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“No,” I say, because he’s right.
“We like to play by our own rulebook around here.”
My mind feels like it’s a thousand-piece puzzle with the pieces all shaped the same. I don’t know how to solve it, or if it can be solved.
“You may have noticed that Daniels never came back from his vacation.”
“Yes,” I say. Truthfully, it’s become something of a joke between Michael and me—the invisible Daniels of Freeman & Daniels. “I’d wondered about that.”
“A couple of weeks into the New Year, he told me he’d decided to retire. That’s why I brought you on, Royce. I need new blood in this practice, maybe a new partner someday.”
“Sir,” I say after a moment of silence. “I lied to you. Surely you’d be happy to get rid of me.”
“You may have lied to me, son,” Freeman says, pushing back in his chair, “but I think the person you lied to most is yourself. I saw something between you and your wife that day. There was already a connection. You were looking for an excuse to pursue it, and I was the man who gave it to you. Now, I won’t tell you not to consider Beckett’s offer. You need to do what’s right for you, same as any of us. But know that we have something else to offer you here. Creativity. Time for your family. You go on home and give it a thought. But don’t think too long.”
For a second, I feel my mood lifting, because here he is, offering me what I need for the second time in less than two months. A fulfilling job, and Ruthie and Izzy. But then dread wraps around me and makes me its bitch, because it’s probably too late.
I stumble back to my office, and Michael whistles and then grabs something from his drawer and follows me inside, shutting the door behind him.
Once it’s closed, he shows me the flask.
“I should probably yell at you for having that,” I say as I motion it over.
“But you’re not going to,” he says as he gives it to me. “I should probably yell at you for not telling me about your interview.”
“Christ.” I shake my head after taking a gulp of the whiskey. “What, you got a wire in Freeman’s office or something?”
“You’re not nearly as quiet or subtle as you think you are. I brought coffee over to his assistant so I could figure out what was up with you. I take it things aren’t going well with Ruthie of the ruby?”
“I fucked up, big surprise.” I hand the flask back over, and he waves it off.
“Your need is greater.”
Fine by me. I set it on my desk. He studies me for a second, his eyes surprisingly piercing for someone who’s so mild-mannered, and I flinch. “What?”
“I’m trying to decide whether I should tell you something.”
“Go for it. My day couldn’t get much worse.”
He lifts his eyebrows, his mouth scrunching to the side. “It’s just…you know how I told you in the beginning that I could tell your friend was in love but you weren’t?”
“I changed my mind,” I say. “Maybe I don’t want you to continue.”
He winks at me. “I think you already know what I was going to say, boss. So am I going to lose this job just after I started getting comfortable here?”
“If I decide to go to the other firm, I’ll find a position for you.”
“I don’t know about that, boss man. I like the way things are here.”
My first thought is: so do I. My second one is less generous: He’s leaving me too.
I just nod—a please get the fuck out right now nod—and Michael, being the body-language wizard he is, understands it and goes.
When I collect myself enough to leave the office, Wendy at the front desk tries to get me to accept a lollipop.
On the road, I skip the turn that would take me back to my house. Instead, I find myself weaving up into the mountains, taking in the stark trees that look like hands lifted in supplication. I don’t have a plan at the forefront of my mind, but it turns out one was forming anyway, because I find myself parking in a spot that’s familiar to me. I cut through the trees, and a few minutes later, I find it.
The safe space. I feel almost feverish as I run my hands over the wooden bench, and then I find it, the crooked heart with our initials inside, carved by Ruthie when she was ten. She thought I was worthy then. She thought I was worthy last week.
