Christian Worthy
His wife's reaction to her mother's will flabbergasted Eric. He knew from a chance remark she'd let fall here and there that she wasn't exactly big on homosexuals, but he'd had no idea she felt this vehemently about it. While he had done his best to keep up appearances, giving a polite nod in Jay and Baron's direction, which Liv fortunately didn't see, she'd stomped out of the office without so much as a goodbye to the attorney. Now, in the car on their way back to the hotel, she seemed unable to drop the subject. She kept talking on and on about it. He was getting irritated.
"I'm glad now they won't let us stay in the house," she said. "Can you imagine living next door to those people?"
"Can't this wait till we're alone, Liv? I'd have thought that after the fuss you made about not wanting the children to hear—"
"I haven't said a word about you know what."
"No, but it disturbs them. That explosion in the lawyer's office, for example."
"I couldn't help it. I'm sorry. It caught me off guard."
"Surprised me, too," Eric began. "Not that it's unlike her to leave something to char—"
"Not just the will. Those men."
"You mean you didn't realize…?"
"You mean you
did
?"
"It's kind of hard to miss. Didn't you see the look the preacher gave them?"
"At the cemetery? I thought that was for the black man."
It had never occurred to Eric that a person could be both prejudiced against gays and at the same time blind to their presence. It made sense, though, now that he thought about it. "I suppose it must've seemed worse to him, their being a mixed gay couple," he said.
Liv shuddered. "Just picturing—"
"Don't!" Eric interrupted. Then, in a calmer voice: "I do wish you'd let this slide, Liv. Just see how upset it's got you."
"Oh, I'll calm down eventually."
"I hope so," he said doubtfully. "Maybe when we're back home you'll see things in a different perspective."
"I'm not going home. I'm staying here until I've seen this through."
"But we have a plane in three days!"
"We can cancel."
"I'm going home then, Liv. I have my job, you know. I dropped everything at a moment's notice to come here."
"Then go."
"I thought you didn't like Macon!"
"I don't, but I have a job to do here."
"It doesn't need you here to get done. What about your real job?"
"You mean my
paying
job? I'll ask for a leave of absence. Or I'll find another. This is more important."
"More important than our lives?"
"This situation is part of our lives, and I'm going to see it through."
"And the kids?"
"The kids will stay with me. It'll be no problem caring for them on my own. I'll have a lot of time on my hands."
Eric didn't even try to hide his exasperation. "A
lot
of time. You know this won't get cleared up in a couple of days."
"I know. The first thing we need to do is hire a lawyer."
"I couldn't agree with you more."
* * * *
They searched the Yellow Pages for a large firm specializing in probate.
"Well, who shall we go with?" Eric asked.
Liv opted for Christian Worthy. "The name sounds promising," she said.
Eric grunted. "Baron's last name is Christ," he remarked dryly.
She made an appointment to see the lawyer the following afternoon. She thought Mr. Worthy very professional, very knowledgeable. On his suggestion, she had stopped by his office in the morning to sign a retainer, and he already had a copy of the will in hand, obtained from her mother's attorney.
On the other hand, he was not very encouraging. He listened carefully to her side of the story, the expression on his face becoming ever more doubtful as she went on. "Do you think you can help me?" she asked.
"We can try. I suspect the local zoning ordinance might not allow putting that kind of home in the neighborhood."
"Excellent!"
"Mind you, in that case the court might allow them to sell it and use the proceeds to buy a house somewhere else. Contesting charitable donations almost never succeeds."
"But—"
"It doesn't matter what charity. The one exception is when the testator has come under the influence of a cult and leaves all her money to it. That doesn't seem to be the case here. Would you say your mother had become alienated from her friends and family? Had she broken off all relations with you?"
"I'm sure those men next door must have manipulated her, poisoned her mind. I can't think of any other explanation. It goes against everything she believed, everything she stood for."
