by Susan Hatler
I put my hand on his forearm. “I can take care of myself.”
“I know.” He peered down at me, and his hazel eyes softened as he leaned his forehead against mine. “It’s just—”
Ding! The elevator doors opened, revealing a small group of people waiting to get on. We squeezed past them, then Ryan turned toward me. “Do you like Italian? I know a great restaurant in North Beach.”
“Sure.” I concentrated on my red heels as I walked, thinking about his heated expression in the elevator, and wondering what he’d been about to say.
Chapter Ten
The restaurant was packed and we were lucky to get a table inside. The bistro tables in front had looked charming, but after our meeting with the defense attorney, I was in the mood for some peace and quiet in lieu of the hurried waiters and patron chatter by the door.
The server set two glasses of Chianti on the red tablecloth, took our orders, then scurried off.
I lifted a glass, and took a sip of the spicy red wine. “This is delicious. Good choice.”
Ryan fingered the bottom of his glass, and stared at me. “I can take over the Somerset case. Let me.”
I scoffed. “Um, no. Why would you do that?”
His eyes were fired up again. “So you wouldn’t have to deal with Frank.”
“Do I look like a damsel in distress?” I asked, secretly liking this chivalrous side of him. “I’m going to make him eat his offensive remarks at trial by getting a fantastic jury verdict. It’s the least I can do for that sweet lady.”
Ryan shook his head like he couldn’t believe me. “Doesn’t his chauvinistic demeanor bother you?”
“There’s nothing I can do about what I can’t change.” I met his gaze. “Would you be happier if I cried?”
“That’s not what I’m saying.” Ryan pushed his glass away, and leaned forward. “I don’t understand how you can hide your emotions like that.”
“Years of practice.” My hand was inches from Ryan’s, and I saw him look down at it. “I only rely on myself.”
Ryan’s expression remained serious. “Is that why won’t you let me help you? Did you rely on someone who let you down badly?”
I sighed. “Something like that. . . It’s sweet of you to offer. But would you take over a case if this happened to another male attorney?”
He immediately nodded. “If an attorney in my department was receiving sexist treatment, then yes. I’d do something about it.”
I straightened in my chair. “You’re missing the point. I don’t want you to do anything about it. I’m not going to walk away from a bully. Even if he is a sexist pig.”
The server appeared, setting down a basket of bread. The smell of fresh sourdough filled the air. The woman turned, and headed back toward the front of the restaurant.
I lifted a roll of bread, and my gaze followed the waitress across the room as she passed by an impeccably dressed man carrying a briefcase. My eyes traveled up to the familiar face, the short, coffee-brown hair—the same color mine used to be. I gasped.
“What is it?”
I whipped my head around before the man could make eye contact. Then I sank down in my chair, and willed him not to see me. “It’s my dad.”
Ryan watched me curiously. “Why are you scrunching down like that?”
“This is not happening.” I hoped denial would make me invisible. I thrust my thumbnail between my teeth. I so did not want to see my dad. He’d driven my mom off and I know I shouldn’t take sides, but the woman had slaved for years to fund his fun adventures.
At least she’d seen the Grand Canyon. I wonder where she’d gotten off to next. . . .
Ryan leaned to his right, and peered around me with obvious interest. “Your dad lives in the City?”
“Suburb.” I clipped out. “I don’t know what he’d be doing here dressed like that.”
“What an amazing coincidence.” Ryan looked positively delighted. “Looks like he’s alone.”
I sank further down in my chair, and very slowly—so as not to call attention—twisted to my left. My dad was now seated at a table by the window, doing what I’d rarely seen him doing in my life . . . working.”
Seeing my dad had apparently made Ryan forget about the Frank Wilson discussion because Ryan now looked like his high-on-life self again. He smiled at me. “You should ask him to join us.”
I had to concentrate to form a non-clipped, hopefully casual sentence, because I didn’t want my dad further complicating my lunch. “Maybe. A. Different. Time.”
“How often are you in San Francisco? From the way I’ve seen you work, I’m guessing not too much.” He stood. “Want me to ask him for you?”
I weighed the consequences of my potential responses. If I said no, Ryan was sure to probe. But if I said yes. . . “Wait,” I said, but it was too late.
Ryan had apparently taken my lack of answer as a yes. I watched him maneuver around tables, and head over to my father. He turned over his shoulder and caught sight of me. I pressed my lips together and raised my hand.
