Accidental Life Read online

  An Accidental Life, Digital Edition

  Based on Print Edition

  Copyright © 2013 by Pamela Binnings Ewen

  All rights reserved.

  Printed in the United States of America

  978-0-8054-6432-0

  Published by B&H Publishing Group,

  Nashville, Tennessee

  Dewey Decimal Classification: F

  Subject Heading: ABORTION—FICTION LAWYERS—FICTION TRIALS (HOMICIDE)—FICTION

  Publisher’s Note: The characters and events in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to actual persons or events is coincidental.

  To the Survivors

  Prologue

  Why did she exist, if not for the news that she was waiting to receive? She glanced over her shoulder at the silent telephone on the credenza behind her. Then she turned back to the document on which she’d been struggling to focus her thoughts.

  Rebecca Downer Jacobs mulled the question over as she sat at her desk in her office on the sixteenth floor of the law firm of Mangen & Morris gazing out over the Central Business District of the city of New Orleans. It was May of 1982 and she’d been waiting for this day to arrive for six years. She supposed we are all seekers of some ultimate goal and light—we all have a human desire to understand and find our singular purpose. And then make it count.

  Hers was about to be fulfilled. For now, at least.

  Glancing again at the phone, she willed it to ring.

  In the resulting silence she leaned back, winged her elbows and clasped her hands behind her neck, acknowledging her worst fault—a driving ambition that sometimes tested her patience. And, she was conscious that sometimes she had a tendency to drift toward the glitter, the false lights. But those moments were small rewards, the riches that kept the difficult challenges entertaining. She fought always to keep her primary focus on her latest goal.

  Now, waiting for the phone call that would change her life, she sat gazing through her office window at the windows in the building across the street. She guessed it would be difficult to know when you’d finally made it to the top, because so far, each time Rebecca had won what she’d been seeking, something better popped up ahead and she found herself at yet another crossroads, with yet another decision to make, yet another difficult choice turning her life upside down.

  That’s one reason she and Peter had agreed there’d be no children in their marriage.

  She swung the chair around and stared hard at the phone, blaming it for the churning in her stomach and the billable hours that she was wasting. With a glance at her watch and a sigh, she swiveled back to the desk and picked up the contract that she’d been reading, staring down at the black type. With an exasperated click of her tongue, she reread the paragraph her client had decided that he now wanted to renegotiate. Here she was waiting for that phone call and teetering on the edge of an abyss or great success—and she was forced to try to focus on this minutia.

  If she’d been certain that someone was listening, she would send up a prayer for patience. Still, she wondered if it was true, as Peter sometimes mused, that prayers unspoken might also be heard.

  This made her think of Amalise—Amalise Catoir, her closest friend. There was a woman who knew how to pray. Amalise was certain that when she prayed, someone was listening. Abba, she called him: Father. That relationship between Amalise and her God was tender; one she’d often wished that she had too. But you can’t force your mind to accept ideas that your heart shuts out. Still, she recognized that Amalise derived comforting strength through her faith. And, assisted by her husband, Jude, Amalise seemed to have achieved balance between her career, and her marriage and raising their son, Luke.

  Amalise and Rebecca began their careers practicing law together at Mangen & Morris, the first women lawyers ever hired by the firm. And now, here they were six years later and both up for the same prize. A sudden thought made her heart race. What if Amalise had already gotten the call, and she did not? Surely by now she should have heard.

  The thought made her shut her eyes.

  When she opened them again, the sunshine pouring through the window made her blink. Amalise was her best friend, but there were limits to loyalty. She loved Amalise, in the strange way that friends who are also competitors sometimes do. But if, in fact, the partnership choice today came down to only one between them, she had to win.

  To keep things in perspective, she ticked off prior wins in her mind one at a time. High-school homecoming queen, “most beautiful” girl in her class, and valedictorian at graduation. Magna cum laude at Newcomb College. Her grades in law school at Tulane ranked in the top five percent.