"That will be hard, if not impossible to prove. She didn't leave the house to them, after all. And people's values do change, after all. It's not the same world you lived in when you were growing up. Do you know of anything in these men's background that would indicate they're not respectable, upstanding members of the community?"
"What a question! You know what they are!"
"I meant something in the nature of criminal records."
"I think one of them spent some time on the streets before one of those so-called safe houses took him in. I wouldn't be surprised if he stole or prostituted himself to survive."
Another reason in favor of safe homes
, Worthy reflected. The kids weren't the only ones at risk. "Then he'd have been underage and his record would be sealed," he pointed out. "And his having lived in one only makes him more suited to carry out your mother's instructions." In his opinion, Mrs. Redding didn't stand much of a chance, and it was his duty to tell her so. He would have done it even if the case were more to his liking.
"Could we petition to have the house left to some other… charity?" The catch in her voice showed it went against the grain to call that kind of organization a charity.
"For example?"
"A group that cures them."
"You'd find yourself in the center of a maelstrom. Have you any idea what a hornets' nest that would stir up?"
"A home for unwed mothers, then."
"Doubtful. We have three of those in Macon. Here's what I'll do. I'll run a background check on those men and see what I come up with. I must ask you this, though. Can you think of any other reason, any reason at all, why your mother might have chosen this particular charity?"
"No," she said firmly.
"Then I'll get to work on it."
"How long do you think this will take?"
"Months, probably."
"Could I possibly get permission to move into the house while this drags on? It's wearing, living in a hotel with three small children."
"There's no reason for you to stay in Macon."
"I want to stay. I'll go crazy living on the other side of the country, wondering what's going on. I'd drive you crazy with my phone calls."
He thought she probably would anyway.
"I'll see what I can do," he said.
The interview left Liz feeling unsettled but no less determined. She wondered if she ought to have told the lawyer about Ronnie. She brushed that uncertainty aside. Why bother? Ronnie had been dead for years, and their secret dead and buried with him. All anyone had ever known was that he'd run away; not one of their neighbors suspected why.
Judge Harris Cole
The morning Eric was due to leave, Christian Worthy phoned to tell them that when he filed to contest the will the probate judge ordered that Liv surrender the key to the house.
"Why?" she asked.
"Because you're disputing her not leaving it to you."
"But I was going to give the place a thorough cleaning," she protested. "If we let it stay as it is much longer it'll be unsalvageable!"
"I'll set up a meeting with the judge as soon as possible. We can probably get him to agree to allow you to clean it if Marker doesn't object, and I don't see why he would. I'll get in touch with him right away. Maybe we can make a joint request."
He called back an hour later to inform her she was expected in court at four thirty. Not only did Marker not object, he thought it was to everyone's advantage to get the place cleaned as soon as possible, and Jay and Baron concurred. "In fact, you can move in as far as they were concerned," Worthy said.
"I only want to clean," Liv insisted.
"Just saying. You wouldn't be allowed to live there even if you wanted to. The law is absolutely clear on that score."
When Liv told her husband about the court appearance, he exclaimed, "Already?"
"He's not hearing the case, Eric. I need his permission to keep the key so I can clean Mama's house."
"Frankly, I'm surprised the attorney didn't advise you to drop the whole thing. I thought he'd try to talk you out of it."
"He isn't giving me much hope, but he says there are a few angles worth pursuing. He's going to run a background check on the two."
It sounded as if they meant to play dirty, but Eric kept the thought to himself. "So long as you're back in time for me to catch my plane," he said. He had a seven o'clock flight.
"The lawyer says it shouldn't take long."
"Good luck. These things always do."
