When We Were Sisters (29 page)

He was so close I could see the gold flecks in his eyes, warming to something even more elemental. I removed his glasses and set them on the table beside me. “When did you decide this was inevitable?”

“An exact date?”

“Close.”

“When I realized you married a man you couldn't love and I had another chance to be the one you could.”

My heart lifted, and I was filled with longing. Because weren't those words a declaration? That I was wanted by a good man like this one? A man who has seen me at my worst and still cares? A man I have tried to pretend I don't desire?

Of course fear followed quickly. Even Donny, who lived through Australia with me, knows so little of the truth. I struggled to be as honest as I could. “I don't know if I can love anybody. I think maybe that part of me died a long time ago. You're asking for trouble.”

“Nobody knows that better.”

“I would miss you so much if this explodes in our faces.”

“Let's assume it won't.”

“Can we take things slowly?”

“Like five years slow?” He moved closer. “I'm just going to kiss you tonight. Slow enough?”

I wasn't sure which was stronger, fear or desire. Because for the first time in my life, how this turned out really mattered.

So
I
kissed
him
. Because even though I lie as often as I tell the truth, he needed to know how much I wanted him.

Sometimes you have to launch yourself into the void and hope there's somebody there to catch you.

34

Kris

I remember teacher planning days. As a kid in school, having an extra day to do whatever I wanted? Awesome. As a working parent? Not so much.

Today Nik has the day off, although for some reason Pet doesn't, so I spent yesterday debating how to handle it. Robin won't be home until tomorrow night. Nik's best friend is scheduled for a mom-enforced shopping trip, and this close to Christmas I don't want to ask Elena to arrive early. He's old enough to spend the morning alone; he can probably sleep in until Elena arrives, but aren't there better ways to deal with it?

Nik was sullen on the trip to Tysons Corner that he didn't want to take. “I don't want to be a lawyer.”

“I don't blame you.”

Off the toll road I wound my way through traffic toward my office. I got my son up early enough to leave for work with me, but of course, he dragged his feet, hoping that I would change my mind. I didn't. Now we were late enough that the traffic in Tysons was bumper to bumper.

“You just do paperwork all day?”

“Meetings, too. Lots of phone calls.”

“Great. This is going to be so much fun.”

Actually Nik has the makings of a terrific lawyer. He questions everything. He never accepts anything at face value, and he doesn't believe most of what he's told. Empathy doesn't come easily, and he keeps his distance until he's certain a situation requires it.

Oh, and he plans to make a lot of money at whatever he does. Not that finding a good job is easy for lawyers these days when law schools are graduating more than the world really needs.

I finally got through a green light after watching it turn red three times. “You like the music business, right?”

He grunted, which was not exactly the “Yes, sir” I'd been taught by my old-world parents, but expressive enough under the circumstances.

“Would you like to be a personal manager like Donny?”

“Who wouldn't?”

“He has a law degree. Did you know that?”

Another grunt. I was amazed at how well I was learning to interpret. “He went to UCLA Law and worked in a big entertainment firm until he went out on his own.”

“How do you know all that?”

“I asked him.” I like Donny. Even if I'm not crazy about Cecilia, I admire her ability to surround herself with the best people. Like my wife.

“Is that a good way to get into the industry?” Nik asked.

I liked the way this conversation was shaping up, as well as his use of “industry.” My son has been giving this a little thought.

“It's certainly one way, plus if you don't like doing the legal stuff day in and day out, you can branch out, the way Donny did. But entertainment law in itself would be fascinating. Imagine the people you'd meet.”

“So if you go to law school, you don't have to be a lawyer?”

That question took us all the way up the elevator in my building. We finished as the doors opened again on Singer's floor.

Buff and another partner were standing, heads together, just a few feet away, and when Nik and I emerged, I introduced my son to the other man, someone I rarely work with.

“Nik's going to see what I do here,” I said.

Buff's expression was pleasant if nothing more. “Bring your son to work day?”

“I had a day off,” Nik said. “I figured I'd see the place where my father really lives.”

The two men laughed. I squeezed Nik's shoulder—maybe a little too hard. “I'm going to show him around.”

Buff touched my arm. “We need to talk when it's convenient.”

