Julia #2
She is right; memories of the articles in the ProJo swim into my mind. It was a big public relations move for Rhode Island.
“Do you think he wonders what he did to get himself sent away?”
We are trained, as guardians ad litem, to see the signs of depression. We know how to read body language, and flat affect, and mood swings. Anna’s hands are clenched around the metal railing. Her eyes go dull as old gold.
Either this girl loses her sister, I think, or she’s going to lose herself.
“Julia,” she asks, “would it be okay if we went home?”
· · ·
The closer we get to her house, Anna distances herself from me. A pretty nifty trick, given that the physical space between us remains unaltered. She shrinks against the window of my car, staring at the streets that bleed by. “What happens next?”
“I’m going to talk to everyone else. Your mom and dad, your brother and sister. Your lawyer.”
Now a dilapidated Jeep is parked in the driveway, and the front door of the house is open. I turn off the ignition, but Anna makes no move to release her seat belt. “Will you walk me in?”
“Why?”
“Because my mother’s going to kill me.”
This Anna—genuinely skittish—bears little resemblance to the one I’ve spent the past hour with. I wonder how a girl might be both brave enough to instigate a lawsuit, and afraid to face her own mother. “How come?”
“I sort of left today without telling her where I was going.”
“You do that a lot?”
Anna shakes her head. “Usually I do whatever I’m told.”
Well, I am going to have to speak to Sara Fitzgerald sooner or later. I get out of the car, and wait for Anna to do the same. We walk up the front path, past the groomed flower beds, and through the front door.
She is not the foe I’ve built her up to be.
For one thing, Anna’s mother is shorter than I am, and slighter.
She has dark hair and haunted eyes and is pacing.
The moment it creaks open, she runs to Anna.
“For God’s sake,” she cries, shaking her daughter by the shoulders, “where have you been? Do you have any idea—”
“Excuse me, Mrs. Fitzgerald. I’d like to introduce myself.” I step forward, extending my hand. “I’m Julia Romano, the guardian ad litem appointed by the court.”
She slides her arm around Anna, a stiff show of tenderness. “Thank you for bringing Anna home. I’m sure you have lots to discuss with her, but right now—”
“Actually, I was hoping I could speak to you. I’ve been asked by the court to present my findings in less than a week, so if you’ve got a few minutes—”
“I don’t,” Sara says abruptly. “Now isn’t really a good time. My other daughter has just been readmitted to the hospital.” She looks at Anna, still standing in the doorway of the kitchen: I hope you’re happy.
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“I am too.” Sara clears her throat. “I appreciate you coming by to talk to Anna. And I know you’re just doing your job. But this is all going to work itself out, really. It’s a misunderstanding. I’m sure Judge DeSalvo will be telling you that in a day or so.”
She takes a step backward, challenging me—and Anna—to say otherwise. I glance at Anna, who catches my eye and shakes her head almost imperceptibly, a plea to just let this go for now.
Who is she protecting—her mother, or herself?
A red flag unravels across my mind: Anna is thirteen. Anna lives with her mother. Anna’s mother is opposing counsel. How can Anna possibly live in the same home and not be swayed by Sara Fitzgerald?
“Anna, I’ll call you tomorrow.” Then without saying good-bye to Sara Fitzgerald, I leave her house, headed for the one place on earth I never wanted to go.
· · ·
The law offices of Campbell Alexander look exactly the way I’ve pictured them: at the top of a building cast in black glass, at the end of a hallway lined with a Persian runner, through two heavy mahogany doors that keep out the riffraff.
Sitting at the massive receptionist’s desk is a girl with porcelain features and a telephone earpiece hidden under the mane of her hair.
I ignore her and walk toward the only closed door.
“Hey!” she yells. “You can’t go in there! ”
“He’ll be expecting me,” I say.
Campbell doesn’t look up from whatever he’s writing with great fury. His shirtsleeves are rolled up to the elbow. He needs a haircut. “Kerri,” he says, “see if you can find some Jenny Jones transcript about identical twins who don’t know that they—”
“Hello, Campbell.”
First, he stops writing. Then he lifts his head. “Julia.” He gets to his feet, a schoolboy caught in an indecent act.
I step inside and close the door behind me. “I’m the guardian ad litem assigned to Anna Fitzgerald’s case.”
A dog that I haven’t noticed till now takes its place by Campbell’s side. “I’d heard that you went to law school.”
Harvard. On full scholarship.
“Providence is a pretty tight place . . . I kept expecting . . .” His voice trails off, and he shakes his head. “Well, I thought for sure we’d run into each other before now.”
He smiles at me, and I suddenly am seventeen again—the year I realized love doesn’t follow the rules, the year I understood that nothing is worth having so much as something unattainable. “It’s not all that hard to avoid someone, when you want to,” I answer coolly. “You of all people should know.”