Chapter 26

WHERE PLAYACTING ENDS AND REAL LIFE BEGINS

Ted Cake sat on the witness stand in his custom-cut suit and silk tie like victory itself, beautifully gift-wrapped and waiting to be opened upon the judge’s eventual decision—which would certainly now go his way once this needless proceeding was over.

“So in your opinion, Mr. Cake,” his own attorney said as he crossed the floor toward Patrick, “Mr. Guthrie here is entirely incapable of caring for a child, let alone one who suffers from a life-threatening condition.”

“In my opinion, sir, Mr. Guthrie is not capable of taking care of anyone or anything, and clearly that includes himself.”

Abe rose. “Objection, Your Honor. The issue at hand is the welfare of the son, not the father.”

“We would argue those two issues go hand in hand,” said Ted’s attorney.

“The court would agree. Objection overruled.”

Abe, deflated, sat back in his chair as Patrick leaned over to him. “This isn’t going our way.”

“I need a drink.”

“You need to call me to the stand.”

Ramirez banged his gavel at the audible whispering. Abe and Patrick quieted.

“So, Mr. Cake,” Ted’s attorney said, walking back toward the witness box. “What makes you so certain of Mr. Guthrie’s ineptitude at caring for his boy?”

Ted looked straight at Patrick with a stare brimming with what Rebecca now recognized as love disappointed . . . hatred.

“I am certain Mr. Guthrie is inept at caring for the boy because he was completely inept at caring for the boy’s mother. She died for lack of regular physical examinations.”

Patrick bolted up. “Linda’s heart condition was asymptomatic,” he said, regurgitating word-for-word the explanations every doctor had offered. “Only three percent of people who have an enlarged heart are ever even diagnosed.”

“Sit down and silence yourself, Mr. Guthrie!” Ramirez said.

Ted continued. “She would have been part of that three percent if she’d had proper medical insurance and care, if she’d had the proper sense to stay away from a layabout thespian who couldn’t tell you the difference between where playacting ends and real life begins.”

Abe sprang to his feet again. “Now this truly is conjecture and character assassination!”

Ramirez brought his gavel down again. “The court has no choice but to sustain the objection.” Ramirez turned an eye to Ted. “Mr. Cake, please confine your answers to the questions posed.”

“May it please the court,” the attorney said, “Mr. Cake’s concerns are for the welfare of his grandson and it is clearly his opinion Mr. Guthrie’s life in the theater is a direct obstacle to that welfare. May we pose a direct question to our client along those lines?”

Ramirez nodded. “You may.”

“Mr. Cake, is it your opinion that your ex–son-in-law’s former profession as an actor not only directly led to the lack of medical care for your daughter—”

“Objection!”

“I’ll allow it.”

“—but also led to his being let go as a teacher with no seniority, and finally fired from a waiter position that even the most amateur of actors can maintain?”

Ted once again stared at Patrick, who willed himself not to look away.

“It is my opinion that Mr. Guthrie’s acting life has caused only loss and death. He prefers to pretend rather than face his real responsibilities as a husband and father. Nothing good has come from it, certainly not to my life.”

This last statement washed over Patrick’s face, and his eyes filled with thought. He gripped the table with hands desperate to feel their way through a hard decision—whether to protect the small part of life left to him or risk it all for the large part of life he just might win.

“The plaintiff rests,” Ted’s attorney said and sat down.

Patrick’s eyes wandered across the room for an answer to the question that was pounding through his mind and heart. He turned the Band-Aid round and round his finger as his eyes landed on Mila, sitting behind the plaintiff’s table. She was looking straight at Captain Pluton before lifting her gaze up to Patrick.

“Hello, Ghost,” she mouthed in a whisper.

Patrick saw it. His face flooded with decision as he leaned over close to Abe’s ear and whispered something urgent. Abe tried to shake Patrick off for a second, but finally relented as Ted stood up to leave the witness box.

“Mr. Cake? The defense has a question of its own.”

Ted reluctantly sat back down. “I would think this court has all the answers it needs.”

“You’ll answer all appropriate questions, sir,” Ramirez said.

“Of course, so long as they are just that.” Ted watched contemptuously as what he viewed as a two-bit lawyer rose and approached him.

“Mr. Cake, you stated just now that Mr. Guthrie’s passion for the theater has caused you and your loved ones only heartache.”

“That’s correct. In my opinion, my daughter would be here today if it weren’t for that.”

“So as you’ve said, nothing good has come of it, certainly not in your life.”

Ted’s attorney rose. “Objection. This line of questioning is leading nowhere.”

“You began this line of questioning, counsel. Sit down,” Ramirez said.

Abe continued as he paced across the floor, “So you’ve never attended any of Mr. Guthrie’s performances?”

“Certainly not.”

“And if you did so, you would find nothing good in them—no comfort, no laughter, no joy, no self-­reflection, no balm of the soul?”

Patrick shot a look to Abe to get on with it.

“In other words, as certain as you are that Mr. Guthrie’s love of the theater took your daughter from you, you are just as certain that you have never been touched by it.”

“Of course not. I don’t have to put my hand on a Bible to swear to that.”

Abe turned and looked to the defendant’s table. “Then the defense calls Patrick Guthrie to the stand.”