I knew about
what
. Yesterday afternoon I'd carefully crafted a memo about my experience in Norfolk and my decision to no longer be associated with Mervin Pedersen or his case. I strongly recommended that the firm drop him as a client.

Quite possibly this was not, after all, the best day to bring my son with me.

We made arrangements to meet in his office at eleven. Nik and I strolled down the hall.

“Great sense of humor,” I told him. “Me living here and all.”

“Not too bad, huh?”

“Our first and last stop is the law library. You can spend the morning researching statutes on the disposal of dog waste.”

He didn't, of course. We spent the rest of the morning touring the offices and talking about what I did and why. Just before eleven I took him to meet one of our associates, who is working with a songwriter on a new intellectual property infringement matter. The songwriter believes a melody he composed was stolen and recorded, and Jeanie is helping him document his case. I introduced Nik and asked if she had a few minutes to tell him whatever she could.

When it was clear Jeanie was enthused enough to keep Nik busy for at least a few minutes, I headed down the hall.

You can tell how well regarded an attorney is by the size and placement of his office. Mine has a large window and enough room for a leather couch along the only wall not covered with bookcases. Buff's corner office is twice as roomy with twice as many windows, original artwork, wing chairs in addition to a couch and a small mahogany cabinet in the corner, which hides a well-stocked bar.

When I stepped in he nodded to the bar, but I shook my head. I have no intention of acquiring a taste for liquor in the middle of my workday. It's hard enough to stay focused.

“I got your memo,” he said without more preliminaries. “I had to read it three times to be sure I understood.”

“Wasn't I clear? I'm sorry.”

“You were clear. I just couldn't believe it.”

I took a chair in front of his desk. That he hadn't come out to sit on the sofa was a sign I couldn't misinterpret. I'd just been called to the principal's office.

I took the initiative. “This is not a man the firm should represent. He'll drag us through his own contamination, and we won't win. In the short time I was there I encountered an employee, soon to be an ex-employee, who will probably testify against Pedersen and his practices if given the opportunity. I'm sure there are others. He has more money than sense or ethics. He's angry for no good reason, and he wants retribution. He won't get it. At best he'll get publicity, but it won't be good. I would guess when the proper authorities find time, money and legal precedent to go after him, they will, with guns blazing.”

“Back up to the more money than sense part.”

I knew where Buff was going. Singer could be absolutely honest with Pedersen, and he would still want us to represent him. He wanted his day in court, even if we promised he was going to lose. And he had that right. This is America, and “land of the free” means we're
free
to bring lawsuits, even if they are certifiably crazy. We're also free to spend our money any way we want.

I elaborated on my memo. “I've represented people I don't like, and I've represented people with little or no chance of winning. This time it's a doubleheader. Pedersen's a dirtbag. His facilities are substandard, and his employees are forced to cut corners on safety. I don't want any part of it.”

“What if I tell you we're going to work with him anyway? Because that's what we do. We aren't going to do anything shady or unethical in representing him, but we
are
going to do it to the best of our ability, and Pedersen wants you on the team.”

“Then I'll tell him I've suddenly discovered I can't give his case the thoughtful preparation it needs, and I hope he understands. I'll be glad to make that phone call.”

Buff was tapping a pen on his desk. “That's your final word?”

“I hope so.”

“This doesn't look good, Kris. Some people will think you're just too busy with your personal life to take this on, and they'll think you're slacking.”

“I hope everybody will be told up front why I'm not doing it, and I hope the firm will reconsider its own decision to work with him.”

“That will be
my
decision, not the firm's. And I haven't yet decided.”

I stood, because there was little else to say. “I've billed as many or more hours in my years here as anyone else in the office. And this month I didn't let up, despite being busy at home. The facts are there for anybody to see. I hope they take a look.”

“Backbone's a good thing for an attorney.”

“For human beings in general.”

“Backbone tempered by common sense is better.”

“My backbone and my conscience agree on this one, Buff.” I nodded and left. In the hallway I could almost feel the cold chill that would probably greet my decision once it was widely known. Depending, of course, on how Buff explained it to the other partners.