Ryan and my dad had a short interchange with the server, before they headed back to our table. I sat up in my chair, smoothed the front of my red blouse, and took a deep breath.
Ryan took the seat across from me. “This is really great.”
I kept my face blank as my dad sat next to me, and turned my way. Brown eyes, with gold flecks. Just like mine. Irritation surged through me. How could he have traveled year after year, leaving my mom with all of the responsibility?
“Well, isn’t this an interesting surprise?” Dad had deep circles under his eyes as he stared down at me.
My heart tugged, even though I knew he’d caused the mess he was in. “Hi, Dad.”
Ryan reached for his wine glass. “What kind of business are you in, Mr. Parnell?”
“Please call me Ted.” He turned to Ryan with a smile, but his eyes looked vacant, and I wondered how much sleep he was getting. “I’m a lawyer, Ryan. Just like my little girl.”
“Not exactly like me.” I took a long sip of wine, swallowing years of pent up resentment. “Since you haven’t practiced in years.”
A pained expression crossed his face. “I’m doing contract work now. Full-time. I’ve left messages for your mother letting her know. Have you heard from her?”
Oh, great. We were doing this in front of Ryan? “Yes, she called. But not recently.”
He wrapped his hand around my forearm. “Where was she? Did she say anything about me?”
I exchanged a look with Ryan, hoping he was happy for bringing my dad into what was supposed to be our peaceful and relaxing lunch after an upsetting episode. “She was in Arizona. She said she’d always wanted to see the Grand Canyon.”
And that she would not be calling you. . . .
“That’s right.” He raked his hands through his hair. “I should’ve taken her to the Grand Canyon. I should’ve taken her lots of places. But she never said it was a good time.”
I sucked in a deep breath, figuring I may as well address this now. “That’s because she was always working to pay off your last trip.”
Ryan set his napkin on the table, and his expression said he wanted to give us privacy for our family discussion. “Why don’t I give you both a few—”
Dad reached for Ryan’s arm. “No, stay. Please.”
Ryan slowly sank back down into his seat, brushing my leg as if asking my preference, and I nodded back indicating he should stay.
“Jill’s right.” Dad bobbed his head up and down, eyes turning misty. “I blew it with your mom and she left me. I don’t blame her. But I’m working to make up for that now. If you talk to her, will you tell her I’ll do whatever it takes to get her back, sweetheart? Please?”
I sighed, feeling sorry for him, despite myself. “Yes, I’ll tell her you’re working full-time.”
“I appreciate it.” He glanced at the server as she set our meals in front of each of us. “Speaking of work, how are things at your of
fice? Did they fire that turkey who stole your job yet?”
Oh, yeah. That definitely topped off my day with a cherry.
Mortified, I rubbed my palm on my forehead, but Ryan kept that reassuring pressure of his leg against mine. “No, they are perfectly happy with him. In fact, he’s sitting right across from you.”
Ryan pressed his lips together, the corners twitching. “I see Jill’s told you about me.”
“Not your name, obviously.” Dad shook his head, then tossed me an apologetic look. “How long have you been with the firm, Ryan?” He forked his Caesar salad, took a bite and chewed.
Ryan didn’t look particularly upset that my dad had referred to him as poultry. “A couple weeks now.”
Dad sank his fork into his lasagna. “Do you plan to stay with Corbett, Gray, & Shaw indefinitely?”
Ryan studied his plate a moment, then lifted his gaze. “That depends on what the future holds.”
Dad leaned back in his seat, and folded his hands on the table. “I see. Well, you won’t find a better attorney or a harder worker than my daughter.”
The corner of Ryan’s mouth lifted. “I’ve noticed that. I can see you’re very proud of her.”
“Yes, I am.” He turned, and met my gaze straight on. “Now it’s my turn to make her proud of me.”
My eyes welled as I reached over, and squeezed my dad’s hand. I may not know how to find balance yet, but I’d seen enough just now to know I had to start opening up to Ryan. Show him how I felt about him, no matter how vulnerable exposing myself would be.
Otherwise, I might end up like my dad, in my fifties, and alone. Panicked about how to win back the one he loved, and had lost.
****
We drove back to Sacramento in silence. I was grateful we didn’t talk on the ride, and I sensed Ryan was giving me space. Upon leaving San Francisco, I’d flipped on the radio, and he’d taken the hint that I wasn’t up for conversation. Now I was back in the office, glued to my desk as usual. A rustling at the door caused me to look up from my memo pad.
Sarah stepped in. “Case settled?”
