Living the Promise: Chapter Seven

The stack of folders on Rita's battered desk had finally beenreduced to one last, bulging remnant. "The Hillerman case", she spokewith a weary sigh that suddenly caught hold of Joe's attention. He'dnever known Rita to be visibly defeated in her work.

"When does it to go trial?" he asked.

"A week from Tuesday."

"Who do you have assigned to it?"

"Romero. He's been on it all along."

Joe let a small smile of satisfaction trace over his face. Ritaknew her stuff. Romero was their best prosecuting attorney. He'd doall he could to get Mark Hillerman convicted.

"Romero will do fine, Rita. He won't leave any loose ends."

"And we'll get a cop who beat his wife to within inches of herlife in front of their three kids behind bars."

It was so difficult for Rita's gentle soul to reconcile the factthat someone placed in the public trust could privately be so abusiveof trust. It made their efforts at the Women's Center seem so futileat times, just a drop in a cloudburst, but then her tired gaze caughtsight of something in the folder that brought her back her hope.

"I got this from Emily Hillerman today." She handed a folded pieceof yellow construction paper over to her expectant colleague. It wasa card, obviously constructed with great care by a child's hand, whocouldn't have been more than four or five. On the front was acollection of simple figures, a taller one with arms stretchingaround three smaller ones. The perspective left much to be desired,but the colors on the card were bright and lively.

Joe opened it up and felt his heart brighten as well, at theuneven marker letters filling the space. "Thank you Miss Escobar forhelping my Mom." Someone had obviously assisted the child, as all thespelling was correct, even Rita's family name which always wasdestined to mutation in anyone's writing.

"Something like this makes it all worthwhile, doesn't it?" Joeasked quietly.

Rita nodded in agreement, and carefully placed the card onto acorner of her desk. "Terry Hillerman is starting a new life. She'sworking part time, going back to her studies to pick up on hernursing degree. The kids are doing better in school." A soft carewarmed the delicate, dark features of the young attorney's face."Every now and then we get one right, we do some good beforeeverything is too far gone."

Looking across the army surplus desk at the quiet-spirited youngwoman, Joe read a gentle hope in her large, bright eyes that seemedunexpectedly open and searching. For once, he let that hope rest onhim, without battle. "It's past seven. You want to grab something toeat?"

The restrained shock on his companion's face gave Joe anunderstanding of just how long he'd actually been shutting her caringsupport out of all but the most superficial reaches of his spirit thepast six months. He'd thought it necessary -- keeping Rita at adistance, for her sake, as well as his.

They'd worked together, battled government bureaucracy together,held to hopes of doing good together, but he'd never so much as takenher hand in his in supportive friendship and acknowledging gratitude,spent a moment of rare free time together sharing anything other thantheir wearying battlefield experiences.

Maybe it was because he knew she'd be reaching out to him withmore than a simple office friendship.

Joe had never felt himself free to accept that hesitantly offeredcare before, the soft, hopeful trust that could easily take hold of along-embattled heart. A night spent in a wind-swept cemetery a fewdays ago had changed that for him, though.

The jingling bell on the storefront door, a leftover reminder ofthe building's colorful, neighborhood history, suddenly intruded onthe expectant silence in the room that had become palpable betweenthe two colleagues. It heralded a late evening visitor in thereception area. Grace had already left for her kids and home. Ritagot up from behind her desk to check on who had entered.

Joe followed her, with cautious protection that seemedsurprisingly natural to him.

In the outer room stood a lean, well-dressed man of about 60 orso, with the bearing and demeanor of a cultivated professional. Atthe sound of their approach from the inner office, the man turned andsmiled. Joe was certain then that he knew him, but couldn't quite puthis finger on the man's identity.

"Miss Escobar?" the visitor questioned in a deep, gentle voice.When Rita acknowledged her name, he continued. "I'm sorry I camewithout an appointment, but I was told you usually worked late, and Itook the chance you'd still be here." Extending a hand to Rita'soutstretched one, he said, "My name is Peter Alcott."

"Yes, Mr. Alcott. What can I do for you?"

"Isn't it, 'Dr. Alcott'?" Joe questioned, knowing now why the manseemed familiar.

"Yes it is, Mr. Maxwell."

Rita turned to Joe in confusion. "You two know each other?"

"Dr. Alcott testified for us in a medical fraud case about fiveyears back."

Recognition also lit Rita's face, but from another source. "Yes,Doctor, I remember. You were Catherine's friend, too, as Irecall."