  But, Amalise’s class ranking had been close to hers at Tulane, she had to admit.

  Still, it was Rebecca, and not Amalise, who was described by the magazine New Woman as one of the IT Girls to watch this year. That cover was now framed and displayed on the wall outside the large conference room on the firm’s executive floor. The reminder made her smile. She swiveled back to the desk and looked at the document she’d been reading. Of course she would get the call.

  But—if not?

  The nausea rose again, and she dropped her head into her hands. How would she tell Peter, if the call didn’t come? The husband she adored was certain, unwavering, waiting to congratulate. He was fast approaching his own goal, already a Senior Assistant District Attorney for Jefferson Parish. The Parish, as it was called, equaled the power and wealth of the city of New Orleans, to which it was geographically attached.

  No. She couldn’t think that way. Not yet. For Peter, and for her, their careers were their lives. They’d agreed to this from the very start of their relationship. Together they’d reap the rewards of their hard work, unencumbered; free to travel on a whim, to live the way they wanted to live. A child would be a hindrance. Work, love, and marriage were enough for them, they’d both agreed.

  She glanced at the silent phone. There was too much to lose to fail now.

  Rebecca looked down, twirling her thumbs in her lap as a shadow she’d been forcing from her mind for over a week slipped through to a conscious level. A different problem altogether and one she’d not yet mentioned to Peter.

  Annoyed by the intrusion, she yanked open the bottom drawer in her desk and pulled out a mirror. She touched the corners of her lips, smoothed her hair; told herself that she was worrying for nothing, that such injustice could not exist.

  Just then the telephone rang.

  Part One

  Secrets

  1

  Amalise stuck her head into the office and Rebecca, who’d been lounging with her feet on the desk and hands clasped behind her head, reliving the day, looked up.

  “You certainly look comfortable.” Amalise laughed as she leaned a shoulder against the door jamb. Glancing at her watch, she crossed her arms. “Are you coming? It’s six thirty and I’m going home to dress for tonight. Jude’s already gone for the sitter.”

  Rebecca smiled and, lifting her feet, dropped them to the floor. She sat up straight and ran her hands back through her hair. “I’ve brought clothes,” she said. “Peter’s picking me up here in an hour.”

  Amalise’s face lit. “Can you believe this, Rebecca? We finally made it.”

  Rebecca laughed. She curled her fingers and looked at a cuticle near her thumbnail. This would have to go before tonight. “Always knew we would.”

  When Amalise had gone, she stood up and went to the closet in the corner of her office where she pulled out the clothes she’d brought to work in that morning.

  Changing into the dress she’d bought for this occasion, a lo
ng-sleeved, knee-length black velvet sheath with a V-neckline, she turned, inspecting herself in the long mirror hanging inside the closet door. Comfortable now that partnership was a certainty, she smiled, thinking of the look of sheer joy she’d just seen on Amalise’s face. In her stocking feet she turned one way, then the other, smoothing the velvet over her hips, musing on how different her life was from Amalise’s.

  Amalise was a mother now. She shook her head at the thought of how time had flown since Amalise had first met Luke. He’d been a foster child, an orphan rescued in 1975 during the Vietnam War. She’d married Jude four years ago, and they had adopted Luke, who was somewhere around twelve years old right now. Not much was known about the child’s life before he’d found Amalise and Jude.

  Even with a child, Amalise had been a tough competitor in their race up the ladder at the firm. Fleetingly the thought crossed her mind that perhaps she’d been lucky the firm had chosen both. But Amalise had held on through the years because always, always, Jude was there for her—he had her back. Before their marriage, Jude was a river pilot down at the mouth of the Mississippi. But he’d rearranged his life for Amalise and Luke; had given up one job for another to share the responsibilities at home. And now, today, Jude was a successful contractor in the city, his own boss, with flexible hours, freeing Amalise for the long hours her own work required. Unlike Peter, whose days were scheduled minute by minute on trial dockets.

