CHAPTER TWELVE

The second practice session was smoother. Casey Novak, new to the sex crimes unit, played her part well as the defense attorney. She kept sneaking in references to Claire's past, which resulted in quick conferences on countering, but Claire dealt with it better this time. Opening arguments were scheduled for Monday morning. Claire was as ready as she could be; Meadows was negative for AIDS, one blessing, but the doctor insisted she be retested in six months and in the meantime insist her partner use condoms. Demoralized as she was by their one attempt, she didn't think condoms were going to be an issue.

She and Jack got home from the practice session at four. Claire changed out of her jeans and sweater into sweatpants and a thermal undershirt, with a Giants football jersey over it. Innately dignified, Claire was quiet as she moved around the apartment – changing clothes, switching out towels in the bathroom, getting a drink out of the refrigerator. Jack was on the couch, reading a file – he was going back to work on Tuesday, and Adam gave him an easy case. It was understood that he'd have to be at Meadows's trial from time to time. Claire sat beside him, offered a sip of her drink, and read over his shoulder.

Someone pounded on the door. They looked at each other, then Jack put the file in her lap and got up. He looked through the peephole. "Christ, it's your mother," he said, and he looked at Claire. Selma pounded again.

"She must know we're home," Claire said. "Let her in before the neighbors complain."

Jack opened the door and stepped back. Selma sailed into the apartment, straight for Claire. She sat in Jack's place on the couch and looked at Claire. "How are you, darling?"

"I'm fine, Mother." Claire closed the file and leaned forward to put it on the coffee table. "What brings you here, unannounced?"

Selma made a throaty disapproving noise. "You're my daughter, I should make an appointment to check on your welfare?"

Jack, displaced from the couch, moved some books from the wing chair and sat, coiled and ready to spring on Selma Gellar if she crossed the line. Claire looked at him, with a slight shrug of her left shoulder. She was helpless when it came to thwarting her mother, but she made an effort.

"Given the circumstances, yes, you should call before coming over."

"You're looking better." As always, Selma ignored Claire's feelings. "How are you feeling physically? That horrid man didn't give you a disease, did he? Or God forbid, get you pregnant?"

Claire's elbows were on her knees, and she buried her face in her palms. After a tense few moments, she looked up and Jack saw fire in her eyes for the first time. "I'm feeling better." Her hands dangled between her knees. "Your other questions are inappropriate, none of your business."

"Claire. Of course they're my business. I'm your mother."

"When it's convenient," Claire retorted. "No, Mother," and she underlined 'Mother' with a cutting sarcasm, "I do not have some terrible disease and I am not pregnant. Satisfied? You don't have to be embarrassed in front of your bridge club."

"I know it was horrible –"

"And how do you know it was horrible? You have no idea. If you want details, you'll have to attend the trial."

Selma paled. "You're going to testify about that? In open court?"

"That's how it works."

Selma looked at Jack. "Can't you stop it?"

"No. The man has the right to face his accuser." Jack kept his hands on his knees, as if that would keep them from flying across the coffee table and shaking Selma Gellar like a rag doll.

"What are you going to say?"

"Relax, Mother, I'm not going to describe the actual act." Claire withdrew inward, wrapping herself in her dignity. "You won't be able to hide the fact that your daughter was raped, but your friends won't hear the sordid details."

"Your name will be in the paper?" Selma sounded horrified.

"No. Surely Mac explained the rape shield law to you." Claire reached for her Diet Coke. "If you or any of your friends want your curiosity satisfied, you'll have to sit through the testimony."

"How good is the prosecutor?"

"She's very good, Mother." Claire drained the drink and got up, walking to the kitchen to toss the can and get a fresh one. She deliberately, rudely, did not offer a drink to her mother. She would not encourage Selma to prolong this visit. Insolently flopping on the couch, she looked at her mother. "Do you have any more prying questions I can refuse to answer, or are you satisfied?"

"Why do you hate me so much?" Selma actually sounded hurt.

Claire rolled her eyes. "I am so not going to answer that, except to say I don't hate you. I just don't like you very much, and if you don't know why, then you're more of an ostrich than I thought."

Jack had enough of this. He stood. "I really think you should go, Mrs. Gellar. Claire's tired, and she needs to rest."

Selma looked up at him, then stood, gathering her lesser dignity. "Now you protect her," she said. "Where were you when that horrible man forced himself on her?"

"That's enough, Mother." Claire stood. "Blame Jack again and that's it."

"You're overwrought," Selma said. "I'll come back another time. Get your rest." She walked, unescorted, to the door and out of the apartment.

"God," Claire said, "it never ends." She sank back into the couch cushions. Jack sat beside her. "I can't believe she wants the details, she's the woman who could barely bring herself to explain the mechanics of sex in the first place."

"Maybe she doesn't know any other way to tell you she cares," Jack offered, knowing as he said it that it was lame.

"She cares about what her friends think." Claire nearly drained her Diet Coke. "I'm going to lie down."

"You OK?" He stood with her.

"After that? As OK as I can be." She left him, walking into their bedroom and stretching out on her back on the bed, locking her hands behind her head. She thought about Annie, trying to conjure her friend's face and gentle voice. That gentleness had always disarmed Selma, it was hard to be condescending to such a gentle soul, and Annie scared her, too. She replayed her recent conversations with her friend, realizing today was the day she should start. The day's not over, she thought, don't go there.

Jack came in and sat on the bed. "Need anything?"

"No, thanks," she said. "I'm tired, that's all. Facing Casey Novak would drain Godzilla."

Jack smiled. "Rest, then. I'll order dinner."

"Thanks."

He got up and her body rode the slight movement of the mattress. She closed her eyes and tried to sleep.