* * * *
Harris Cole had had his clerk contact Evan Marker to get the details of the will. The reasons behind the woman's objections were clear enough, and he vaguely sympathized with her, but there wasn't much he could do about it. A distasteful business, all in all. If the media got hold of it—and the gay rights groups would make sure they did—it could create quite a stink nationwide. Thunder from the pulpit, editorials in the liberal press, interference from politicians, picketing, vigils, protests, everything a probate judge usually gets to avoid and most definitely not the kind of brouhaha he welcomed this close to retirement. Hardly worth an insignificant piece of property of only moderate value. He already regretted having agreed to hear the woman's petition. On the other hand, since none of the interested parties objected to her entering the premises…
Her lawyer, Christian Worthy, made a formal request that his client be allowed to clean her mother's house. The premises were unsanitary, he explained, her dead body having sat in the living room with eight cats for over a week until it was found, and she didn't have air-conditioning.
"I'll allow this much," he ruled. "Your client may enter and clean the house, but first she must go there in the company of her mother's attorney and make a complete inventory of its contents. She will, of course, have to cover the costs out of pocket."
"Costs?" the woman asked.
"His time, Mrs. Redding," Worthy whispered.
"Once the inventory has been submitted to me," Judge Cole continued," she may go there alone to clean or hire someone to help her. I'll go further. She may, if she so chooses, pack its contents in cartons for eventual shipping, but under no circumstances are they to be removed from the premises until I or another judge have ruled on the validity of the will."
He hoped it would be another judge.
"Once it's cleaned, can I move in with my children until a decision is handed down?" the woman interrupted.
The judge cut her short. "You are not to address the court unless I ask you to. You are represented by counsel," he remonstrated, adding, "And my answer is 'Absolutely not'."
Worthy hastily apologized for his client's lapse before explaining the situation to her. "I'm sorry, but the law doesn't make exceptions for personal convenience, and the house is precisely that item in the will which is being contested."
Harris Cole didn't need to be told why she wanted permission to live in the house. He understood perfectly: Cooped up in a hotel room with three young children for no one knew how long. Blah blah blah. That was her decision. These things took time. If people weren't willing to be patient, they should leave well enough alone and bow to the wishes of someone who had gone to the trouble of making a proper and airtight will. Yes, airtight, as far as he knew, like it or not. The whole thing was at best a colossal waste of time.
Mrs. Heymer, the court stenographer, was staring at them, appalled.
What on earth is eating her?
Cole wondered.
She knows what the law says
. Then he remembered she belonged to Pastor Rich's church. He should have dealt with the matter in chambers. He'd better have a word with her before she went home and tell her to keep it under wraps. It wouldn't hurt to make the Redding woman some concessions, either.
He threw her a crumb.
"Mr. Worthy," he said, "since Mrs. Redding will probably want to have her children with her when she cleans, your client may also use the stove and store groceries in the refrigerator." Then he brought his gavel down on the bench to signal the end of the hearing, something he never did in this kind of case. He felt somewhat sorry for the woman, going through all that heartache and expense when nothing but disappointment awaited her. Well, she'd brought that on herself.
On herself and on us
, he thought as he left the courtroom.
A lot of pointless busy work for everyone involved
. Only the Lambda lawyer would consider it worth the effort. (Lambda would certainly be providing the lawyer who'd represent Christ and Franklin.) Ought he to advise her to drop her suit and then recuse himself? A tempting option, but there was still time for that.
Jessie
"How did it go?" Eric asked. He didn't sound sincerely interested. He'd finished packing his bags and was obviously itching to get to the airport and back to Idaho.
"The judge says I can clean the house and put everything in boxes, but he won't let me live there until the case is decided one way or the other."
"I thought you didn't want to live next door to those people."
"I changed my mind."
"I wish you'd change your mind about more than that."
"I know that, and I won't. I think I can win this, Eric. Mr. Worthy checked, and a group home there would be in violation of the zoning laws."
"I'm sure there's a way around that. I doubt it will stop anyone."
"Can't you at least
try
to be supportive?"
"Just being realistic."
The phone rang. "You get it," Eric said. "It's probably more lawyers."
"Mrs. Redding?" a voice said. "My name is Jessie. Er… you saw me in court today. I was the stenographer."
"Yes?"
"I wanted to tell you how distressed I am. I mean, how Judge Cole refused to let you move into your mother's house. Your house! It seems so unfair to make you and your children stay in a hotel."