A momentary silence passed between the three, as unexpectedly, noone seemed certain about how to handle that bit of information.Especially Rita. She silently berated herself for the observation,knowing Joe's usual reaction to anything that had to do with hismurdered colleague in the past.

The pain did come into the younger man's kind eyes, but somehow hewas able to keep it from completely overtaking his spirit. Ritablessed heaven for the unexpected miracle.

"Catherine was a very special person." The doctor's soft wordsspoke of his own remembered loss. Turning to Joe, he continued. "Shehad a special commitment to her work. It wasn't just a job, it was alife choice." After a moment, the older man let the gentle smile comeover his reassuring features again. "In a way, that commitment is whyI am here."

Beyond the flood of memories that filled his heart at thedescription of Cathy's work ethic, Joe's mind was attempting toprocess the doctor's possible reasons for an after-hours visit to awomen's crisis center. He didn't have to wait long for his answers,which came without prologue, as soon as Rita had invited them allinto her office again.

"How may we help you, doctor?" the young director asked hervisitor. She was greeted with a heatfelt laugh that reminded Joe verymuch of Catherine's usual natural good humor.

"Actually Miss Escobar, I'm here to offer you my help."

Joe and Rita exchanged meaningful glances that woudn't dare evolvethemselves into hope at that moment. Their battles for the survivalof the Center were still too fresh on both their minds.

Dr. Alcott read their surprise and quickly offered them hisexplanations. "I am one of the principle trustees of the Margaret E.Chase Foundation. We are a charitable foundaton that seeks to supportworthwhile social service and justice-related activities on behalf ofthe city's at-risk populations."

Rita joined in the conversation with new awareness. "Yes, Iremember reading about some of the programs you've helped sponsor.There was Magdalen House, the shelter for girls trying to get off thestreets, and the scholarship fund at Westfield Law School. The musicoutreach program for gang-targeted kids was in the papers just lastmonth."

"You're well-versed in our past sponsorships, Miss Escobar, thoughwe usually prefer to keep our involvement low-keyed. It isunfortunate that helping do good in the world today must beconsidered a newsworthy event by the media, instead of an everydaysort of thing that is a natural part of our lives."

In silent agreement, Rita couldn't help but feel her heart startto pound. Had the angels finally come to rest within the tidy,besieged confines of the storefront office? Dr. Alcott almostanswered her. "We've been proud to become a part of positive,empowering activities such as those. Your own Center here is anexample of what can be done by decent people willing to riskthemselves for others."

Joe ran a hand over his chin as he always did when he was at asudden loss for words. After a moment of contemplation, he addressedthe doctor. "Are you saying you are interested in helping fund theCenter?"

Dr. Alcott smiled warmly again, taking in the mounting flood ofrelieved disbelief his quiet words were ready to unleash within thespirit of the two earnest souls before him. "Your work is a vitalsafety net for the city's victims of domestic violence. It mustcontinue, regardless of political posturing. Our foundation can offeryou some immediate emergency funding to get you back on track. Onceyou've paid your bills and gotten everything on a stable footing, weare prepared to work out a long-term relationship with the Center forsponsorship -- at least five years. To that end, here is ouremergency grant."

As naturally as if he was handing over a written prescription to apatient he was attending to, Dr. Alcott slid a white envelopeemblazoned with a simple, elegant logo of a full-blown rose, acrossthe desk to within reach of Rita's hand.

The young director looked from her apparent benefactor's face toher co-worker's, and back again, with dazed wonder. Her words were asjustly overflowing as her heart. "I don't know what to say. I mean, Ican't thank you, we can't thank you enough, Doctor. What you aredoing . . . it's an act of Providence . . . "

"Hardly 'Providence,' Miss Escobar. We just recognized a need andwere in a position to help. I only wish we would have been made awareof your plight sooner." The gentle grey eyes were reassuring andtotally understanding. "Go ahead, open it," he urged with anothersmile, that held what seemed to be more delight for his own state ofspirit than Rita's at the moment.

Joe closed his soft brown eyes and called to mind, withoutomission , every single promise he'd made with heaven in the past sixmonths that involved what he'd be willing to commit himself to shouldthe Center, and Rita's hope, find their saving support. It would takesome doing, he realized with an inner sigh, but he'd honor everysingle one. The look of totally rekindled belief in his co-worker'slovely face would be worth it.

Rita passed the long envelope through her fingers and opened theunsealed back slowly. From within, she pulled out a typicallycorporate-looking, computer-generated check . . . in the amount of$25,000, a figure she blurted out with uncontested shock.

