nerves needed. But her mouth was very dry. "If I could have some water,
that would be fine."
Moments later, when she had her water and a seat on one side of the long
table, a man from the other group approached her. "We'll be ready to
start soon, Mrs. Boulton. My client should be here momentarily."
Terrence Carpenter, who sat on her left, leaned in when the man left.
"That was Peter Simmons, counsel for SEAA. He'll be deposing you. He'll
introduce you to the others, but I believe the tall dark fellow is the
attorney for Jet-Star Aircraft, the manufacturer, and the man with him
must be its president."
Anne nodded and took a sip of water. She wasn't sure she could do this.
It had been bad enough in the instant when they had looked at her. She
had felt like the guilty party, rather than the one who had been
wronged.
A professional-looking woman entered the room, whispered something to
Peter Simmons, then left, closing the door behind her.
Simmons cleared his throat, "Ladies and gentlemen, let's begin. My
client is delayed and will join us shortly."
The others took their seats. Formal introductions were made, ending with
the stenographer, who would be making transcripts of the meeting. She
was the one who put Anne under oath.
The next fifteen minutes passed harmlessly enough. Peter Simmons posed
questions; Anne answered them. It was much as she had been told to
expect, straightforward questions so innocuous that she was actually
feeling a sense of security.
Then the door opened quietly and Simmons' client slipped into the room.
The lawyer said, "For the record, this is the President of SEAA,
Mitchell D. Anderson, Jr."
The only thing Anne could even begin to appreciate was that all eyes in
the room were momentarily somewhere else. She felt her color drain and
her stomach twist, felt a shaking, then shock, pure shock.
It was Mitch. Wearing an immaculately tailored blue suit. Groomed
impeccably. Tall, well-built, and handsome. Hair neatly brushed, jaw
firm and confident, eyes looking everywhere but at her.
It was Mitch. Head of the airline that she was suing. What had he said,
that he had "other interests" beside real estate? When she had prodded,
he evaded her. Then he had known all along? Had he planned the whole
thing? How naive she had been!
She fought a rising nausea when he crossed the room and took a seat
beside his lawyer, who proceeded to introduce him to the others in the
room. When her name was given, he nodded politely, for all indications a
total stranger meeting her for the first time.
The situation was so unreal, so horrific, that she actually distanced
herself and found the strength to go on. Her voice was more unsteady,
and she didn't dare take a drink of water lest her trembling hand spill
it, but she managed. She kept her eyes on the lawyer, completely
blotting out the man to his right.
When did she meet Jeff? How long had she known him before their
marriage? How long had they been married? Where did his family live?
Her family? How many members in each?
The questions grew more personal. What had Jeff done for a living?
How long had he done it? Annual income? Rising or steady? Did their
parents help them financially? Did they travel? How often and where to?
How much rent did she pay each month?
Had Anne been herself, she would have been annoyed with the questions.
When, after an hour of questions, they took a short break, her lawyer
explained, "He has to establish a lifestyle. He needs to determine the
way you live in order to estimate the value of your loss."
"I lost Jeff! How do you put a dollar sign on that?"
The lawyer shrugged, and when they returned to the table, Anne was on
the hot seat again. Had she loved her husband? Had they been faithful to
one another? What had she done when he was away on business?
Did she have friends? Did she have male friends?
Anne responded in a low voice, willing it to be steady, but she couldn't
hide the shake of the hand she used to wipe away tears.
Mitch whispered something to his lawyer, who shook his head and went on
with a vengeance.
Had Jeff been generous with her? Did he buy her gifts? Did he call her
when he traveled? How often? Did he ever invite her along on business
trips? ,Anne had broken out in a cold sweat, but the questions went on.
"Mrs. Boulton, you were married for seven years. Did you have any
children?"
"No," she whispered. "Why not?"
She was mortified. "We just-didn't have any."
"Did you want a child?"
"Yes! "
"Did your husband want a child?"
