and he said as much to Alex before she had a chance to answer his question.
“As far as I know, that's not a crime yet. And, no, I won't be on the team, but I'll watch from the sidelines.” He knew it was more than he deserved from her, and he didn't argue.
“Thank you. We're going to be closing the office in the next week or two. Almost everyone's gone now.” It had taken exactly three days to empty all the offices, and no one wanted to be associated with them for a moment longer than they had to. They were a pariah. “I guess after that, it'll be all preparation for the trial.” And then, out of nowhere, “I'm going to be selling the penthouse. I'm not going to need it now,” he had really bought it for Daphne, “and frankly, I need the money. Besides, if I go to jail, you don't need the headache of liquidating that for me. I'm going to stay at the Carlyle.”
“Annabelle will like that.” She had tried to sound encouraging, but like her illness the year before, the prognosis was not great. He had some tough stuff to go through. He would be stripped to the bone, and bared for all to see, all his sins, and stupidities, and failings, and then he would be at the mercy of twelve good men, or women, a jury of his peers, who would determine his future. It was pretty scary.
And then she remembered that it was almost the Labor Day weekend. “Are you still taking Annabelle?”
“I'd like to.” He was going to be alone with her, and it was going to be a relief not to have to fight with Daphne. He didn't think they'd go anywhere. He just wanted to be with Annabelle and enjoy her.
Carmen brought her in to the city and when he picked her up Alex was out. She didn't see him again in the office that week, although she knew he'd been in to see Phillip. She was trying to stay out of it officially, but still keep an eye on things, although from a distance. And she had promised Sam that she would sit through the trial with him, and go to as many meetings before that as she could. But she didn't want Phillip to feel that she was crowding him, or interfering.
And by the time she and Brock left for East Hampton for the weekend, on Friday afternoon, they were both exhausted. He was still annoyed that she hadn't taken the bull by the horns with Sam, and pressed him for an immediate divorce, and she thought Brock was being unreasonable and childish. They had a big fight about it again on Friday night, and for the first time in her five-month affair with him, they both went to bed angry.
But in the morning, as they woke up, he reached over and pulled her close to him and told her he was sorry.
“I'm sorry I'm such an idiot about all this, he just scares me,” he said, and Alex turned to look at him in amazement.
“Sam? Why, for heaven's sake? The poor guy's practically in jail. He's got plenty of problems of his own, what's to scare you?”
“History. Time. Annabelle. It doesn't matter what kind of sonofabitch the guy was to you last year, he's still your husband, and he had seventeen years with you before that. That carries a lot of weight. It's hard to fight that.” He looked at her knowingly, and she couldn't deny it, but she loved him too, and she wanted him to know it.
“You don't have to worry, Brock,” she said holding him close to her, and smoothing his hair with her hand, like a child. Sometimes she felt light-years older, but she was touched by what he was feeling, and he was right in some ways. The things he talked about had bound her to Sam for close to two decades. But Brock had a history with her too, a history of incredible kindness, and she couldn't ignore that either. Besides, she loved him. “Don't worry about him. I'll get it all worked out after the trial. It just didn't seem right to do it before that. Like his moving out before I finished chemo. I'm sure he wanted to, but even as lousy as he was at the time, he stayed till I was finished. Sometimes it's just a question of basic decency and good manners.” She smiled