The Neighbor - Lisa Gardner [120]
“You couldn’t keep her happy? I’m not pointing fingers, mind you. I raised the girl, single-handedly, after her dear mama passed away. I know how demanding she can be.”
“Sandra is a wonderful wife and devoted mother.”
“I have to say, I was surprised to hear that my daughter had become a teacher. But I was talking to that nice principal just this morning. What is his name … Phil, Phil Stewart? He raved about how wonderful Sandy is with her pupils. When all is said and done, it sounds as if you’ve done right by my daughter. I appreciate that, son, I truly do.”
“I am not your son.”
“All right, Jason Jones.”
Jason caught the edge again, the implied threat. He fisted his hand at his side, refusing to say another word.
“You don’t like me much, do you, Jason?”
Again Jason didn’t answer. The judge, however, seemed to be talking mostly to himself. “What I can’t understand is, why? We’ve never really spoken. You wanted my daughter, you got her. You wanted to get out of Georgia, you took my daughter and left. Seems to me, I have plenty of reason to be sore with you. Why, a father’s list of grievances against the boy who runs away with his only daughter … But what have I ever done to you, son? What have I ever done to you?”
“You failed your daughter,” Jason heard himself say. “She needed you, and you failed her.”
“What in heaven’s name are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about your wife! I’m talking about your crazed, boozed-up wife who beat Sandy each and every day while you did nothing to stop it. What kind of father abandons his child like that? What kind of father lets her be tortured on a daily basis and does nothing to stop it?”
There was a pause. “My wife beat Sandy? That’s what Sandy told you?”
Jason didn’t answer right away. The silence stretched out. This time, he broke first: “Yes.”
“Now, see here.” The judge sounded offended. “Sandy’s mom was hardly a perfect parent. It’s true she probably drank more than she should. I worked so many hours back in those days, leaving Missy alone with Sandra much too often. I’m sure that tried Missy’s nerves, made her maybe more short-tempered than a mother should be. But beating … tormenting … I think that’s a trifle melodramatic. I do.”
“Your wife never harmed Sandy?”
“Spare the rod, spoil the child. I saw her whack Sandy’s behind a time or two, but no more than any exasperated parent.”
“Missy never drank to excess?”
“Well, it’s true she had a weakness for gin. Maybe a couple of nights a week … But Missy wasn’t a violent drunk. If she had a few too many, then she carried herself off to bed. She wouldn’t have hurt a fly, let alone our daughter.”
“What about chasing you around the house with knives?”
“Excuse me?” The judge sounded shocked.
“She hurt Sandy. Slammed her fingers into doorframes, forced her to drink bleach, fed her household objects just so she could take Sandy to the hospital. Your wife was a very, very sick woman.”
The silence lasted longer this time. When the judge finally spoke, he sounded genuinely flummoxed. “This is what Sandy told you? This is what Sandra said about her own mother? Well then, no wonder you have been so curt with me. I take it back, I do. I can see your position entirely. Of all the crazy … Well. Well.” The judge didn’t seem to know what else to say.
Jason found himself shifting from foot to foot, no longer feeling so certain about things. The first trickle of unease crept up his spine.
“Am I allowed to speak in my defense?” the judge asked.
“I suppose.”
“One, I swear to you, son, this is the first I have heard of such dreadful acts. It is possible, I suppose, that things transpired between Sandy and my poor wife that I never knew of. To be truthful, however, I don’t believe that to be the case. I love my daughter, Jason. I always have. But I’m also one of the few men out there that can say I truly, completely head-over-heels loved my wife. Saw Missy the first time when I was nineteen years old, and knew at that moment I’d marry her, make her my own. It wasn’t just that she was beautiful—though