J is for Judgement

defensive. She shifted on her chair, reached for the pack of cigarettes, and lit another one. She'd look old before her time if she didn't knock that off.
    "When was this?"
    She frowned. "I don't know, not last night, but the night before. Thursday, I guess. He went to Michael's to see the baby afterward. That's how he got the address."
    "You have a long talk with him?"
    "I wouldn't call it 'long.' He said he was sorry. He'd made a hideous mistake. He said he'd do anything to have the five years back. It was all bullshit, but it sounded good and I guess I needed to hear it. I was pissed, of course. I mean, I said, 'Wendell, you can't do this! You can't just waltz back in after everything you've put us through. What do I care if you're sorry? We're all sorry. What horseshit.' "
    "You think he was sincere?"
    "He was always sincere. He couldn't hold on to the same point of view from one minute to the next, but he was always sincere."
    "You didn't talk to him after that?"
    She shook her head. "Believe me, once was enough. That should have put an end to it, but I'm still mad," she said.
    "So there was no reconciliation."
    "Oh, God, no. There's absolutely no way I'd do that. Sorry doesn't cut any ice with me." Her eyes came up to mine. "What now? I guess the insurance company wants their money back."
    "They won't press for what you've spent, but they really can't let you walk away with half a million bucks. Unless Wendell's dead."
    She became very still breaking off eye contact. "What makes you say that?"
    "It happens to everyone eventually," I said. I pushed I my coffee mug away and got up from the chair. "Call me if you hear from him. He's got a lot of people interested. One, at any rate.�
    "Would you walk her to the door, babe?" Dana said to Michael.
    Michael moved away from the counter and walked me to the front door. Lean and brooding.
    "You okay?" I asked.
    "Not really. How would you feel?"
    "I don't think we've gotten to the end of it yet. Your father did what he did for reasons of his own. His behavior was not about you. It was about him," I said. "I don't think you should take it personally."
    Michael was shaking his head emphatically. "I never want to see him. I hope I never have to see his face again."
    "I understand how you feel. I'm not trying to defend the man, but he's not all bad. You have to take what you can. One day maybe you can let the good back in. You don't know the whole story. You only know this one version. There's far more to it -- events, dreams, conflicts, conversations you were never privy to. His actions are coming out of that," I said. "You have to accept the fact that there was something larger at work and you may never know what it was."
    "Hey, know what? I don't care. Honest to God, I don't."
    "You don't maybe, but one day Brendan might. These things tend to drift down from one generation to the next. Nobody deals well with abandonment."
    "Yeah."
    "There's a phrase that runs through my head in situations like this: 'the vast untidy sea of truth.' "
    "Meaning what?"
    "The truth isn't always nice. It isn't always small enough to absorb at once. Sometimes the truth washes over you and threatens to take you right down with it. I've seen a lot of ugly things in this world.�
    "Yeah, well, I haven't. This is my first and I don't like it much."
    "Hey, I hear you," I said. "Take care of your kid. He's really beautiful."
    "He's the only good thing that's come out of this." I had to smile. "There's always you," I said.
    His eyes were hooded and his return smile was enigmatic, but I don't think the sentiment was lost on him.
    I drove from Dana's to Renata's house. Whatever the flaws in Wendell Jaffe's character, he'd managed to connect himself to two women of substance. They couldn't be more different -- Dana with her cool elegance, Renata with her dark exoticism. I parked out in front and made my way up the walk. If the police were still running surveillance, they were being damn clever. No vans, no panel trucks, no curtains moving in the Douses across the way. I rang the bell and waited, staring off at the street. I turned back and cupped a hand to the glass, peering in through the front door panes. I rang the doorbell again.
    Renata finally appeared from the back of the house. She was wearing a white cotton skirt and a royal blue cotton T-shirt, white sandals emphasizing the deep olive tan on her legs. She opened the door, pausing for a moment with her cheek against the wood. "Hello, I heard