"That will cover your expenses for the interim?" came the coolquestion that held just a hint of nearly-embarased uncertainty withit. "Utilities, rent and training expenses for your existing clients,day care? And the salaries of your staff? If not . . . "

"Oh my God, Dr. Alcott, yes, yes! That is more than what we needright now. Most of our caseworkers and legal assistants arevolunteers. They don't take salaries." Then, thinking aloud toherself, she continued with quiet wonder, "This will pay up all ourtuition grants for clients in school, augment day care expenses forthem . . . I don't know what to say!"

"That is a very generous grant, Doctor. We'd probably have closedour doors here at the end of next month without it. You're helping alot of people with nowhere else to turn." Joe's quiet statement didlittle to disguise the unasked questions holding fast in his eyes.Doctor Alcott let his supportive spirit touch the long-tested youngidealist before him. They'd all been so right in their decision, heknew.

"I'm certain I can say the same thing about you both, Mr.Maxwell." The long, undeniably searching gaze the older man held theDA's to was at once acknowledging, and, unexpectedly, gently,paternal. As if he knew all the quiet struggle, the burdening loss ofhope that had characterized most of Joe's spirit of late, even beyondhis efforts for the Center, and had sought to offer a steadyinghand.

But, how could that be possible? Joe only knew the man briefly ona professional level in the past. He'd last seen the distinguisheddoctor five years ago.

Finally, the quietly uplifting gaze pulled itself from Joe'sfeatures and back to Rita's now relief-washed, luminesce ones thatcarried within them more than mere commitment to doing right for themasses. Dr. Alcott smiled at her from the bottom of his heart. He'dread a commitment to seeing that the soft truth of her own heartwould reach itself out to her tested colleague sitting across fromher. They'd truly not misjudged her.

"All I need, Miss Escobar, is for our financial officers to meetwith you, go over your books and get the paper work started. Here'smy card. Give the office a call in the morning and set up anappointment when it's convenient for you."

Rita held the small business card carefully, then came to her feetas the doctor did and extended her hand back out to him. "I'll dothat, Dr. Alcott. Thank you, so much, again. You've been the answerto our prayers."

"I'm sure there are a number of people that could say that aboutyou, too, my dear." The physician held both of Rita's hands gently inhis, then shook Joe's hand with a strong grip that spoke uncontestedcertainty in his manner.

"Let me walk you out, Doctor." The retreating figure didn't evenseen surprise at the DA's offer. He simply stopped to wait as Joecame around from the side of Rita's desk. Leading the way out of thereception area of the office, he stood in front of the Center andpaused for Joe's questions that he knew would be forthcoming.

"I have to ask you . . . why now? Why us, now, Doctor? TheCenter's been struggling for months. Who brought our situation toyour attention? I mean, there's someone else we need to thank."

The strong, lean face of the Doctor softened considerably at theearnest inquiries he'd been expecting. "Let's just say you have aconsiderable number of guardian angels out there who appreciate whatyou and Miss Escobar have done to see that justice and compassionsurvive in this city, Joe, despite everything. Cathy would have beenproud to be a part of your efforts."

With a casual "good night", Dr. Alcott walked over to his parkedcar across the street and drove off, leaving Joe to shakilycontemplate the sudden recollection that had settled now into hismind: Cathy's estate had been left almost wholly in trust to acharitable foundation administered by some doctor.

When Diana had disappeared that time for three weeks: She hadoffered him a doctor's address as a means to contact her during thetime she'd been left stranded and hurt with Samantha's and Jacob'sfamily. "Dr. Peter Alcott." He'd made the connection even back then,between Catherine's mysterious private life and Diana's equallyindecipherable circumstances. Cathy'd been dead three years. Dianahe'd only caught sight of in a church yard in the past sixmonths.

But he'd poured out his frustrations with the Center situation toher in his last few letters that had been only addressed to a postoffice box.

"You know, I fully believe in angels, but, somehow, I never quitepictured one looking like Dr. Alcott." Rita's quietly incredulouswords at the door to the Center pulled Joe back from hiscontemplation of interconnected destinies. Not before, though, he'dsilently thanked Cathy, and Diana, in the deepest recesses of hisheart.

"Yeah, I know what you mean. We must have a couple of angelslooking out for us, despite everything." The gentle life radiatingfrom Joe's handsome face seemed to completely lift the burden ofstill-remembered pain he'd too-long carried. Rita held his dark eyestenderly with her own.