  Rebecca adjusted the folds on the neckline of her dress and turned away from the mirror, satisfied.

  Both Peter and Jude did have had one thing in common though, a deep certain faith in a God who reaches down and touches our lives. Peter lived his faith through his work, and his relationship with her. But he would never give up his demanding career to take primary responsibility for a child, she knew. He just could not.

  As a rule Rebecca avoided children—they were generally a nuisance. But Luke was an exception. After the war in Southeast Asia, Luke had somehow found his way to New Orleans and into Amalise’s and Jude’s hearts.

  Reaching down into the closet, she picked up the shoes she’d brought to wear tonight. Then, closing the closet door, she sat down in the chair to put them on.

  Yes, Luke was a special kid. Unusually bright—she wondered what his IQ would be if Amalise ever had him tested. She slipped one shoe on, fitting it over her heel. The twelve-year-old was brilliant, Rebecca thought; he had a fascinating talent for understanding logical connections. She slipped on the other shoe. Standing, she strutted in a circle, trying out the shoes. The heels were higher than the ones she wore to work, but they were stylish.

  But children were such a responsibility.

  Glancing at her watch, a slim diamond Patek Philippe that Peter had given her for her birthday last year, she saw there were still a few minutes left. She walked back to her desk and sank down in the chair behind it as the thought thrilled her once again: she’d made it. She smiled in the empty room. Rebecca Downer Jacobs was a partner in the firm of Mangen & Morris, L.L.P.

  Rebecca spun the desk chair around and around, exhilarated, thinking how things change in life over time. She wished her mother could see her now. It suddenly struck her that they hadn’t spoken in over a year, and she made a mental note to try to remedy that. Mama and her new husband, Anthony, had moved out to California a few years ago, to San Francisco. And there, the two seemed to have forgotten that she even existed.

  Well, so what. That was nothing new. She was tempted to leave things just as they were—to let Mama go. The bond between them was smashed long ago—the spinning chair stopped and the images flashed before her eyes: her little sister Elise’s pink bike on the sidewalk before her, suddenly swerving off down the driveway. Elise had loved the feel of swooping down that driveway, the steep slope leading into the street, and sometimes she’d throw her arms out to her sides, balancing, and . . .

  Ah, no. No. Not tonight. Holding onto the edges of the chair seat she closed her eyes and forced the thoughts away. Not tonight. This was a night to be happy, a night for celebration, a night to share her success with Peter.

  Still the memories came, as though they’d been waiting back there in the darkness for just this moment, and they reeled on through her mind. The screaming brakes, the sickening sounds, the pink bicycle blurring, and then . . . everything, everyone just disappearing.

  She opened her eyes, looking off, unseeing. Mama had turned to stone after that day when Elise had died—consumed, completely consumed with her own grief. And there was something else to this. Rebecca had seen it in her eyes; even at the age of ten, she’d known. The accident was her fault. She was riding right behind her little sister; she should have seen the car coming; should have realized what might happen.

  She was responsible for Elise when they were out together.

  She remembered standing in the front room of the dark house a few days later. Elise was gone. The little sister she’d loved so much had simply disappeared. A neighbor was with her then, Mama was somewhere else. After Elise died, Mama was always somewhere else. Rebecca never knew where.

  God had taken Elise, the woman had said.

  And, oh, how she’d hated God for that.

  She rotated her thumbs as the resentment built and burst through her carefully constructed wall. When that happened, Rebecca was an expert at rebuilding. But for now she let herself think of how nice it would be to call Mama out in California and dangle this shining new success before her. See Mama? Elise may be gone, but I am here. I am here and look at what I’ve done! I’m a partner in my law firm, and after that? Who knows . . . maybe politics, or maybe Wall Street, or maybe she’d just hop on one of those shuttles and shoot for the stars.

  Elise is gone. But I am here.

