Rubbing his hands wearily over his face, Carson sighed as he opened his daughter's bedroom door a crack and peeked in. He was going to be late for work, again. Organizing a three-year-old and trying to get a head start on the morning traffic was never a good mix.
Surrounded by pink-papered walls, her favorite teddy bear tucked under her chin, Nancy lay curled up tightly on the bed, the sheet bunched up tightly in her fists.
"Baby, wake up," he whispered to her softly, Nancy stirring slightly before nestling a little deeper under the cozy nest of blankets.
"We need to get you ready," Carson tried again, sitting beside his daughter and brushing her hair softly back from her face, his efforts rewarded when she sat up sleepily, her golden hair tangled around her face.
"Morning, Daddy," she greeted him sweetly, kicking out of the pony adorned comforter and stumbling awkwardly onto the floor, shivering as the cool morning air made contact with her skin. "It's really cold," she declared emphatically, jumping around with a surprising amount of energy while her father struggled to keep her still as he pulled a sweater over her head. "If it's snowing outside can I go outside and make a snowman?" she asked excitedly, as she gazed at her father with a hopeful expression.
"Nancy it's still dark outside," Carson explained patiently, bemused by her childish enthusiasm. "But, maybe later," he replied noncommitally, hoping his daughter wouldn't press the matter. With the work schedule he had ahead of him for that day, it would almost certainly be dark again before they got anywhere near home and by then, he knew that the only thing Nancy would be fit for was bed. But Carson said nothing, appeasing his daughter with a reassuring smile before quickly changing the subject to talks of pre-school and a much anticipated birthday party she was invited to and by the time he had tied her shoes, the matter had been completely forgotten.
Breakfast used to be an excruciating affair, Nancy dawdling with a single piece of toast while the minutes ticked away on the clock, his chances of getting to work at any sort of a reasonable time becoming increasingly unlikely. How Sarah had ever managed to do this and get to work on time would be forever a mystery to him. Now breakfast was undertaken in the car. Nancy sipped on juice while she played with her barbie doll, her legs kicking up and down as the orange drink dribbled down her clean clothes.
This wasn't fair, Carson knew. Nancy had already lost her mother and now she didn't really have a father either. Work was his savior and Carson put in fifteen hour days, his daughter bundled between nursery school and babysitters. He knew he needed a more permanent arrangement; Nancy needed some stability.
It was barely seven o' clock and still dark when he pulled up outside Carole's house. Sometime during the journey over, Nancy had fallen back to sleep, her doll hanging limply from her closed fist, so Carson picked her gently up and delivered his daughter to Carole's waiting arms.
Kissing Nancy good-bye, he hurried back to his car.
xxxxx
This was the only place he could really be himself and escape for a few all-too-short hours from being a grieving husband or an overcompensating, guilt-ridden father. His desk was already swamped with files on the Lundy case and there were at least another two cases piling up behind it. Their house was too empty, held too many memories, and he knew they would have to move eventually but he was loath to do so just yet. Work was his savior and Carson accepted every case possible, telling himself that he was doing this to further his career, but the truth was he was saving himself because if he took the time to think about what had happened, he wasn't sure what he would do.
Stirring his coffee, Carson was finally beginning to relax when Grace, his secretary, poked her head around the door.
"Carson, the lieutenant is looking for you. It sounded urgent," she added as an afterthought, smoothing a perfectly manicured hand over her soft blonde hair and giving him a pointed look.
"Thanks, Grace," Carson replied with a smile before returning his attention to the papers spread across his desk, relieved when Grace got the hint and quietly closed the door behind her. Grace always made him uncomfortable. Overfriendly and overfamiliar in the worse possible way, she tended to linger and a half an hour could easily be lost to her enthused ramblings.
"Michael, it's Carson," he greeted the lieutenant cordially, taking another sip of coffee and settling back in his chair. "What can I do for you?"
Lieutenant for over five years and a highly respected public figure, Michael Mulvaney was rarely at a loss for words, but Carson could hear the hesitance in his voice and sensed instantly that something was wrong.
"There's no easy way to say this, Carson, but the charges against Stewart have been reduced from vehicular manslaughter to reckless driving."
"But that's insane," Carson uttered in shock, placing the coffee cup on the desk with shaking hands, the steaming liquid spilling all over the desk and running onto his files, the black ink smudging horribly. "He was more than three times over the legal limit. How the hell is that reckless driving? This guy deserves to go to prison for what he has put my family through."