"Yes." She brushed at more tears. "Then why-" Mitch cut in. "That's
enough, Peter. She's upset. Is this necessary?"
The lawyer called for a short recess and led Mitch from the room.
Anne bowed her head and put a hand to her forehead. Inhaling deeply, she
tried to steady herself "Are you all right?" her father-in-law asked.
Her plea was a barely audible whisper. "I have to get out of here. How
much longer can this go on?" She reached into her purse for a tissue to
wipe her eyes.
"Not much longer. Try to hold up, Anne. Once this is over, you'll never
have to face it again."
In her heart Anne knew that the agony was just beginning, but she had no
time to dwell on it. Mitch and his lawyer returned to their seats.
The lawyer said, "My client feels strongly that we have all the
information we need. I have no further questions."
"Excuse me," broke in the man who had been introduced as counsel for the
manufacturing company. "If you have nothing more to ask, I do."
His tone was ominous. Clearly, he wasn't having his client go down
without a fight.
Simmons spared Mitch a glance before saying, "Certainly, Mr. Parks, but
try to be brief Mrs. Boulton is under a strain." To Anne, he said, "Are
you up for a few more questions?"
Anne dared a look at Mitch, but his expression was masked. Angry at him,
angry at the world, she turned back to the lawyer and nodded.
Parks picked up where Simmons had left off. "On the matter of children,
we want to know why, after so many years of supposedly wanting them, you
never had them."
Anne stared at the man in astonishment. She couldn't imagine any greater
invasion of her privacy than this.
Terrence Carpenter leaned sideways to explain in a low voice, "They want
to know the extent of your loss in terms of future parenthood. If you
and Jeff wanted a child and he's no longer here to sire it, the loss is
greater. Do you understand?"
She nodded. Yes. She could understand that.
She took a breath. "We wanted to have a child, but it just never ...
happened."
"You mean, you never conceived?"
"I did conceive. TWICE. I miscarried both times." In the silence that
followed, her father-in-law took her hand.
"Did you see doctors?" the lawyer prodded.
"Of course!" Her voice rose. As if the memories weren't painful enough,
the humiliation of airing them before this hostile group was traumatic.
"They couldn't find a cause. They insisted that another time the baby
would be fine."
"And you kept trying?"
"How could I, Mr. Parks? My husband died."
Her words brought silence to the room. Anne sat stiff, clenched her jaw,
and looked nowhere but at the lawyer, who quickly redirected the
discussion.
"Do you date, Mrs. Boulton?" When she frowned, he rephrased the
question. "Have you begun to date since your husband's death?"
The sudden hammering in her chest threatened to rob her of breath. She
refused, absolutely refused to look at Mitch. "No," she whispered.
"I'm sorry, I couldn't hear that, Mrs. Boulton."
She raised her voice. "No." It was a technicality, she knew, but she
didn't care.
"That's hard to believe, if you'll excuse me for saying so. You're an
attractive young woman. Aren't you planning to date?"
"Not now," she said with a bitter laugh. After what Mitch had done, she
was a wasteland inside.
"Wouldn't you like to marry again?"
"No."
Disappointed at not ferreting out information that would help his
client, Parks made a final stab. "You mean, there have been no men in
your life-"
"The woman answered you once, Mr. Parks," Peter Simmons broke in
forcefully. "Unless you have anything different to ask, I suggest we let
Mrs. Boulton go. There are other depositions to be taken, from my client
and yours."
Reluctantly the other lawyer agreed. "Very well. Thank you, Mrs.
Boulton. I have no further questions."
Anne heard nothing of the remaining exchange. Feeling hollowed out, she
let her father-in-law guide her from the room and the building, then
drive her home.
"There, now, that wasn't so bad," he said when they were back at Anne's
place, but her silence must have tipped him off. He went to the liquor
cabinet and returned with a glass of amber liquid. "Drink this. It'll
help."