  Perhaps she would make that phone call.

  And then, she shook it off. She’d never been able to compete with her mother’s memories of Elise, and year by year Mama had made that more and more clear, as though in Mama’s eyes, Rebecca’s each success was an affront, a deliberate slap at Elise’s unfulfilled potential.

  Rebecca bit her bottom lip as the memories stirred feelings that she thought she’d buried long ago. Turning back to the desk, she pulled her calendar toward her. Next week she was scheduled to talk with the CEO of Roberts Engineering, a new client she was bringing to the firm. The company was considering an investment in a gold mine in Nevada. It occurred to her for the first time, that as a partner in the firm, she could now open the file under her own name.

  She closed the calendar book and pushed it away. She fixed her eyes on the rows of books across the room, directing her thoughts, reminding herself again of what she’d achieved; that she and Amalise were the first women partners ever in the firm, and that her name was probably being mentioned at cocktail parties around town tonight.

  And that Peter was probably now waiting downstairs.

  Feeling better, she stood. She walked down the well-lit hallway toward the elevator. It was Friday night. Her own secretary, Rose Marie, was gone, but a few of the secretaries were still at their desks, and she told each and every one good-bye and to have a nice weekend. They’d all celebrated together earlier, when the news had spread about Rebecca and Amalise.

  Partner. She tried out the word.

  Rebecca stepped into the elevator, pressed the button, and gazed at her reflection in the metal doors as the elevator descended. There was no limit to what she could accomplish if she worked hard enough. And already the worry that had haunted her earlier was submerged beneath the possibilities that lay ahead.

  2

  Antoine’s Restaurant, established in 1840 and located in the heart of the Vieux Carré—the French Quarter—is an elegant, busy, and colorful reflection of the city’s past. As always, when Rebecca walked through the ornate doors opening from St. Louis Street, she was transported.

  The huge restaurant was like a woman, she thought; queen of
a Mardi Gras Krewe. There were thirteen dining rooms in Antoine’s; some were large and opulent, some small and intimate. Some of the rooms hid secrets, like women do. She looked up—the sparkling crystal chandeliers were the queen’s crown; the wall of mirrors and the embroidered silk panels alongside, her robe. The crisp white linens covering the tables, her mantle. And the flowers and candles, and the long-stemmed crystal, rows of shining silver forks and knives and spoons of every size, those were her jewels.

  To her left in the large front room, just before a mirrored wall, Rebecca saw the many partners of the firm and their wives gathered around a long table. Raymond caught her eye and gave her a victory sign. She smiled and waved.

  Clarence, their usual waiter, ambled up and caught Rebecca’s hand in both of his and said how happy he was for her tonight. Rebecca’s face lit with a smile. On any given night if a line had formed on the sidewalk outside, she knew that Clarence would meet Peter and her at the side door in the alleyway and let them in.

  Peter’s hand warmed her back as Clarence guided them toward the table. Sitting just before the front windows looking out over St. Louis Street, Doug Bastion, the managing partner of the firm, put his napkin down and stood as they approached. Beaming with excitement, Rebecca glided toward the group. Hands extended, Doug was first to greet them. Through the windows behind him lights from the streetlamps and passing cars cast a ghostly glow in the fog, even though spring was now drifting into summer.

  Amalise and Jude had already arrived, and they sat across the table on one side of Doug. Places on Doug’s other side had been saved for Rebecca and Peter. At the opposite end of the long table, Alice Bastion, Doug’s wife, was holding court. And in between were the men that Rebecca and Amalise had worked alongside as associates for the past six years and their wives.

  Catcalls, congratulations, and high fives rose as Rebecca and Peter arrived. Everyone stood to greet them. Preston’s wife came down from the other end of the table and hugged Rebecca tight. Raymond slapped her on the back, and pumped Peter’s hand. Across the table Jude called out something that made Peter laugh, and Amalise gave her that look.