Jeanie and Nik were still chatting away when I went to fetch him to go home. I couldn't remember when I last left the office before five, but by the same token, I couldn't remember when I had so thoroughly jinxed my career, either. Some kind of celebration was called for.

I was gathering my things to go, and Nik was muttering about the boring books on my shelves, when my phone buzzed. When I hung up a few minutes later he was standing beside my desk.

“Who was that?”

He actually sounded interested. “My friend Howie. He teaches at GW Law. You met him this summer, remember? He and his wife came to dinner.” Robin made a wonderful couscous dish, and Howie went back for thirds.

“You're going to teach a class?”

“I might. I've been doing guest lectures for his classes. Now he wants me to teach my own as an adjunct professor.” Adjunct means the pay and prestige will be minimal, but Howie also mentioned that a faculty position might open next year, and teaching this spring could help pave the way. If I was interested.

“You must like teaching. You sounded...” Nik shrugged. “Different.”

I examined my son, the one with the supposed empathy problem? Nik had picked up on my tone, maybe my posture. And I guess I did laugh more than once.

“I do like teaching. I like it better than anything else professional that I do.”

“Then why don't you do that instead of this? If you like it? Aren't we supposed to do things we like and get paid for it?”

“It doesn't pay nearly as well.”

“Yeah, making money is good.” He picked up a paperweight and tossed it from hand to hand. “I guess I want to be happy, too.”

I was raising a wise young man. Of course most of the time Nik hides it well, but when the chips are down, out it pops. I memorized the conversation for Robin. In the coming years we'll need to document each and every case of mature behavior on the part of our children to tuck away as reminders.

On the way to the garage we talked about Jeanie's case and what he'd learned. Out on the road I gave him a tour of the area. Two popular upscale shopping malls are situated nearby, and the streets between them are lined with freestanding stores. With only ten days until the holiday, Christmas is everywhere. Office buildings and shops are thoroughly saturated in green and red, with silver bells tinkling in a bracing breeze.

“What's a model-train store? A whole store for model railroads?” Nik pointed to a shop at the end of the row.

“Right. The kind of place a kid goes to drool over train sets he can't afford. I went weekly when I was your age.”

“You did?”

“Sure. Train sets are great. Like the one I had as a boy. You've seen it.”

“No.”

I pulled into a parking slot near the store in question. Model Train World sat companionably beside a stationery store. Does anybody really use stationery anymore?

“You've seen my train set,” I said. “I'm sure you have.”

“No.”

“When your grandparents moved from the house where I grew up they boxed everything of mine they found in their attic and shipped it to us. Train set, too. You were pretty young, but I'm sure I showed it to you.”

“No.”

Judging by his unswerving devotion to his own opinion, I could see law school was becoming inevitable. “Okay. I didn't show it to you. I'm sorry.”

“It's up in the attic now?”

“It's not much of a set.” Of course any little boy—or girl—would adore it, cheap and incomplete as it is. Especially a child, like my son, who loves hobbies and collecting in general.

I had loved every single piece. Somehow, in the midst of my important life, sharing my beloved train set with my son and daughter simply slipped my mind.

For a moment I found it hard to speak. I cleared my throat. Nik, Pet and I had cut a Scotch pine at a local Christmas-tree farm yesterday, and now it stood undecorated in its designated corner, waiting for Robin to come home and help. “We'll find that box tonight. What say we set it up around the Christmas tree?”

His face lit up. “Really?”

“Well, I had to save pretty hard for each piece. I used to haul out trash for elderly neighbors. There's not a lot to it. Let's check out the store and see what's there. Maybe buy more track?”

“Really?” he repeated. “How cool is that.”

Nik is almost too old to appreciate this. In a few years he'll roll his eyes when I bring the train set out of the attic to set it up under the tree. I nearly missed this chance to share something that once meant everything to me.

How many other things have I nearly missed? How many others are gone forever?

“I collected O gauge trains and track. Do you know what that means?”

“I don't know anybody with model trains.”

“Remember how much you loved reading
The Polar Express
?”

“Did you ever see the movie? It's scary.”

“Maybe we can watch it tonight while we set up the train.”

“Yeah, Petra would like that.”

“You're doing better on the name change than I am. I still call her Pet.”

“She doesn't mind because it's
you
.”