"I know," he sighed, and Carson could hear the sympathy in his voice. John was a good man and this was not his fault, nor his decision. Christian Stewart was from a prominent Chicago family and had political connections that seemingly transcended any laws the courts could hope to enforce. "There are some personal issues involved," he offered as an explanation, as though that would somehow make this okay.
"Personal issues," he echoed disbelievingly, pushing back his chair and pacing the room in anger. "I'll give you personal issues. My wife is dead. My little girl cries for her mother every night. Our lives have fallen apart and all you can give me is that this guy has personal issues. You've got to do better than that."
"Carson, you know the system as well as I do. It's not always fair," he sighed, sounding resigned, as though he had said all this before.
Feeling sick, Carson banged down the phone, the anger that had been bubbling slowly under the surface since the accident now exploding to the surface.
xxxxx
Nancy hadn't had a good night. She'd woken screaming from two nightmares and it had been long after three before he'd finally gotten to sleep and consequently Carson was exhausted. Bleary-eyed, he stumbled down the hall, Nancy's bedside light casting a narrow shadow on the wall. She had thrown off her blankets sometime in the night, her pale limbs sprawled across the bed, her face flushed a bright pink.
"Nancy, honey, it's time to get up," he murmured, noticing it was taking longer than usual to rouse her.
Her favorite pink teddy bear, her usual bedtime companion, had been discarded cruelly on the floor. She mumbled something sleepily into her pillow before turning over in the bed, a tiny fist pressed tightly against her face.
"Baby, come on, you don't want daddy to be late for work, now do you?" he tried again, aware of how ridiculous he sounded.
A head of golden hair eventually emerged from the cocoon of blankets and pillows, the dark expression in her eyes indicating she was none too pleased at having to leave her warm comfortable bed.
"Don't want to," she declared crossly as she rubbed wearily at her eyes. "I want to stay here."
"Nancy, I'm going to be late," Carson sighed, struggling to keep his patience with his daughter. She was only three years old, after all, he reminded himself, and none of this was her fault anyway.
Carson rummaged through piles of pastel-colored clothes, deliberating over the items with caution. Nancy was notoriously fussy about what clothes she wore, a trait she had definitely inherited from her mother, and with the mood she was in, he couldn't afford to be cavalier.
"Daddy, I feel sick," she declared forlornly, looking at her father with tearful eyes. "My tummy hurts."
"Baby, you're just tired," he murmured, laying the dress on the chest of drawers beside him and pulling his daughter onto his lap. "You can have a nap in Carole's later and you'll be fine. I promise."
Nodding doubtfully, Nancy laid her head against her father's chest and didn't protest when he wisely pulled her favorite white and pink patterned dress out of the drawer and pulled it over her head.
xxxxx
Traffic was hell. The five minutes he had lost in placating his daughter had equated to almost an hour in traffic terms. His car hadn't moved in almost ten minutes and he tapped his fingers on the dashboard in annoyance, his frustration growing with every passing minute. All around him, cars beeped irritably as the radio reeled off reports of a pile-up on the highway that was apparently causing the delay.
How the hell could this be happening?
He'd devoted his life to practicing law, worked long hours, often sacrificing his family life for the greater good. He'd naively believed in the system. He was wrong. It didn't matter what you did or who you hurt. It only mattered who you knew.
Clouded by an anger so strong it frightened him, Carson turned the wheel decisively and shot off the highway at the next exit.
The house was a grand colonial affair, painted in a traditional white with shutters framing the windows. The garden was meticulously kept, the flowers blooming marvelously and it seemed wrong somehow, that this man could lavish so much attention on a plot of grass when he had torn another family's life apart in a single, selfish moment. There was no sign of anything out of place here and there should be, Carson thought bitterly. His whole world had been turned upside down, he doubted he'd ever feel the same again and it made him feel somehow worse to realize that at least on the surface, things appeared to be perfect and normal for the man who had been responsible all this.
The front door opened then and Carson couldn't help but stare, fascinated.
Stewart's wife was blonde and slight, her smile adoring as she kissed her husband goodbye. An equally blonde toddler was bundled up in her arms, a barbie doll trailing loosely from one hand, the other hand was waving goodbye enthusiastically to her father.
Nancy had that same doll, he realized sadly.
Carson wasn't exactly sure why he was here and he knew he should leave, but he was completely unable to take his eyes off the scene unfolding in front of them.
The insistent ring of the car phone brought him to his senses.
"It's Nancy," Carole informed him apologetically and Carson could hear her murmuring comfortingly to his daughter. "You need to come and get her. She's just been sick and I think she needs to go to the doctor."
"Give me a half an hour and I'll be there," he assured her, turning the car onto the road and heading back in the direction of River Heights.