collectively come to the conclusion that she already had come to: The only way to find out more is to look back into my father's life.
Laurie thinks I should drop it, that there's nothing to be gained by going further. The unspoken concern is that there's something to be lost, that my father did something to acquire that money that was so untoward that he could not bring himself to tell anyone about it or even touch it for thirty-five years.
The prospect of going further is frightening, but I have no choice. I don't want to feel like I didn't know a big piece of my father, though the evidence clearly shows that I didn't. We discuss how to proceed, and I'm thinking that I want to take the lead in this rather than Laurie.
The phone rings and we wait for Edna to answer it. By the fourth ring it is clear that she's not going to; 48 across must be requiring all of her considerable powers of concentration. I pick up the receiver and am jolted by the voice of Judge Henderson's clerk. Hatchet wants to see me about the Miller case. It can only mean that the decision has come down from the Court of Appeals.
I grab my jacket and start heading for the door, but Laurie walks along with me and asks if we're still having dinner tonight. It's the moment of truth, and I almost choke on my tongue.
“Laurie … Nicole's back in town … we … the situation …” The actual words, when spoken, are even wimpier than they look on paper.
Her tone is instantly challenging. “Talk, Andy. Nicole's back in town and that means what?”
“I'm not sure. Part of me says it's over and part of me feels like I should see where it goes.”
“And you think I'm going to hang around while your parts fight it out? Forget it, Andy.”
“I know this is difficult … but if you'll just try and understand …” I'm dying here and she shows no sign of letting me off the hook.
“Oh, I understand. I understand that your wife, the wife who walked out on you, has decided she might give you a second chance, and you're jumping at it. Well, you can jump through this particular hoop without me.”
I start to blabber some more, but she dismissively points out that Hatchet Henderson doesn't like to be kept waiting. Her saying this is both true and at the same time an act of mercy, and I'm able to leave with what little dignity I have left.
Even though I'm not actually going into the courtroom, but only into the judge's chambers, I decide against risking pissing off the superstition god, and I stop at Cal Morris's newsstand. I've already gotten the paper today, so I pick up a Baseball Weekly, which I will never read. Cal and I go through our conversation in a perfunctory fashion; I'm too nervous to hear what the judge will say to put my heart into it.
Judge Walter Henderson, better known as Hatchet Henderson, is a large, imposing hulk of a man who stays in shape by adhering to a no-carbohydrate, no-fat, all-lawyer diet. He terrorizes all who appear before him, though me less than most. I've developed the ability to step back and view him as a caricature of the “mean judge,” and my reaction is usually amusement. He instinctively knows that, and it drives him crazy.
Hatchet absolutely refuses to engage in the small talk that constitutes social relationships between normal human beings. “Hello” is to him meaningless and wasteful chitchat; every word he says or allows himself to hear must provide information. Right now that's fine with me, because information is what I'm waiting for. I'm going to learn whether Willie Miller is going to die or be granted another trial.
Hatchet's clerk ushers me into his chambers, which is famous for how dark Hatchet keeps it. The drapes are drawn and the Great One reads a brief at his desk in the sparse light of a table lamp.
He doesn't look up, but he knows I'm there. He also knows that I know the game, which is to stand there like an idiot and wait for him to speak. It can go on for a while, and this time it goes on for ten excruciating minutes.
Finally, he talks without looking up. “Speak.”
I'm now free to open my mouth. “Nice to see you again, Judge.”
“Sorry about your father.” For him that is an amazing