Once Upon a Matchmaker. Marie Ferrarella
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back around and hid his face in his hands.
“What’s the matter?” Micah asked his son. What had caused this reaction, Micah wondered.
“That lady, she’s looking right at me.” Greg giggled, saying the words into his hands.
It was Micah’s turn to look at the women at the table in question. He assumed his sons were both looking at the same table. Scanning it quickly, he saw that there were eight women seated around the table. Seven appeared engaged in conversation and the eighth, a blonde—Greg had to be referring to her—was looking in their direction.
His eyes met hers unexpectedly and for a very long second, neither of them looked away.
She had a nice smile, he caught himself thinking. He saw her mouthing something and belatedly realized that she was saying, “Cute little boys.” Not knowing what else to do—and ignoring her seemed rather rude—he mouthed, “Thank you.”
Her smile curved even more, pulling him in a little further. For some reason, he was having a difficult time looking away. There was something almost hypnotic about the smile, yet incredibly soothing at the same time.
“How come you’re not making any noise?” Greg asked, then explained the reason for his question. “Your mouth’s moving.”
“He’s using his inside voice,” Gary informed his brother importantly. Then, raising his chin, he added, “I can hear him.”
Even at four, Greg knew a lie when he heard it. “No, you can’t,” he insisted.
“Can, too,” Gary shot back, ready to go to war against his worst enemy/best friend in the blink of an eye.
“Boys,” Micah interjected sternly, “what did I tell you about arguing?”
“Don’t,” both boys chorused, their eyes downcast. Both appeared to be properly chastised, although Micah suspected that a little playacting was going into their performances.
Satisfied that they were going to behave for at least the next five minutes, Micah nodded and turned his attention back to the meal. Their waiter was approaching the table.
“All right, let’s order the food while it’s still Mother’s Day,” he urged his sons.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Sheila asked, looking dismayed, annoyed and worried all at the same time.
“But I just did,” Micah pointed out, spreading his hands wide.
They had barely crossed the threshold to his house before his aunt had pounced and demanded to know what was going on. They’d stayed at the restaurant a good two hours and apparently she had enjoyed every minute of it. But now, she informed him in a no-nonsense voice, it was time to come clean.
“What’s wrong and why do you feel you need a lawyer?” she’d asked—and he’d told her.
Told her everything.
Granted it was a summarized version, and he’d left out a few details because she was outside the realm of those who had a need to know, but he’d relayed the general gist of it.
She’d taken it all in quietly, making no comment while he talked. But he could tell that she was upset.
“Besides,” he pointed out, “it’s Sunday. There’s not much I can do about this until tomorrow.” Everything had blown up on him late Friday afternoon. He’d spent Saturday trying to come to terms with the unexpected, jarring turn his life had taken.
“Oh, yes, there is,” Sheila informed him in no uncertain terms. She went directly to the kitchen and the phone on the wall.
To his knowledge, no good law firm did business on a Sunday. “Who are you going to call?” he asked sarcastically. “Lawyers R Us?”
Granted he wasn’t an expert, but in his opinion, any attorney who was in his office or on call on a Sunday was either desperate, ridiculously expensive or not any good. None of which were qualities he was seeking in the person he needed to represent him. He needed someone good who charged a reasonable fee, one that he had a fighting chance of paying off before the turn of the next century.
Sheila stopped just short of dialing, looking at her nephew over her shoulder. “Remember that woman who waved at me in the restaurant?”
He remembered. Remembered, too, the tall, striking blonde he’d made eye contact with. It had been an odd feeling, a little like déjà vu, as if he’d been in exactly the very same spot before.
But of course he hadn’t. He blamed it on his overwrought nerves.
Shaking off the feeling, he got back to his aunt’s question. There seemed to be only one reason why she would refer to the other woman.
“She’s a lawyer?” he guessed. But the moment he said it, he knew that didn’t make any sense. “I thought you said she sold you the condo.”
He didn’t want to hurt his aunt’s feelings, especially not on a day that celebrated mothers. He was ever mindful of the fact that she had taken him in when she didn’t have to. No law would have made her open her home—not to mention her heart—to an orphaned relative. She’d done that out of the goodness of her heart and he loved her for it.
Still, this was his life—and quite possibly his freedom—they were talking about.
“Usually anyone who wears two hats doesn’t wear either one well,” he told her diplomatically.
The boys were sitting on the floor watching a cartoon video his father kept on hand just for occasions like this, when Gary looked up, his attention captured by the phrase his father had used.
He frowned thoughtfully. “She wasn’t wearing any hats, Daddy. Don’t you remember?”
“My mistake,” Micah said.
It was easier saying that than getting involved in an explanation that cited the sentence as an old expression. Since Friday, when his life had suddenly been upended, it was all he could do just to try to hold himself together and not think of the possible consequences if things went awry.
He couldn’t even afford to let his mind go there. He had sons to provide for and an existing pile of medical bills—both for Ella and for Greg—that he still had to pay off. That meant keeping a clear head and being prepared at all times. Prepared to defend himself, prepared to answer charges—and somehow get to the bottom of all this to find out how he’d become implicated in these criminal allegations to begin with.
All he knew was that he was innocent. The tough part was getting everyone else to believe him. In the meantime, he had to hang on to his job while getting himself emotionally ready to face the kind of charges that could very well be leveled against him.
“Maizie’s not a lawyer,” Sheila told him. “But I need her to get in contact with one of the other women at the table—Theresa Manetti.”
“She’s the lawyer?” Micah asked.
Sheila sighed. It would have been simpler just to say that Maizie had arranged for a beautiful, unattached woman to be at their table just so that she could see him and he her—and that woman just happened to be a damn good lawyer. At that point, no matter how good she actually was, Micah would definitely not avail himself of her services. So she went the long way around, just to eventually get to where she needed to be.
“No, she runs a catering business.” Then, seeing his confused expression, she quickly added, “but her son and daughter are both lawyers.”
“There are lots of different kinds of lawyers, Aunt Sheila,” he pointed out tactfully. “What I’m going to need is a criminal defense lawyer—”
Gary, who was openly eavesdropping, appeared horrified. “Daddy?” he cried uncertainly. “Are they gonna put you in jail?” His eyes were suddenly huge, watery saucers as he contemplated his own words.
“No!”