosphere like a toxin.
    She loved Teddy. That was something he’d never dispute. Everybody loved Teddy, the way everyone loved a new puppy on a sunny day. Their son was affectionate and funny and smart, the kind of kid other parents approved of and teachers complimented.
    It was particularly gratifying for Fletcher, because he himself had never been that kid. He’d been the outsider, the newcomer, the motherless boy, an object of suspicion. He never wanted Teddy to feel that kind of pain, so he’d made a commitment to raise his son in the most stable,secure place he knew—right here in Switchback. Initially, Celia had agreed, but her contentment hadn’t lasted. She always seemed to need something that hovered just out of reach.
    He reclaimed his patience with an effort. “I need to get back to the courtroom. Can we finish this discussion another time?”
    She glared at him, her beautiful sky-blue eyes turning cold. “There’s nothing to discuss. I don’t know why I thought you’d open your heart and your mind to me.”
    â€œMy focus is Teddy. He needs us both.” Fletcher softened his tone. “If you absolutely have to live somewhere else, you’re free to do that. Just—please—find a way to stay in our son’s life.”
    Her glare turned to sadness. “You know I can’t live without Teddy.”
    â€œAnd he can’t live without his mom.”
    She looked at him for a long moment. He could see the fight go out of her as she turned toward the door. “Tell Teddy I’ll see him later, okay?”
    Fletcher took a moment to get his head back into the law. The uneven wooden floor and wavy glass windowpanes of his chambers bore testament to the age of the building, which dated back to the 1880s. His framed credentials hung on the wall, and there was a plaque with engraved nameplates of all his predecessors, men and women who had walked these floors and deliberated the law for decades. These chambers had once housed Emerson Gaines, who had gone on to serve on the Supreme Court.
    Fletcher had the distinction of being the youngest judge in the state. Some days, however, the youngest judge in the state didn’t feel so young. A lot of life had happened to him while other people his age were still revving their engines. He hadn’t planned it that way. But he hadn’t been given a choice either.
    Most people looked forward to Friday nights. Fridays were for decompressing, kicking back, activating weekend mode. Pizza and movies. Games at the high school—football, hockey, or basketball, dependingon the season. Happy hour or dinner with friends. Fletcher was not most people. He had no particular fondness for Fridays when he had to surrender his son to his ex.
    After work at court, a bunch of the guys went out for a pickup game of hoops, then pitchers of beer afterward at the Switchback Brewpub. When Teddy was with his mother, Fletcher often joined them. Then he would return home to an empty house, with the empty weekend stretching out in front of him.
    This was the arrangement he had agreed to in the divorce, and he was obligated to stick to it. Life was better since he and Celia had split up. He had a house in the village, close to Teddy’s school and to the courthouse. He’d dated, but nothing serious developed. Deep down, he probably didn’t want anything serious. He was good at a lot of things, but making a relationship last didn’t appear to be one of them.
    Court business was just wrapping up at the end of the day when Gordy Jessop rushed into the courtroom, his ill-fitting suit jacket flapping, his breath coming in agitated huffs. Despite his disheveled appearance, Gordy was a good