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“How may I help you?” the woman asks. The name engraved on the brass plate on her desk tells me she’s Marietta Brooks, the woman who emailed me earlier today.
“I’m Raquel Clearwater,” I say, shoulders back, head held high. This is what Sasha would do, I know, and I am determined to make her proud. “I have a consultation with Mr. Greenwood at four thirty.”
“If you’d like to have a seat, he’ll be right out,” she says, gesturing to a coffee station against the wall. “Would you like some coffee?”
I say yes, because it feels like the mature thing to do, and I pour myself a cup even though my stomach is so nervous I don’t think I can swallow a single sip of anything right now. The cup sits warm in my hands as I watch the seconds tick by on the decorative wrought iron clock on the wall. The second hand is only a few seconds past four thirty when Mr. Greenwood walks out.
He looks exactly like his picture on his website. Tall, well-dressed, bright silver hair with a little black left around his sideburns. “Miss Clearwater,” he says in a booming voice that I visualize him using in the courtroom as he gets Elijah out of trouble. “I’m Max Greenwood. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
I stand up, shifting the coffee to my left hand. I shake his hand, a jagged smile forming on my lips. “Hello,” I say feebly. Ugh.
I follow him to his office, and I try not to compare its homey vibe to the vast glass and metal intimidation of Mr. Cade’s office. A thousand framed pictures of his wife and kids does not mean Mr. Greenwood won’t be a tough lawyer in court. Besides, he’s all I’ve got if I’m going to keep my promise to Sasha to leave her parents out of this.
“How has your day been so far?” Mr. Greenwood asks as we take our seats on either side of his desk.
“As good as it can be, considering I had to suffer through school,” I say, and he chuckles. This is all part of my plan — to be the kind and upstanding teenager who needs a little help. Maybe in the form of a payment plan, reduced prices and some kind of grant money.
“Try to enjoy it while you can, Miss Clearwater. Sometimes I wish I could go back to my high school years. Back then I could run a five-minute mile and eat whatever I wanted.”
Enough of the pleasantries. I sit on the edge of my seat, shoulders straight. I’ve rehearsed this speech in my head all day. I will explain the situation. I’ll lament how the system has failed an upstanding member of society. I’ll play on the mission statement on his website: using integrity, excellence, innovation and respect to give legal service to his clients in unique ways that pertain to each client’s individual needs. I’ll concede that, yes, I am a poor high school student and Elijah is no better off, but I’ll urge that I’m capable of paying his fees if we can get creative with payment options.
Before I say a word, Mr. Greenwood pulls his bushy eyebrows together. He presses a finger to his lips and then points it toward me. “How do I know you?” he says, concentrating on me.
“I, uh, you don’t?” I say. I know him, though. He graduated from South Texas College of Law and has been licensed to practice in the state since 1989. He’s won awards and participates in charity events all over the state, which is one of the reasons I’m hoping he will go easy on me when it comes to his compensation.
“You look so familiar,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “Ah, wait a minute.” His face lights up in recognition, and then it promptly slides into a frown. “That’s where I remember you. The funeral. You were Sasha’s best friend who gave a speech, right?”
I’m too dumbstruck to answer. Mr. Greenwood continues, “I’m so sorry for your loss. The Cades are such great people. I’m sure you miss her a lot.”
“You know the Cades?” My plan begins to fall apart the moment he nods.
“Oh sure. I’m very close with Walter Cade. We play golf together. Of course, he hasn’t been at the golf course since his daughter passed. Understandable.”
I don’t know what I was thinking by coming here. I thought I could keep Sasha’s last wish a secret like she’d asked me to. I thought I could save Elijah and no one would have to kno
w. But lawyers don’t exactly grow on trees, and they probably all know each other. Who doesn’t know the famous Walter Cade?
If I ask for Mr. Greenwood’s help, it’s sure to get back to Sasha’s dad, a slip of the tongue over drinks or a round of golf at the country club. Mr. Cade would find out that his daughter’s best friend hired a lawyer to get a strange boy out of jail. He’d inquire about the boy. He’d discover the truth.
He’d find out about Sasha’s secret from someone who isn’t me.
I stand up, my chair gliding across the thin carpet. “I’m sorry, I can’t do this.”
“Is everything okay?” Mr. Greenwood asks.
I shake my head. Everything is not okay. But I’m not about to explain it.
“Sorry I wasted your time,” I say.
And then I get the hell out of there.
***
A chilly breeze dances through my hair and sends fallen leaves skidding all over the cemetery grounds. Some crash into headstones, where they pile up, but others make it all the way down to the water. My butt is freezing, my teeth chattering, as I sit on the mostly dead mound of grass that covers Sasha’s grave.
“Listen,” I say as I stare at her name etched into the bright white granite headstone. “Elijah needs my help. Actually, he needs your dad’s help. I understand why you want me to keep Elijah a secret, but I can’t do it anymore.”
I stare at the ground and try not to imagine the casket that’s buried six feet below. Sasha’s bones may lie beneath me, but her spirit is everywhere. I look up toward the sky, closing my eyes as another cold gust of air slams into my face. I’ve never been one to stand up for myself, especially without Sasha by my side. Maybe I just didn’t have the right motivation until now.
