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IT HAD BEEN weeks since their almost kiss and since Francesca had seen Tommy. Maybe, just maybe if they’d kissed, Tommy would have remembered her—everything. Then, Tommy would have come back to her. Now, guilt and self-blame had him distancing himself as she feared he would if she pushed him. Now, Tommy may never come back to her.
The knock at her office door had Francesca lifting eyes to Lamont. In a gray pinstripe suit, white, silk shirt, and blue tie, he looked elegant and handsome, Francesca thought. “Come in.”
“I heard your first few weeks in court have gone well.” Lamont sat across Francesca at the meeting table stacked with law books and files on Noah Mulligan.
“Yes, it has.”
“Good. Because you’ve been right all along.”
“Usually, am, but what about this time?” Francesca returned a dimpled smile.
“Noah, Mulligan. He’s innocent.” Lamont handed her the folder, stretched out his legs, his feet comfortably crossed at the ankles.
Francesca’s eyes went wide when she saw the file’s contents. “You’re a miracle worker. How did you get your hands on this without a warrant?”
“You really wanna know?”
Lamont’s reply caused Francesca to lift a brow. “Guess not. Well done, Lamont,” she said, flipping through the rest of the photographs and documents with a brimming smile. “Let’s leak these two photos one week before Dr. Sampson takes the stand? I think the media and the public will be keen to see our good doctor with the wealthy Mrs. Marguerite Tremblay dining in a third rate restaurant.”
“Can do. Do you want the headlines to read corruption, bribery, or affair?” Lamont watched Francesca pour them both a cup of coffee.
“I say we let the media run with it. They’ll lead with an affair and come up with the perfect headline. Although I don’t believe there is anything there, the media loves the attention a scandalous, illicit affair arouses. It’s more salacious and sells more newspapers and gets better ratings. Two days before Dr. Sampson takes the stand, leak copies of the signed document. In the meantime, have the signature authenticated as Dr. Sampson’s.” Francesca handed Lamont the cup of coffee.
“Can do.” Lamont tilted eyes up to Francesca over the rim of his coffee cup. Francesca might be Peter Thompson’s beautiful daughter, neatly wrapped in designer suits and good manners, but instinct and a laser-sharp mind, traits inherently part of Francesca’s makeup, made her a formidable prosecutor. She knew how to control the news cycles to her advantage, assemble the information and experts, to give her the winning edge. “You’re all sweetness and innocence on the outside, but a real badass on the inside.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Lamont flashed Francesca, a dimpled smile. “It wasn’t meant as anything but.” He reached into his jacket pocket and retrieving the envelope. “I got you a new telephone number for Mrs. Scott and her new address.”
When Lamont hesitated, Francesca became wary. Still, she said, “Don’t hold back, Lamont. Tell me everything you’ve uncovered.”
“Mr. Scott passed away a few months ago, a heart attack. The cousin I spoke to believes he died of a broken heart. He couldn’t seem to get over the fact his son went missing in action, and so many years later was still missing. I’m sorry, Frankie.”
A cold chill raced through Francesca. Her head swimming in a fog, she choked back the tears.
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AS SOON AS LAMONT LEFT, FRANCESCA reached for the telephone and dialed Mrs. Scott’s number. The moment they heard one another’s voices, tears and emotions burst like a geyser, unstoppable for minutes.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you, Mrs. Scott.” Francesca’s tone was drenched in sadness.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t call you Frankie, but you’d just gotten married when Harry passed, and I didn’t want to hang a dark cloud over such a happy time in your life. You deserved to be happy, Frankie.”
“I should have been there for you.”
“No, love. You need to live your life. It’s what Harry wanted for you. It’s what I want.” Affection came through in her voice. “Harry called out for Tommy before he took his last breath. He’d caused his father a lot of grief and a lot of gray hairs, but he loved that boy.”
Francesca heard the strain of anguish in Mrs. Scott’s voice. “I know.”
“I should have called to let you know my new telephone number sooner, but it got crazy fast, and I didn’t have the time.”
“I understand. I’ve been swamped myself with work and life.” Francesca sat in the leather chair behind her desk when Mrs. Scott proceeded to catch her up. Hearing the hurt that throbbed in Mrs. Scott’s voice when she spoke of Mr. Scott and how much he missed Tommy, Francesca jumped in. “I have something to tell you.”
“Sounds serious. What is it, Frankie?” Mrs. Scott prodded when Francesca slipped into silence.
“It’s about Tommy.” Francesca closed her eyes, took several quiet breaths. “Tommy, is, ah, he’s alive, Mrs. S. He’s here. He’s the priest at St. Elizabeth’s.” Francesca heard Mrs. Scott’s breath catch in a gasp of shock followed by a loud thud. She wasn’t sure whether Mrs. Scott fainted or if she’d dropped the handset. She hoped for the latter.
When Mrs. Scott finally came back on the line, Francesca went on to tell her about running into Tommy, his memory loss, and her failed attempts to recover it in the past few weeks.
“We almost kissed,” Francesca said, after some deliberation. The thump at the end of the line was louder this time. Francesca pictured Mrs. Scott dropping the phone to cross herself several times and say a silent prayer to save her sinful soul.
“Jesus, Joseph, and Mary, Frankie. Did you trick a holy man into kissing you? That’s sacrosanct,” Mrs. Scott said when she came back on the line.
“I figured if Tommy kissed me, he’d remember me, and all his memories would surface.”
“Mmm-hmm, that’s why you, a married woman, tempted a man of the cloth to kiss you? Sweet Jesus, did you hear how wrong all that sounded?”
