Chapter 4

Luke

Six months later, Luke stood beside Lucy before a justice of the peace.  Only her trusted legal assistant, Carrie Malroy, attended.  Family would have wanted a church wedding with social prominence and Lucy was determined never to allow family to take charge of her wedding, or, for that matter, anything in her life.  And neither she nor Luke wanted to delay.  Luke's parents were too infirmed to travel and most of his siblings had no time to prepare to exit their lives, and the only one who could wouldn’t for a second marriage.  So the other required witnesses were strangers.

They honeymooned in St. Thomas, Virgin Islands.  Every morning Lucy would wake and say "I love you," and Luke would tell her how lucky he was to have her as his best friend.  Then she worked in the room, telephoning her office and clients.  Before noon she bookmarked her required reading for later in the day, and they would stroll on the beach, boat around the island, or play tennis on the hotel's courts.  Luke thought she was a miracle.  In comparison to Samantha, she was vibrant and interesting.  Of course she was seriously driven to succeed, but he continued to find that stimulating in ways he could not explain.  And during their time on the island, Luke never considered that she had any reason for marrying him other than just caring.  She did care.  He would always believe that.  When Peter Townsend called to give news that the DA had decided to drop the charges of manslaughter, the relieved smile on Lucy's face was a welcome sight.  He held her as tears of relief streamed down her face.

On the fourth day, Lucy lay full-length face up in a bikini in an extended folding chair flattened almost horizontal.   Luke read a book sitting in a chair next to her, his head down, his legs crossed.

Lucy's eyes were closed, but she wasn’t asleep.  A wizened old black man close to five feet high, barefoot and wearing shorts, a tee shirt and a backward baseball cap, approached Lucy.

“You new marrieds?” he asked.

“Get lost,” she said keeping her eyes closed.

Luke sat up and put both feet on the sand.  A towel slipped off his leg where a nine-inch scar still healed red and thick on his thigh.

“A gift for the bride,” the black man said.

“Go away.  I’m not a bride.”

”You too young for bride,” he said grinning. 

“You’ve got nothing I’d want,” Lucy said.  She screwed the top back on a sunscreen tube. 

“Why you speak so mean?” the man said. 

“Look,” she said, “we’ve come a long way to be alone.” 

“Where you come from?” 

“The hotel,” she said. 

“No, in the States,” the man said. 

“Ohio.  Akron, Ohio,” she said. 

“My wife and me go to states once.  Florida.”  He smiled.  He had crooked teeth and an incisor missing and she looked away. 

“Pester someone else,” she said. 

“Here,” the man said digging into his shorts’ pocket and handing a small rectangular slip of purple paper to Luke.  “You be happy, you two,” the man said. 

“What the hell is that?” she asked. 

Luke stared at the slip.  “Bluebeard’s Restaurant.  Buy one entree, get one free as long as it’s cheaper or equal in value.” 

“That's ridiculous,” she said.  "You buy two entrees you pay the price of the more expensive." 

"Don't be technical." 

"It's a scam." 

"Harmless," he said.  "Just poorly worded." 

"Get out," she said sharply to the man. 

"Wait," Luke said.  He reached for his wallet under a towel and took out a ten-dollar bill, which he handed to the man. 

"God bless," the man said turning and shuffling away. 

She waited until the man was out of hearing.  "Don't ever deride me in front of others," she said, her eyes hard with anger. 

"I wasn't deriding you,' Luke said. 

"Don't do it.  Giving that trash money." 

"He's poor," Luke said.    

She turned away bending down to pick up her towel and beach gear.  "I'm going to shower." 

"I'll come with you." 

She looked at Luke.  "I want to be alone, Luke." 

"Don't, Luce. " 

She paused.  "It's more than just that creep," she said. 

"What then?" 

But she turned and left without speaking. 

Luke sat back down.   He turned pages but couldn't read and stayed alone on the beach for another two hours, uncertain about invading Lucy's privacy.

At seven the next morning they were showered and ready for breakfast before a morning on the beach when Carrie Malory from Lucy’s office called.  Lucy was cheerful without a hint of irritation. 

Luke sat on the bed while Lucy stood near the bedside nightstand holding the phone, listening intently.  She hung up.  The memory of their argument on the beach lurked in both of them and neither was willing to mention it for fear of anger returning.  

“I’ve got to go back,” she said. 

He stood.  “Tomorrow?” 

“I’ve got to try for today.” 

She threw things into a single small suitcase, yanking clothes off hangers, laying out the gray business suit she wanted to wear back. 

“What’s going on?” 

“A chance for lead defense.” 

She was pushing down on the suitcase lid, fumbling with the latch.  “Some evangelist accused of rape,” she added. 

“Guilty?” 

"Probably.  But he still will need defense." 

"Not pro bono?" he asked, miffed that work was coming before honeymoon. 

"Not pro bono."  

"Lucrative?" he asked. 

She stopped packing.   

"Probably."  Her lips were a tight line.  "Is that all right with you?" she said. 

She must still be upset about yesterday.  The poor guy on the beach. 

"It's an aggressive question," she said.  "As if I'm some sleaze ball shyster, or something." 

"I didn't say that." 

"Oh, yeah.  That's how you sounded." 

"I just don't know how you defend those you think are guilty." 

"Everyone has a right to defense.  We're trained to be objective." 

"A sex offender, for Christ's sake," he said angrily.          

"It's the way justice works," she said.  "I serve the system." 

"What about the victims?" 

"They're represented." 

He turned away. 

"Don't be so self-righteous," she said.  "You're no angel." 

"There has to be a better way to make a living!" he said.  

She slammed down the suitcase top.  "I married a jerk." 

He walked out onto the small balcony, closing the French doors behind him,  and did not move to come back into the room until she had left.

 

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