trying to keep you out of prison. I’m trying to save your life, your future.”
“I know, you’re trying to protect me.” Ryan’s eyes filmed, but he didn’t cry. “But I want to know my rights.”
“You don’t have any!”
“Yes, I do. I’m going to see the lawyer, whether you come with me or not.”
“How are you going to get there?” Jake stopped just short of saying, You gonna drive ?
Ryan blinked, hearing the words that Jake didn’t say, and for a split second, father and son eyed each other, wounded and hurting in front of the pretend fireplace.
“I’m sorry.” Jake grabbed Ryan, just as his son pulled away.
“No, no, I’m sorry, it’s all my fault.”
“Ryan, come here!”
“No!” Ryan jumped aside and batted Jake’s hands away, but Jake went after him, grabbed him, and struggled mightily to muscle him closer, into an embrace. The days were over when he was stronger than Ryan, and Jake didn’t know if he could still take him. He flashed suddenly on Ryan as a little boy and remembered that they used to race each other in the driveway, then down the sidewalk, and his heart broke to think of those sunny days, now consigned to Before.
“All right, down, all right, you win,” Jake heard himself say, shaking his head. “We’ll see the lawyer. We’ll get your questions answered and we’ll see what he says. But we won’t let him make any decisions for us, and we’ll do it my way.”
“What’s that mean?”
“You’ll see.”
Chapter Thirteen
Jake sat at the head of the polished conference-room table with Ryan to his right, waiting for the buzzer that would signal the arrival of Morris Hubbard. Jake had decided it would be safer to have Hubbard meet them at his office, because if they were spotted at Hubbard’s office, it would be obvious that they were consulting a criminal lawyer. Here, they were unlikely to be seen by anyone, and even if they were, it would look as if Hubbard were consulting Jake, and there was nothing suspicious about that. Jake met plenty of clients after hours, and, presumably, even a sleazeball DUI lawyer needed financial planning.
Ryan looked over. “Dad, you look worried.”
“I’m not,” Jake answered, modulating his tone. “How are you? You okay?”
“No.” Ryan sipped water from his white styrofoam cup. “I talked to Janine Mae. I told her I was too sick to go out, but she was too upset anyway.”
“Oh no.” Jake felt a deep stab of pain, thinking about Kathleen. Her death would traumatize everyone she loved, her friends at school and her parents at home. Suddenly the buzzer sounded, and Jake came out of his reverie. He rose, stiffly. “I’ll get it, and remember, let me do the talking.”
“You said I can ask questions.”
“Yes, but we’re not hiring anybody tonight.” Jake went to the door of the conference room, then stopped. “This is a consultation and discussion only, agreed?”
“Right,” Ryan answered, and Jake left the room, strode down the hall, and crossed the reception area to the front door, which he opened.
“Come in,” he said, ushering Hubbard quickly inside. “I’m Jake Buckman.”
“Mo Hubbard.” Hubbard extended a hand, and Jake shook it. Hubbard looked to be in his early thirties, on the short side, with a bulky build in a black fleece pullover and baggy jeans. His gold wire-rimmed glasses, a head of frizzy brown hair, and a thick beard and mustache made him seem like a throwback hippie.
“This way,” Jake said, gesturing, and they strode down the hall.
“Nice offices,” Hubbard said pleasantly.
“Thanks.” Jake opened the door to the conference room, and at the end of the long mahogany table his own beloved son rose, standing to meet his lawyer, like an adult.
“Hi Morris, I’m Ryan Buckman. I’m the one who wrote you the emails.”
“Oh, you used an alias. Very clever.” Hubbard smiled as he entered the room and shook Ryan’s hand. “Call me Mo.”
Jake gestured
“I know, you’re trying to protect me.” Ryan’s eyes filmed, but he didn’t cry. “But I want to know my rights.”
“You don’t have any!”
“Yes, I do. I’m going to see the lawyer, whether you come with me or not.”
“How are you going to get there?” Jake stopped just short of saying, You gonna drive ?
Ryan blinked, hearing the words that Jake didn’t say, and for a split second, father and son eyed each other, wounded and hurting in front of the pretend fireplace.
“I’m sorry.” Jake grabbed Ryan, just as his son pulled away.
“No, no, I’m sorry, it’s all my fault.”
“Ryan, come here!”
“No!” Ryan jumped aside and batted Jake’s hands away, but Jake went after him, grabbed him, and struggled mightily to muscle him closer, into an embrace. The days were over when he was stronger than Ryan, and Jake didn’t know if he could still take him. He flashed suddenly on Ryan as a little boy and remembered that they used to race each other in the driveway, then down the sidewalk, and his heart broke to think of those sunny days, now consigned to Before.
“All right, down, all right, you win,” Jake heard himself say, shaking his head. “We’ll see the lawyer. We’ll get your questions answered and we’ll see what he says. But we won’t let him make any decisions for us, and we’ll do it my way.”
“What’s that mean?”
“You’ll see.”
Chapter Thirteen
Jake sat at the head of the polished conference-room table with Ryan to his right, waiting for the buzzer that would signal the arrival of Morris Hubbard. Jake had decided it would be safer to have Hubbard meet them at his office, because if they were spotted at Hubbard’s office, it would be obvious that they were consulting a criminal lawyer. Here, they were unlikely to be seen by anyone, and even if they were, it would look as if Hubbard were consulting Jake, and there was nothing suspicious about that. Jake met plenty of clients after hours, and, presumably, even a sleazeball DUI lawyer needed financial planning.
Ryan looked over. “Dad, you look worried.”
“I’m not,” Jake answered, modulating his tone. “How are you? You okay?”
“No.” Ryan sipped water from his white styrofoam cup. “I talked to Janine Mae. I told her I was too sick to go out, but she was too upset anyway.”
“Oh no.” Jake felt a deep stab of pain, thinking about Kathleen. Her death would traumatize everyone she loved, her friends at school and her parents at home. Suddenly the buzzer sounded, and Jake came out of his reverie. He rose, stiffly. “I’ll get it, and remember, let me do the talking.”
“You said I can ask questions.”
“Yes, but we’re not hiring anybody tonight.” Jake went to the door of the conference room, then stopped. “This is a consultation and discussion only, agreed?”
“Right,” Ryan answered, and Jake left the room, strode down the hall, and crossed the reception area to the front door, which he opened.
“Come in,” he said, ushering Hubbard quickly inside. “I’m Jake Buckman.”
“Mo Hubbard.” Hubbard extended a hand, and Jake shook it. Hubbard looked to be in his early thirties, on the short side, with a bulky build in a black fleece pullover and baggy jeans. His gold wire-rimmed glasses, a head of frizzy brown hair, and a thick beard and mustache made him seem like a throwback hippie.
“This way,” Jake said, gesturing, and they strode down the hall.
“Nice offices,” Hubbard said pleasantly.
“Thanks.” Jake opened the door to the conference room, and at the end of the long mahogany table his own beloved son rose, standing to meet his lawyer, like an adult.
“Hi Morris, I’m Ryan Buckman. I’m the one who wrote you the emails.”
“Oh, you used an alias. Very clever.” Hubbard smiled as he entered the room and shook Ryan’s hand. “Call me Mo.”
Jake gestured
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