“Yes, but I honestly did it to stir Tommy’s memories.”
“It’s Father Matthew, and don’t lie to me. It’s me you’re talking to. We may be speaking over the telephone, but I can hear the lie in your stutter,” Mrs. Scott said, hopeful no immoral acts of turpitude were committed.
“Well, we didn’t kiss, and I haven’t seen Tommy since that night.”
“Father Matthew,” Mrs. Scott reminded. “And good. At least one of you has an iota of sense.” There was a moment’s hesitation as Mrs. Scott fell deep in thought. “I’m packing my bags and catching the first flight out. I need to keep you on the straight and narrow, and I’d like to see Tommy. Aside from you, he’s the only family I have left.”
“I don’t want you to unsettle your life, Mrs. S.” Francesca’s tone was contrite, but there was a brimming smile on her face.
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FRANCESCA’S DAY AT THE OFFICE OVER for the day, she drove home with the idea of soaking in a luxurious, lilac scented bath. Once home, feeling too restless for such a sedentary activity, Francesca wandered into her home office. What she needed was girlfriend-time. Tossing her purse and briefcase onto her home office desk, Francesca reached for the telephone and dialed Lily’s number.
After hearing Tommy’s story, Lily said, “Jesus! I can always count on you to have an incredible story to share whenever you call, Frankie.”
“If I’m able to impress a psychiatrist whose father is running for president, and who ministers to politicians, Washington isn’t as dysfunctional as I thought.” Francesca drew the vertical blinds open to a moon, painting the evening sky crimson red.
“Oh they’re dysfunctional, you’re just more so than they are.” Lily snorted a giggle, and Francesca joined in. “So those past few conversations we had about a friend named Tomlin were about Tommy?”
“Yes. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to lie, but I wasn’t ready to tell you everything.” Francesca heard the glug glug of water pouring from jug into glass over the telephone.
“You’re forgiven. In my line of work lying is an occupational hazard. I’ve often wondered why that is when I’m here to help. That’s one of the questions I’m addressing in the book I’m planning on writing. I’m working on taking a sabbatical from my practice to get it written.”
“And it will become a bestseller, but for now, tell me what you think about telling Tommy about his dad’s passing. I feel an obligation to do so. Up until now, I’ve been following your advice. I’ve tried to trigger Tommy’s memories by showing not telling, but...”
“But nothing, Frankie. You can’t shock Tommy’s memories out. Memory loss caused by a traumatic event has to be carefully handled. We’re not certain if he has brain damage as a result of a sustained injury or if it’s an emotional or psychological defense mechanism he’s developed due to Battle Fatigue or Combat Stress Reaction. Many of the returning soldiers have been diagnosed with it. You need to get him to see a professional. Can you do that?”
“I’m not quite there yet. I don’t even know if he’s aware there’s a past he can’t remember. It’s killing me, Lily.” The constant, dull headache no amount of Tylenol seemed to help flared up, and Francesca raised a hand to massage her temple. “What’s worse is that by trying to get him to kiss me, I’ve alienated him. I wanted too much, too fast, but I believed we’d reached the point of familiarity to attempt the kiss.”
“Maybe, but don’t you think it was your longing to have Tommy remember you that made you push the process along. You feel as if you’re a reversed version of snow white and the prince that brings her to life. Subconsciously, you feel your kiss will resurrect all of Tommy’s memories.”
Francesca wasn’t sure if Lily’s observation came from knowing her as well as she did or because she was good at her job. “It’s so hard to have him so close and yet so far from me.”
“I know, but you have to give it time, sugar. You have to give Tommy time. He’s been through a traumatic life-changing event.”
Francesca gave an acquiescent nod. “I know.”
“Give Father Matthew time to come around to Tommy on his own time. He will, Frankie. I’ve seen it many times over. As for the kiss incident, he’s embarrassed, remorseful, and feeling ashamed. Not of you. He thinks he’s compromised himself and his vows.”
“Is that your professional opinion?”
“No, that’s my expert opinion of men. I’ve dated enough to know the signs,” Lily said with a grin Francesca visualized. “By the way, my plan to come to visit you for Christmas is looking good. Daddy will be too busy with his campaign and his fourth—or is it fifth?—wife. No matter, this one will be around until he’s elected. Maybe. She’s a thirty-year-old aide and perfect arm candy, and she does play the role well. What is it about sexagenarians needing to relive their youth?” There was a long deep sigh at the end of the line.
“But I digress. Anyway, I’ll be seeing you in a month. Set up a dinner with Tommy, you and me. I’d rather not have James there. It’s better not to have a male presence while I conduct my observation and analysis of Tommy. Men are more vulnerable without rival testosterone in the room.”
“James won’t be there.” Francesca recoiled at the thought she’d have to tell Lily on her visit about her failed marriage and abusive husband.
Lily would understand and be supportive. Still, it wasn’t an easy conversation for Francesca. Her self-esteem and confidence were still precarious enough that, at some level, she blamed herself for James’ attacks. The horror and the shame were too raw in her to open up to anyone—even Lily.
“Hopefully, once I spend some time with Tommy, I’ll come up with a better plan on how to deal with his memory loss. I’ll do everything I can to make him better, Frankie. I promise.”
The assurance and the thought of having Tommy back made Francesca want to smile and weep at the same time. “Thanks, Lily. I’m so looking forward to seeing you.”
“Ditto.” Lily’s buzzing intercom had her putting Francesca on hold. “My next patient is here. I’ll talk to you soon. Kisses and love,” Lily said, leaving Francesca hopeful that Tommy soon enough would remember everything. Remember her.
