a spoiled child. But she assumed everything went on as normal in her absence. Life usually did.
"Roland's lawyers have started these rumors, and you know the blogosphere, and it's just you've been so under the radar--in the hospital, I know--"
"Patrick!"
"Maybe you should talk to the District Attorney directly."
She was so infuriated by his babbling, she wanted to throw the phone on the ground and roll over it with her wheel. She trembled, and whispered into the phone, hoping calmness would bring clarity.
"Patrick. What the heck is going on?"
"They're saying you were drunk."
"What?"
“You were drunk and distraught over having no case and framing poor, innocent Roland you took off for the weekend to drown your sorrows."
She made some sort of squeaking sound.
"We're placing you on administrative leave," he said.
"Agh? What about my vacation leave?"
"It's a good thing. More money than short-term disability, so you can ride this out longer. Once the trial is over--" He paused again.
"Once the trial is over what?" she asked.
"You can come back to your job."
"Not until then?"
"It's only until the verdict comes back and everything's straightened out. A week, maybe two. Nat," he asked. "Were you drunk?"
"No!"
"Can you prove it? The Tarpley police have been very uncooperative with the press."
"Do you want the damn police report? I'll fax it directly to the Observer."
"Have you seen it?"
"Not yet. But I will." She seethed, but at least he was giving her a plan. She could clear her name. Once she stopped being brutally offended she needed to clear her name.
"Nat," he asked, his voice quiet. "Were you speeding?"
"I don't know. I don't remember anything."
"The police report will say."
"I could have been. It was night, and the highway was wide open, and God, I was so angry about the case--"
"I don't want to hear anymore," Patrick said.
"So basically my career is ruined."
"Come on, Nat. Don't be dramatic."
"The case is tainted, the jury will think the city is either laughable or corrupt, and Roland seems like a victim."
"Those are issues we're dealing with. You need to heal," he said.
"He drowned his wife. He drowned her."
"I know."
"I didn't drown anyone."
"Natalie--"
"I didn't drink. I didn't hurt anyone. Just myself."
"It's politics," he said.
"I thought I worked for justice."
He didn't say anything.
She relented, still angry but not at him. "How're the girls?"
"Great." He launched into a story of their fall break, and Natalie listened, red with rage, breathing hard. She listened quietly and wished she could scream, instead.
#
On Saturday, Natalie made dinner, even though it was hard to deal with the stove when she sat underneath it. Macaroni and cheese from a box. On Meredith's instructions she added a vegetable mix from the freezer and set out ketchup on the table. She didn't know if she could watch them eat it.
Hollingsworth followed her around, wary of the metal contraption housing her. Only when she was in bed or on the couch would he leap up to join her. Sometimes when the chair was otherwise unoccupied, she would find him curled up and asleep. Hollingsworth dozing in the wheelchair miffed the boys because they liked to roll the wheelchair through the house. Which miffed Meredith. One big happy family.
She'd timed dinner so she was stirring the butter into the noodles when the door flew open and Merritt and Beau bounded through.
"Natty!" they called.
Her name sounded so much better on their lips than Patrick's. The bastard. She shouldn't think about that when the kids were home, hugging her. She pulled Merritt onto her lap so Beau could crowd her good leg without touching her bad one.
Meredith followed more sedately. She held Natalie's gaze, smiling, until Natalie's face ached from smiling back. She wanted to hug Meredith, too, but her arms were full, and Meredith finally reached over and tousled her hair, smoothing locks in front of her eyes.
Natalie blew the hair back. "Thanks," she
"Roland's lawyers have started these rumors, and you know the blogosphere, and it's just you've been so under the radar--in the hospital, I know--"
"Patrick!"
"Maybe you should talk to the District Attorney directly."
She was so infuriated by his babbling, she wanted to throw the phone on the ground and roll over it with her wheel. She trembled, and whispered into the phone, hoping calmness would bring clarity.
"Patrick. What the heck is going on?"
"They're saying you were drunk."
"What?"
“You were drunk and distraught over having no case and framing poor, innocent Roland you took off for the weekend to drown your sorrows."
She made some sort of squeaking sound.
"We're placing you on administrative leave," he said.
"Agh? What about my vacation leave?"
"It's a good thing. More money than short-term disability, so you can ride this out longer. Once the trial is over--" He paused again.
"Once the trial is over what?" she asked.
"You can come back to your job."
"Not until then?"
"It's only until the verdict comes back and everything's straightened out. A week, maybe two. Nat," he asked. "Were you drunk?"
"No!"
"Can you prove it? The Tarpley police have been very uncooperative with the press."
"Do you want the damn police report? I'll fax it directly to the Observer."
"Have you seen it?"
"Not yet. But I will." She seethed, but at least he was giving her a plan. She could clear her name. Once she stopped being brutally offended she needed to clear her name.
"Nat," he asked, his voice quiet. "Were you speeding?"
"I don't know. I don't remember anything."
"The police report will say."
"I could have been. It was night, and the highway was wide open, and God, I was so angry about the case--"
"I don't want to hear anymore," Patrick said.
"So basically my career is ruined."
"Come on, Nat. Don't be dramatic."
"The case is tainted, the jury will think the city is either laughable or corrupt, and Roland seems like a victim."
"Those are issues we're dealing with. You need to heal," he said.
"He drowned his wife. He drowned her."
"I know."
"I didn't drown anyone."
"Natalie--"
"I didn't drink. I didn't hurt anyone. Just myself."
"It's politics," he said.
"I thought I worked for justice."
He didn't say anything.
She relented, still angry but not at him. "How're the girls?"
"Great." He launched into a story of their fall break, and Natalie listened, red with rage, breathing hard. She listened quietly and wished she could scream, instead.
#
On Saturday, Natalie made dinner, even though it was hard to deal with the stove when she sat underneath it. Macaroni and cheese from a box. On Meredith's instructions she added a vegetable mix from the freezer and set out ketchup on the table. She didn't know if she could watch them eat it.
Hollingsworth followed her around, wary of the metal contraption housing her. Only when she was in bed or on the couch would he leap up to join her. Sometimes when the chair was otherwise unoccupied, she would find him curled up and asleep. Hollingsworth dozing in the wheelchair miffed the boys because they liked to roll the wheelchair through the house. Which miffed Meredith. One big happy family.
She'd timed dinner so she was stirring the butter into the noodles when the door flew open and Merritt and Beau bounded through.
"Natty!" they called.
Her name sounded so much better on their lips than Patrick's. The bastard. She shouldn't think about that when the kids were home, hugging her. She pulled Merritt onto her lap so Beau could crowd her good leg without touching her bad one.
Meredith followed more sedately. She held Natalie's gaze, smiling, until Natalie's face ached from smiling back. She wanted to hug Meredith, too, but her arms were full, and Meredith finally reached over and tousled her hair, smoothing locks in front of her eyes.
Natalie blew the hair back. "Thanks," she
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