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Her gaze lingers on me for a second, and she smiles, “Why am I surprised you object to looking normal for a change?”
“There’s nothing abnormal about a man who enjoys looking sharp.”
“You could stand to loosen your tie sometimes.”
She wouldn’t be the first to say so, but she is always the one who says it the longest and loudest.
I sit down across from her and grab the cider she set out for me. “Is this your way of admitting that you purposefully had your dog urinate on me? You know, I’m impressed that you managed to teach her that command in a single afternoon. How did you signal to her? Snap your fingers? Suck your lip?”
Shit. The words tumbled out of me because that’s where my attention is focused—on that little bit of frosting on her upper lip, just asking to be licked. As if the power of suggestion has commanded her, she sucks it in and tilts her head when she finds the frosting.
“Way to drop a hint. And the boring pajamas suit you.”
“Because I’m boring,” I say, smiling. “Nicely done, Traeger.”
“You said we’d talk.” She pushes the plate away, suddenly nervous. I see it in the way she’s holding herself.
“Yeah. You told me you want to get on my insurance. I can’t lie in the paperwork, Ruthie. If I got caught, I’d be disbarred. I’m okay with skirting the line, but I can’t vault across it.”
“So you’re saying no.” She exhales and then takes a long sip of her cider.
“Is there a reason you need it?”
She doesn’t say Izzy’s name, but I notice the way she glances at the hallway leading to the bedrooms. Worry infiltrates me. Izzy’s just a kid, but you read about kids getting cancer or other diseases. Needing brain surgery or chemo.
It’s not that bad, I reassure myself. If it were, Ruthie wouldn’t have kept it to herself.
Still, the worry weaves in deeper.
“Izzy needs it,” I press. “Why?”
She shakes her head ruefully. “You and your lawyer ways. I’d like to think I can keep secrets from you.”
“It’s easier not to. Why does she need it?”
“Ear tube surgery. She’s had six ear infections in the past four months. They make her so uncomfortable.”
I let myself accept the relief. This is a problem that can be fixed. “Your insurance won’t cover it?”
“Barely. It would still be thousands of dollars.”
Shit. I don’t need to take a good look around this place to know everything is from discount bins. “Danny would help you. No questions asked.”
“He doesn’t have that kind of money lying around. Besides, you know I can’t accept that kind of help from him. Not after everything.”
Everything goes something like this: Danny spent the last ten years chained to her ex-boyfriend’s company. Jarrod Travis is a piece of shit, but he’s lucky enough to run a multi-million-dollar web security company, Safe-T Net. He tricked a barely legal Ruthie into having an affair with him. After it ended badly, Danny, who has mad computer skills, hacked into Safe-T Net’s system and crashed it—for a week. Jarrod knew he had him over a barrel, so he gave him an ultimatum: work for him and pay restitution or go to jail and take his chances with the court system. He didn’t have a decent lawyer, so he took option A.
That’s why I decided to become a lawyer. I figured Danny deserved better than to get the runaround, but I doubt Ruthie would believe me if I told her that. She’d point out that the defendants who hired my old firm weren’t desperate kids in need of a break, but rich and usually guilty people who’d been raised to expect breaks. To be angry when they didn’t get them.
It’s true, but here’s another truth: you don’t always end up where you meant to go. Sometimes you start in one direction and find yourself in another without any idea how to get back, and no memory of why it was important to keep trying.
Danny was only recently able to quit his job at Safe-T Net, because he sold a computer game that he and our other friend had developed in their free time.
Ruthie didn’t ask Danny to intervene in the Jarrod Travis situation, but she’s always felt like it’s her fault. So she doesn’t ask him for help unless she’s desperate.
“Ruthie,” I say, reaching across the table to touch her hand. It’s warm and soft, and it’s been a while since I’ve felt a woman’s hand. That must be why my thumb instinctively starts moving back and forth across her skin. I pull away as if I’d been burned. “I’m not opposed. You know I care about Izzy. She’s like a niece to me.”
“She’s not your niece,” she responds quickly—a rote response.