"I'm famished. Think we could call it a night after all and getthat meal now? I'd say we deserved to celebrate."

Following the slight young attorney back into the storefront, Joelet an ease of heart he'd barely been able to recognize, fill hisentire being. "My treat. What do you feel like?

Chinese? Mexican? Thai?"

Taking a chance on the continuing promise of the blessed evening,Rita let her quiet restraint of emotions go and held on to hope. "Howabout Italian?" she asked brightly, and nearly innocently.

Joe's face lit up completely. He let a soft laugh escape him atthe challenging inquiry. Rita couldn't remember the last time she'dseen him so unburdened.

"I know this great little place in Astoria. Cooking's almost asgood as my Mom's"

"Sounds great." Rita reached up to the old-fashioned coat rack upagainst the wall to retrieve her light jacket. The night was sobeautiful she almost didn't even need it.

At the same time that she reached for the hanger, Joe hadautomatically done the same to hand her wrap down to her. Their handscollided against each other -- and lingered for a breathless moment-- before Rita pulled hers away and let her colleague continuereaching for the garment for her.

A sweep of emotions at long last released from their purgatory ofregret and pain hung unexpectedly between the two of them, as Joeslowly, carefully, helped Rita ease into her wrap. The surprisingwonder suddenly took hold of his consciousness: He'd known the youngattorny for five and a half years, ever since she came to the DA'soffice as a fresh-faced, idealistic law school graduate.

God, he'd been so like her at the beginning, too, full of dreamsof setting wrongs to right, seeing justice prevail in a world ofcompromised consciences. She still carried that bright-eyedhopefulness with her, scarred somewhat, he noticed with a pang, butstill there.

Along with a quiet intensity of hope that slipped over his spiritshyly like a teenager's first hesitant attempt to hold a cherishedhand.

Turning to share his gaze after she'd accepted his help, Rita felttears brimming up in her soft eyes. Ordinarily, she'd have doneeverything possible tokeep Joe from catching sight of them. And therehad been so many occasions of tears to hide from him, times whenshe'd all but shattered with the effort to keep from touching hispain. This time, though, she knew there'd be no need to disguise herlove.

For it was love.

Joe read it easily now, and accepted its revelation withoutdesperate hurt -- the quiet support that had always been there forhim, always, since Cathy's death, more evident since Diana'sdeparture from his life -- soft, never calling attention to itself,but there for him.

Waiting.

Daring to expect him someday to gather it to himself.

He could do so, tonight, he knew. The angels weren't going to cryany more on his account.

Gently, shyly, he lifted his hand to Rita's cheek, a blessing thatset her tears free to flow from dark eyes caressing with disbelievingwonder. His words were quiet with their own wonder. "How did you everfind the patience to wait for me?"

She turned her face into his cupping hand, giving herselfpermission at last to brush it with a kiss. "I knew you were in theresomewhere, and just prayed my heart could hold out long enough foryou to find your way out of the pain."

Before either one of them questioned their grips on the reality ofthe moment, they were in each other's arms. Gifting her with a tenderkiss, Joe marveled at how unbelievably -- right -- it felt, to holdRita's slender, sweet body next to his. Right, promising, and so longoverdue.

"Do you like lasagna?" came an automatic, lighthearted inquiryfrom Joe's reeling awareness, in a flood of good humor that seemed sototally in place at the moment, too.

"Only if they use real, fresh, ricotta, like I do. Anything elseisn't even worth the effort." Rita's challenging observation forcedJoe to quickly push her away from him far enough to look into herface for understanding.

"You cook Italian?" The words were close to astounded. This was asubject too near Joe's heart for idle chatter.

"Sure I do, though it has a bit of Cuban flair thrown into it. Mymother's maiden name was 'Rosario'."

"Forget Astoria, counselor. I'll settle for some help in my ownkitchen. How does some quick marinara sound?"

"Great."

Diana's words in her letter two weeks ago rang in the DA's heartwith confirming shelter and warm truth: "Take hold of love when itreaches out to you again, because, make no mistake, it will, probablyfrom somewhere you'd never even think to look."

Joe knew it as an unshakeable certainty at that instant: Theangels had been smiling down on him, offering him the gentle guidanceof one of their own, over late-night marinara and finally touched tohopes shining in lively bright eyes brimming with tenderness. Heprayed, actually prayed, silently, for forgiveness, that he'd everdoubted heaven's efforts on his behalf, then fell into a blessedlypeaceful sleep, the image of a slight, gentle-mannered young attorneyholding to his heart without pain.

Continued in Chapter 8