She downed the liquid quickly, sputtering in reaction to the flame that
scared her throat. Unable to think, much less speak, she let her head
fall back against the sofa and closed her eyes to the world.
"Let me call your mother, Anne. She'll want to be with you."
Anne shook her head once, then again.
"Are you sure? Would you like me to stay awhile?"
She forced her head up and her eyes open. "No. I think I'd like to be
alone."
He looked torn, but he bent and kissed her head. "It's over now. Keep
telling yourself that. It's all over." With a reassuring pat to her
shoulder, he let himself out.
Over. Well, it certainly was that. Anne's heart might have grieved for
what had been lost that day, but her mind simply shut down. Exhausted
and in need of escape, she dozed off within minutes right there on the
sofa. The harsh peal of the phone brought her awake with a jolt.
It was her mother, filled with concern. "Ted just called and explained
what happened. Are you all right?"
"Yes. I'm fine."
"You don't sound it."
"I was sleeping. I'm worn out."
"Would you like me to run over and take you out ... for a late lunch,
perhaps?"
Anne shot a startled look at her watch. It was nearly two-thirty. Lunch
had fallen by the wayside, along with her appetite. The thought of food
turned her stomach.
"Anne?"
"Yes, Mother. No, thanks. I don't feel like eating."
"Was the deposition that bad?"
It couldn't have been worse, she thought. "It was ... difficult."
"Are you sure there's nothing I can do?"
"I'm sure." She forced a smile into her voice, for her mother's sake,
but it vanished the instant the words were out.
The older woman sighed. "All right. I'll call you later. Get some rest."
"I will. And thanks for calling, Mom."
"You're welcome, darling. Bye-bye."
She hung up the phone thinking that, more than anything, she needed a
shoulder to cry on, but the tears refused to come. For a time, she
wandered aimlessly from room to room, window to window. Eventually she
changed into jeans and an oversized shirt and, barefoot, returned to the
living room. She felt every bit the hollow shell she must have looked.
The view from the window held nothing for her. Nor did a glance at the
day's mail. Unable to muster energy, she stretched out on the sofa.
One hour passed, then another, and the enormity of the day's happenings
sank in. Mitch had deceived her. Oh, it might have started innocently
enough in September, but in time she had mentioned the crash, even its
date, and the upcoming trial. He might have spoken up then. He might
have spoken up last night.
She held her stomach tightly. If only she could cry. If only she could
scream. Instead she felt drained, heartbroken, half whole.
The telephone rang again. She tried to ignore it under a layer of
pillows. When it kept up, she realized that if it was her mother again
and she didn't answer, the woman would be on at her door in no time
flat.
With an effort, she dragged herself from the sofa and went to the wall
phone in the kitchen. "Hello?"
"Anne?" His voice was deep and, in spite of everything, dear.
Stunned, she quietly hung up the phone. Wobbly legs took her back to the
sofa. She doubled over there, hugged her knees to her chest, and waited
for him to call again. In a matter of seconds, the phone began to ring.
She let it ring and ring and ring. She rocked back and forth, suffering
with the sound. She tried covering her ears with her hands, but the
ringing seemed to grow louder and louder, more and more harsh, crueler
and crueler.
At last, it ceased. Only then did she break down and weep.
The days that followed were pure hell for Anne. After tears, came
selfrecrimination. She had been naive, she had been irresponsible, she
had been wanton. She should never have returned to the cabin after the
first week. She shouldn't even have stayed there then.
Self-recrimination gave way to anger, and she railed on at Mitch for a
while. She didn't understand how a person could do what he did. And he
kept calling her! She cringed each time the phone rang and answered only
to avoid visits from her family. When it was Mitch, she hung up.
Her seclusion was more total than it had been after Jeff's death,
because no one, but no one, knew about Mitch and her. If her parents
sensed that her reaction to the deposition was extreme, they attributed
it to the final pain of losing Jeff. She let them believe that, rather
