The House on Hope Street - By Danielle Steel Page 0,79

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The only things Liz and the children did to acknowledge the holiday were hang ornaments on the tree, and bake Christmas cookies, and all she did was pray that the holiday would soon be over.

She thought about taking them to ski between Christmas and New Year's, but they weren't in the mood for that, and they decided to stay home, as they all sank slowly into the quicksand of painful memories that engulfed them.

She was sitting at her desk in the office the week before Christmas when a client called, sounding breathless, and asked if she could come in to see her. Liz had some free time that afternoon, and made an appointment for her. And what she heard when the woman came in didn't please her. The woman's husband was endangering her six-year-old son, he had taken him on the back of his motorcycle on the freeway without a helmet, flew in a helicopter with him, although he'd only just gotten his license, and let him ride his bike to school, in heavy traffic, and again without a helmet. The client wanted Liz to take visitation away from him, and to further make the point, she wanted to go after his business. But as soon as she said it, it had a familiar ring to Liz, and she shook her head firmly.

“We're not going to do that to him,” Liz said without a moment's hesitation. “I'll ask for mediation, and we'll get them to work out a list of things that he can't do with your son. But we're not going to take him to court, and we're not going after his business.” She said it so vehemently that the client looked at her with suspicion.

“Why not?” For a minute, she thought her husband had gotten to her.

“Because the price is too high,” Liz said simply. She had lost ten pounds in the last three weeks, and she looked tired and pale, but she looked so definite and so grim that the woman listened. “I had a case like that once before, not involving a child. But the only way to get the man's attention was by freezing his assets and his business.”

“Did it work?” the woman asked hopefully, it sounded good to her, but not to Liz.

“No, it didn't. He killed his wife, himself, and my husband last year on Christmas Day. If you hit your husband too hard, he may hurt you or your son. And I'm not going to be a party to that.” There was a long silence between them as the woman nodded.

“I'm sorry.”

“Thank you, so am I. Now here's what we are going to do.” They made a list of dangerous activities that he wouldn't be allowed to do, and Liz called the court-appointed mediator while the woman sat there. But the mediation office was swamped and the first appointment they could give her was on January eleventh. It was three and a half weeks away, and to help the situation along, Liz agreed to write him a letter of warning in the meantime.

“It won't do anything,” the woman looked at Liz bleakly. “If you don't hit him over the head with a hammer, he won't get it.”

“If we do, maybe you or your son will,” Liz repeated. “And I know you don't want that.” It was an impressive threat, and the woman left Liz's office feeling helpless. But at least Liz felt she hadn't jeopardized her client or her son when she went home that night, and the kids finally seemed in better spirits.

It had been the last day of school that day, and Carole had promised to take the four younger ones skating. Peter and his new girlfriend had a date for dinner and a movie. And Liz was looking forward to a quiet evening alone when the phone rang at nine-thirty. The voice on the other end was hysterical, and it took her a minute to recognize it. It was the client she had seen that afternoon, for whom she had scheduled the mediation. And to give her a sense of security, she had given her her home phone number. The woman's name was Helene, and she sounded nearly incoherent.

“Helene, calm down, and try to tell me what happened.” It took more than five minutes to understand the story clearly. Her husband, Scott, had taken their son Justin joyriding on the hills in San Francisco on his motorcycle. She wasn't sure if he'd been drunk or not, but it was