At least, by the time I’ve reached the top, I no longer want to gag at the fact that he honestly thought I’d be interested in dating someone who makes a living by defending the guilty.
I’ve certainly walked away from my fair share of clients after that first meeting because I’d seen their guilt plain as day on their face. I won’t allow innocent people to suffer just for a dollar because that isnotwhy I became a lawyer.
I spent years in law school and working my way up in my firm so I could help people. So I could bring justice to those who feel helpless. It’s why a good portion of my work is pro bono. I take the cases no one else in my firm wants to touch.
After unlocking the front door to my apartment, I push it open, lock it behind me, then toss my briefcase to the side. I kick off my heels and groan when my sore bare feet hit plush carpet.
“Ughhh, sweet relief,” I whisper as I stand for just a moment in the darkness, letting myself relish the fact that I’m home. And for the next few weeks, I havenocases to handle. No clients to meet with.
Vacation is mine. And it starts right now.
Light illuminates the room as I flip the switch and study the place I’ve hardly been in since I took this case almost a year ago. Now that it’s over, I’m considering redecorating or, at the very least, finally unpacking that last box that’s been sitting in my closet for the past seven years, since I first moved in here. Who knows? Maybe during this vacation, I’ll be able to sleep in, take long bubble baths, and finally get myself back into Pilates.
Maybe. If I’m lucky.
I set my keys down on the kitchen counter and pause right beside a photograph I can’t seem to put away, no matter how many years it’s been since my husband’s death. Paul—or Pauly as I called him—is standing there beside me, his plane in the background, a wide smile on his face.
He’d just taken me up for the first time, and I’d already been so in love.
We were married three months later.
It only lasted two years.Two years. Then I was burying him in the ground.
My chest aches as I rub the heel of my palm against it. The truth is: I’ve considered getting remarried. Finding someone else to spend my life with. But even though I’ve gotten past the guilt of wanting someone around, there’s this nagging feeling in my heart that things aren’t finished yet.
That there’s more to his death.
And if I move on? Doesn’t that mean forgetting him and letting the rest of it go, too?
My cell rings again, and for a moment, I consider ignoring it just in case it could be Larry again. But since doing that means potentially missing someone important, I pull my cell back out of my pocket and grin when I see “Mom” flashing across the screen.
“Perfect timing, Mom.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.” I head into the kitchen for a glass of water. “How’s it going?”
“Not bad. I was calling to congratulate you. I just saw the news.”
It was a relatively high-profile case, so I’m not surprised she was able to see coverage of it. “Thanks. I hope it brings them some peace.”
“It will.” She sighs into the phone. “How areyoudoing?”
After filling up my glass and taking a drink, I cross over toward my balcony and slide the door open to step outside. It’s frigid outside, but the cold settles around me, and I embrace it like an old friend.
Cold is numbing.
And sometimes that’s what I need.
“I’m good.”
“You’re lying.”
I smile in the dark. “I won’t pretend it didn’t bring up some memories, but it’s been ten years, Mom. I’m doing okay.”
“Then I’ll let it go, but just know that I’m here. Maybe you should come home. We can take a trip.”
Last year, my mom moved back to my hometown of Hope Springs, Maine. She said she needed a fresh start after losing my dad suddenly. I definitely can’t blame her, though my coping mechanism was to throw myself headfirst into work.
