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“Of course. Did she leave a name?”
“Julie Romero,” she said.
“Please put her through,” I instructed.
My pulse raced, something like dread coursing through me because I’d just heard my assistant describe Julie as distraught. As soon as the light blinked on my desk phone, I answered.
“Julie?” I asked. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, I think so. I’m sorry to bother you, Jeremy. But you said to call if he, if Eric bothered me. Last night he came into ER while I was working. He had cut his hand and needed stitches. He asked for me by name at the desk. It wasn’t some coincidence where he happened to need medical treatment and had no idea I was on duty.”
“He asked for you by name,” I said. I was trying to take notes, but I was gripping the pen so hard I broke it and had to reach for another. “Did you inform your supervisor? Did you have to treat him?” I tried to keep my voice even, but white-hot fury rode hard in my blood.
“No. My supervisor didn’t make me deal with him because of the restraining order. She assigned someone else to take care of him. To be honest, I was pretty rattled, so I asked to take my break. I’d like to say I confronted him and told him to back off, but I tried to stay out of sight until he was gone. As it was, he asked for me again, ‘just to say hi’ and they had to tell him it was time for him to leave since his treatment was complete, and he had been given discharge instructions,” she said. Her voice was tight.
“You have every reason to be alarmed and angry. Since you have an active restraining order, you’re not legally required to treat him unless it’s life threatening. You did the right thing informing your supervisor. The order doesn’t specifically restrict him from entering the building or using the services of that hospital. As for confronting him, I would advise against it.”
“I know. I’m just so mad that my life still has to revolve around him. It’s like I’ll never really be free of him, even though I got away, I still have to look over my shoulder and be afraid while he’s free to go wherever and do whatever and go to my job and ask for me.”
“I agree with you completely. That’s why we’re going to document this and make sure we have every possible detail recorded for when we charge him with a parole violation. Because he’s already trying to get in your face. He’s decided that harassing you is worth more than his freedom. It’s our job to make sure he doesn’t get what he wants. We keep you safe and lock him up. Listen, it’s almost lunch time. Can you meet me at Sebastian’s at one?”
“I’d like that. Thanks, Jeremy.”
“I’m glad you called, Julie. We’re going to take care of this. I promise,” I told her.
Why had I promised? When had I become so invested in her situation?
I’d chosen a place near the hospital so she wouldn’t’ have to go far. I arrived early, got a table and ordered drinks and an appetizer. I watched her walk toward me across the crowded space, her ponytail swinging in her haste as she wove among the tables to reach the spot where I waited in the corner. Instead of the racy swimsuit or her bare-shouldered sundress, Julie wore pink cotton scrubs, a little faded and loose. When her eyes met mine, I saw the fear, the anxiety, and the flinty determination not to give in to any of it. The set of her chin impressed me, her resilience and strength in the face of a situation so terrifying. Still, the furrow in her brow wrenched me. I wanted to smooth it, to take her in my arms and comfort her. I wasn’t the sort of attorney who was overcome with sympathy for the problems of my clients. I was very rational and gave it to them straight—how the law dictated their situation should be resolved. So being struck between the eyes with a rush of yearning to fold Julie in my arms and make sure she never had to worry about anything again caught me off guard entirely.
“Thanks for taking my call and making time to see me,” she said politely.
“Julie, we’re not going to let history repeat itself.”
She took a long drink of her lemonade. “How’d you know I’d want lemonade?”
“At the seafood place you ordered lemonade.”
“You’re very observant,” she said, lifting one eyebrow at me, perhaps trying to look suspicious. It was cute as hell.
“I am. You did the right thing by calling me. I want you to take detailed notes, write down everything about what happened when he came in, what he said, who was there and heard him. Do that anytime you encounter him at all, even if you just see him from a distance. Keep it in the notes on your phone or in a notebook, do a voice memo, whatever. I want the narrative while it’s fresh in your mind, and with the metadata showing the time you recorded or wrote it. That creates a chain of evidence. We’re going to prove he’s violating his parole, Julie. I hate to ask this, but it would help if you’d give me an idea of how your relationship with Eric started, how it evolved. If it helps, I know what’s on record from the court transcripts, but that’s just an outline. I need to know how it really was. It’s a difficult topic, and I’m sorry to have to ask you.”