"Thank you, but there isn't much I can do about it, is there?"
"Well, that's what I wanted to talk to you about. You see, I talked it over with my husband, and he agrees we should ask you stay with us until this business is taken care of. We have a very large house, and there's just the two of us."
"You're very kind, but I wouldn't want to intrude."
"Oh, but you wouldn't be intruding. We love children and haven't been able to have any of our own. And we've a finished basement you can use as an apartment—two little bedrooms, your own bath, a large play area for the children. There aren't any toys or children's books, but we're close to the library, and we do have a television and stereo set down there."
"But I don't even know you!"
"We could meet, couldn't we? How about y'all come have dinner with us tonight?"
"I don't know. I'll have to ask my husband. We never do anything without consulting each other."
Liv glanced back and smiled sheepishly at Eric, fully aware she had brushed aside all his objections to contesting the will and would go on disregarding what he said.
"What was that all about?" he asked when she got off the phone.
Liv knew Eric wouldn't like the idea, but she had her way. She didn't have to wheedle or browbeat him; her arguments were unanswerable. The children needed more room. The least they could do was meet these people and see the accommodations. They had a dog; the kids would like that. She'd insist on paying them something, of course, even if they refused. How could they be anything but nice people when they'd made such a generous offer? He could change his flight plans. He'd only miss another half day's work if he caught a morning plane. What would Jessie and her husband think if Eric didn't come to see where his wife and children would be living and with whom? How could he be so selfish? "Don't you go making up your mind in advance," she said. "Give them a fair shake."
They brought a box of chocolates. Eric had suggested wine, but Liv knew Georgia better. They might not drink alcohol. As it turned out, Dennis, Jessie's husband, did—beer. He was a burly man with a very pink face. His right arm hung useless by his side, the result of an accident on the job. Jessie pointed out that since he no longer worked there'd always be someone to watch the children if Liv had to see her lawyer or go to court.
Their hospitality was impeccable, yet Liv saw at once that her husband felt uncomfortable there. She, on the other hand, felt right at home. She'd grown up in Macon. She enjoyed the familiar Southern home cooking, and the country western music on the radio, the tacky artwork on the wall and the Christian magazines on the coffee table didn't bother her as they did him. She didn't even mind their all holding hands to say grace before the meal. Maybe they only did it because they had company. Eric hated it, though.
They sent the kids downstairs to play with the dog after supper so the adults could discuss the arrangements. The space Jessie and Dennis had set aside for them was more than adequate. The twins could share the double bed in one bedroom and Liv and Li'l Eric sleep in the singles in the other. Most of their talk revolved around homosexuality, however. That made Liv happy; she could unburden herself. Eric hadn't had the patience to hear her out.
* * * *
"I think I'll accept," Liv said on the way home.
"I know you will, but I don't like it."
Eric had suspected all along that the Heymers' invitation had more to do with homophobia than with Liv needing a place to live. He couldn't imagine two men going to bed together, and the thought of what they must do there turned him off, but what these people had said about them was just as abhorrent.
"Why ever not?" she asked.
"Because they're typical rednecks. You saw the guy's face—razor burn. His wife must've made him shave for company."
"They have names, you know," Liv snapped.
Eric ignored her. "And I thought I'd vomit if they said 'Christian' or 'family values' one more time. I don't like the idea of our kids being exposed to that."
"What's so horrible about Christianity and family values?"
"You know exactly what I mean: harping on it. What's that line in Shakespeare about the lady protesting too much?"
"I liked what Jessie said about keeping it out of the papers, how the gays would have a field day if they found out. In other words, harp on it."
"You told me keeping it out of the papers was the judge's idea."
"You're always finding fault. You're just prejudiced against Southerners. I'm one too, don't forget."
So I'm learning
, Eric thought. It rankled that his opinion apparently didn't matter to her. Never do anything without consulting each other? Hah! Had she always been like that?