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The baby monitor chirped and crackled. A second later came Genevieve’s now familiar wails.
“I have to go,” Amanda said.
“Good luck, honey. Don’t think about the Arnouts too much. Remember, I love you. And this is a precious time.”
“I love you, too.”
Amanda hurried back down the hall to find Sam in the nursery. He sat in the rocking chair with their baby in his arms and rocked her gently back to sleep. Amanda took a moment to instill this image in her mind forever: her handsome husband with her adorable baby.
“Why don’t you go rest?” Sam whispered. “I got it from here.”
Amanda pressed her hand over her chest. “I’m going to lie down and relax.”
Amanda made her way to her room. She lay down and listened to the thunderous quiet of the house.
But a moment later, she sat up, grabbed her phone, and searched online for an image of Hedwig and Clarice Arnout, Hilton’s half-French, half-German father and French mother. Her heart pounded so much that she swore it would burst through her chest. The photograph showed them at a gala event for the governor of Massachusetts—no surprise there. Clarice was a beauty with a mean-spirited expression on her face and a waist she could probably fit her hands around. Hedwig was overweight but regal, like an English king from an older century. Amanda had met them several times as she’d prepared Hilton’s case. They’d spoken to her very sweetly, their words like honey. They’d been so sure she was the one to get them out of “Hilton’s silly situation.” Were they really trying to destroy her career? She was only twenty-six years old! She’d just gotten started!
Maybe it was madness after childbirth or just the bravery that comes with being a mother, but Amanda wanted to handle this head-on, so she wrote an email to Hedwig.
Dear Hedwig Arnout,
I hope this email finds you well. The Massachusetts Board of Bar Overseers recently contacted me to announce that my license to practice law has been suspended. I am not the sort of person to make accusations, but I am the sort of lawyer to take responsibility for my actions. That said, if you have any specific queries regarding my work representing your son in his recent case, please let me know. May I remind you that I negotiated your son’s prison sentence down from five years to one.
If it’s all the same to you, I’d like my career back. I worked my entire life to build it.
Best,
Amanda Harris
Before she could stop herself, she sent it, then fell asleep. She came to with a start fifteen minutes later when she heard Sam knock on the door.
“Are you okay?”
Amanda sat upright. “I’m fine! I’m fine.” But was she? A second later, reality thudded into her gut. She’d sent a horrible email to a very powerful man. She’d called his bluff.
“I was thinking about making popcorn,” Sam said. “Would you like some?”
“Um?” Amanda’s thoughts raced. She reached for her phone, praying that the email hadn’t actually sent. Perhaps it lingered in the Drafts folder and could be easily deleted.
But no. There it was in Sent.
Hedwig had already replied.
“Amanda? Popcorn?”
“Sure!” Amanda called. “Thank you.” Her finger paused before clicking on the email. “She’s asleep?”
“Sleeping like a baby,” Sam joked.
“Ha. Ha.” Amanda’s smile erupted at the memory of her baby, fast asleep in that soft and pastel-painted nursery, but she bit her lower lip to tame herself. She had to deal with a professional emergency. For whatever reason, she’d decided to wrangle the beast from the comforts of her bath.
Perhaps the pregnancy and new mother hormones really had made her insane.
Dear Amanda,
So nice to hear from you. Thank you for this cordial message.
You know very well I wasn’t pleased with your representation of my son. Just now, I sit with my wife one island away from yours and watch the sunset and imagine the horrors our boy is going through in that prison in Upstate New York. Nothing sways me from my belief that this is entirely your fault. Your mistake. And mistakes have consequences.
