“Ted?”
The body responded to the ringing of the phone. His hand reached out and grabbed the device; his thumb did the rest. All this was done with muscle memory. His brain was not yet engaged. “Uh-huh.”
“What are you doing?”
Sleeping? Past tense. “Jill?” His voice croaked. Allergies? No, beer.
“Hi.”
Ted checked the time. “Jesus. It’s four-something. Are you okay?”
“I’m watching Laura,” she said.
He tried to focus. Who the hell was Laura? “But you’re not hurt? You’re safe?”
“I’m fine, silly. I’m watching a movie. Well, I’m not fine, but I am safe. Okay?”
What day was it? He remembered that he had gone to bed on Saturday night after an eleven-inning heartbreaker on the road, during which he had finished off a fresh six-pack of Brooklyn Defender IPA, one of Brooklyn Brewery’s higher-alcohol brews, and two cans of Bud Light that had been sitting in the refrigerator for so long that he could not remember how they got there. As he had not yet seen the sun, he guessed it was early Sunday morning.
“Laura? Yeah, yeah. Didn’t we see that together?” They were talking about a movie. He felt like a genius for having made the connection. Then he realized that Jill had just told him that it was a movie.
“Gene Tierney,” she said.
“Yes. Got it.”
“She had a very sad life.”
At 4:19 in the morning, with or without a hangover, it was difficult for Ted to summon much sympathy for a long-dead Hollywood star. “What time is it where you are?” he asked.
“Uh.” A pause while she pondered this meaty question. “Four-nineteen.”
“Same here,” he said.
“I can’t sleep, Teddy.”
Ted was suddenly wide awake. On guard. He knew Jill and what she sounded like when she was suffering through one of her mild anxiety attacks. Years before, he might have held her and made up funny stories and promised her that one day they would run away to Tasmania and live off the sales of their organic, carb-free mango chutney. And she would have laughed. Not tonight.
“Talk it out. This is not about Jackie, is it?” Ted drew the line at marriage counseling.
“Grandfather was here.”
“Yeah. Here too. He said you sent him.”
“Why?”
“You didn’t?”
“He scared me,” she said.
“He would never hurt you.”
“That’s not it. He’s afraid for Jacqueline. And for you,” she said.
“Me? Not likely.” The Judge had said that it was Jill who was concerned for Jackie, but he’d also said she might suffer embarrassment. Who was the dissembler?
“No. He is.” Her faith in the old man was unshakable—and maddening. “What did he say to you?”
“It didn’t go as well as he hoped,” Ted said. “He’s not worried for me; he’s worried about me. He thinks I’m doing something that will hurt the family. Or the firm.”
“Are you?”
“Am I what?” He did not want to go down that road with her.
“Doing something that would hurt Jacqueline?”
Both Jill and the Judge were worried. Ted was sure now that his hunch was right. Jackie wasn’t merely the lawyer of record on those case files. She was deeply involved. “Jackie needs to do what’s right. If she does, she’ll be fine.” And if she didn’t, he would see she wasn’t the only one to be taken down.
“What does that mean?”
“She’ll know,” he said.
“You are doing something. Why? Why hurt her?”
“I don’t want to hurt anyone.” That wasn’t quite true. He wanted to crush Jackie, the firm, and every member of the Fitzmaurice clan—except Jill. And he wanted to be able to live with himself afterward. He didn’t think both were possible. “Tell Jacqueline to talk with me. Not yell at me. Talk. Converse.”
“For once, just do what I ask without making me beg.”
Something was off. Jill’s panic had been replaced with this strident demand and its laughable premise. Begging had never been any part of who they were. He could sense strings being pulled. Had her grandfather put her up to this? Or was it Jackie standing over her? Or was he being paranoid? Or perceptive? “Have her call me.”
“She won’t,” she said.
“Then don’t take it out on me.”
“You used to be nice. Be nice.”