What We Find (Sullivan's Crossing, #1)(62)

“I would never let you get to that explanation. I’d have the jury believing you’re sued every other week—that you’re incompetent and lack good judgment.”

“But why? What sense would that make? I want to save everyone.”

“As the plaintiff’s attorney, I would convince the jury you shouldn’t practice and that you should be punished by a big settlement. But, if you don’t speak, if you don’t open the door, I wouldn’t be able to lead you down that destructive path. Let your lawyer defend you.”

“It’s outrageous,” she said. “I can’t defend myself, I can’t say anything, I’m paying a fortune for representation and when I win, I can’t sue the plaintiffs for putting me through it. They’re barely existing as it is. They have nothing. The only thing that allows them to bring a suit is a contingency attorney who will either draw a large percentage of their settlement or take nothing as payment. I’m probably going to have to declare bankruptcy and they’re going to walk out of the courtroom with the same assets they brought in. They can afford to sue and I can’t. It is not a level playing field!”

“It is if you don’t hand them anything that can be used against you. You are a highly trained, impressively educated surgeon of sterling reputation with many next-to-impossible saves to your credit. Stand on that. Stand on it silently.”

“Oh, you’re as frustrating as anyone else I’ve spoken to. Do you have any idea how hard this is?”

“Well, just lie back and relax awhile,” he said. He pulled off her straw hat and began to massage her scalp. He just talked to her, said things that required no response. “They’re not really suing you. They’re suing the injustice of it all. Sixteen-year-old boys shouldn’t die, even stupid sixteen-year-old boys who take foolish risks. The brokenhearted parents only want to strike out and feel some sense of relief. It won’t bring relief, of course, but it will keep them busy until relief eventually begins to come. I always try to walk in their shoes, see the world from their perspective, understand what they hope for. There are two kinds of plaintiffs I’ve never understood—the kind that can forgive immediately, forgive without any struggle or hint of hate or rage. And the kind motivated purely by profit. And the lawyer, even the contingency lawyer doesn’t know if you’re exceptionally gifted or if you’re a silly klutz who shouldn’t be allowed to hold a scalpel. He is an expert on your credentials by now but those can be manufactured just as realistically as a highly credentialed surgeon can be accident-prone. Both lawyers will seek the truth in the court. The court seeks the truth in the lawyers, charging them with the responsibility to produce honest and powerful cases for their clients so that there’s evidence to show a decision that serves the truth. The plaintiffs, however, will be disappointed no matter what. Oh, they might cheer with a win. They might even give a press conference and say that justice was served and their son’s death was vindicated, but they’ll go home to find his room empty and the photographs of him will bring gut-wrenching tears. They can’t win, Maggie. No matter how hard they try.

“The attorney for the accused will show them that the boy had the best possible care, though the outcome was destined to be tragic. Hopefully the attorney, the smart attorney, knows how to do that with compassion—it always wins more points. Cruelty toward the bereaved just never works. Sensitivity toward the parents is particularly essential since their beloved son made such a disastrous mistake. My gut tells me the plaintiff’s son was the driver—possible, since they’re not suing the parents of the driver, all victims being minors. They’re not suing whoever provided them with alcohol. But of course, as you know, you might be the most logical defendant, the one with the deep pockets.

“The most important thing to remember is this—no matter the outcome, the plaintiffs will always have the greater suffering. You can’t help them. It’s impossible. So you must save yourself. A good defense attorney can help with that or, at the very least, lessen the damage.”

They floated for a while, not talking, but Cal continued to play with her hair. He noticed an early strand or two of silver that he was smart enough not to mention, but it made him happy. Every woman should have the luxury of growing older, growing into her skin, settling her emotional debts.

“Did you learn that in law school?” she finally asked him.

“Sort of, yeah. I mean, that’s what we do, right—we’re seeking justice. But that stuff about understanding the other guy—that came from Atticus Finch. I grew up wanting to be him. Partly because he was the most fair-minded man on the planet and partly because he was so sane, so stable. I had to contend with a crazy father, remember. If I couldn’t have a father like Atticus, then I’d like to be a father like Atticus.”

“Atticus?”

“To Kill a Mockingbird.”

“Oh. Right. Sure. So...you wanted to be a father?”

“I did. I wondered if I was being ridiculous, given the dysfunctional family I came from. But my sister forged ahead, fearless, and had a family. A perfectly normal family. They have all the usual issues—she fights with her husband sometimes, the kids drive her bat-shit crazy, she’s overworked, underpaid, running around trying to be a professional woman and a full-time mother, and she’s happy. I think for us, for kids raised in so much uncertainty and occasional deprivation, being grounded in relationships and having relatively stable homes is reassuring.”