I smiled wearily at my friend’s optimism. “Not yet.”
“That’s too bad.” She snapped her fingers. “You’ll get him next time.”
“Thanks, Sarah.” I turned on my computer, and waited for it to boot up. Meeting with Frank Wilson and then my dad had left me slumped over my desk, stilettos piled on the floor next to the wall.
“Well, I’ll let you get back to work.” She headed to the door. “We doing girls’ night tomorrow? Geoffries lounge?”
“Sounds good.” I thought about my interview tomorrow afternoon, and hoped I’d be ordering champagne to celebrate my new job.
I logged into my computer, then checked my emails. There were several from Sarah regarding phone messages she’d taken, a note from Human Resources on the importance of not flushing “anything” down the toilet besides the provided toilet paper, and a message from Sherri, the program director at H.H.P.
I clicked on the email:
Jill,
Thank you again for your help serving dinner yesterday evening. I’m intrigued by your idea of doing more to help the homeless. Would love to talk to you more about this when you get the time. Maybe lunch next week? You can always reach me on my cell.
Kind regards,
Sherri
I closed out the email, and sighed. Yes, I wanted to do more. But how? That was the question. I pulled out a yellow legal pad and clicked my pen open. I dropped my gaze, which landed on the Homeless Solutions article that lay by my keyboard. Suddenly, my eyes widened and I reached for the phone.
I punched in Sherri’s number, which rang several times before she answered. I had butterflies dancing in my stomach. “Hi, Sherri. This is Jill Parnell.”
“Hi, Jill. Fast return on the email.” Sherri’s voice was friendly, but she spoke so quickly, it was hard to keep up. “Does this mean we’re on for lunch next week?”
I glanced at my calendar, feeling the excitement build. “Are you free for a drink tonight? At the Geoffries hotel?”
“Absolutely.” Sherri’s tone was enthusiastic. “Eight o’clock? I know you work late . . .”
“Let’s make it six.” I blurted, without feeling the slightest bit guilty. Yes, I worked hard. But my personal time counted too, and this project was important to me.
****
“I love it!” Sherri clinked her wine glass to mine. “It’s a great idea.”
I ignored the plate of prawns the server set down, and went on. “It would be a more focused homeless outreach program. One person at a time.”
“Yes.” Sherri cheered passionately. “That’s exactly how you make a difference.”
Tingles ran up both of my arms. “We’d get donors to provide the basics to the selected individual. Food. Shelter. Clothing. In addition, we give them whatever they need to get back on their feet. Counseling. Job training. Drug treatment program. Whatever would help them.”
She nodded, enthusiastically. “Change the world one beautiful person at a time.”
I smiled, then reached for a prawn.
Sherri sipped her wine. “It’s going to be a lot of work. I’m warning you now.”
I leaned toward her. “Work is my specialty. When I set my mind to something, I’m driven until I achieve it.”
Just like that interview tomorrow with McKenzie of McKenzie, Atkins, Haugan, & Hall. I was going to nail it, and land that job.
Sherri pressed a hand to the cocktail table, then looked me in the eye. “I could tell exactly the kind of person you were the first time I met you at that fundraising dinner. You’re organized, driven, and have a good heart. You’ll follow this project through, no matter how many setbacks come your way.”
My eyes watered from the compliment. “I thought of a name for the program. What do you think of Founding Friendships?”
Her face brightened. “I think it’s the best possible name.”
Tears filled my eyes. I’d finally found friendships again, and it had made my life fuller. Now it was time to share that joy with others.
****
I arrived home from the Geoffries, my mind swirling with ideas for the Founding Friendships program. Before her wedding, Kristen had mentioned that she enjoyed volunteer work. Maybe she’d be interested in counseling someone in the program. The possibilities seemed endless, but rewarding.
I dropped onto my sofa, the conversation with my dad circling my brain. The anguish on his face broke my heart, but I knew from my mom’s voicemail she had no interest in talking to him. He’d pushed her past her limit, taken her for granted, and she was done. My throat tightened. How awful that it took her leaving him until he was willing to change.
Dropping my handbag on the coffee table, I decided to deliver my dad’s message to her. It was eight o’clock here on the west coast, and I didn’t know which time zone she was in. But this felt too important to wait, even if it was late. The call rang once, then went to voicemail. Ugh.
I waited for the tone. “It’s me, Mom. I saw Dad today. He wanted me to tell you that he got a job, attorney contract work, and it’s full-time. So, I’m passing on the word. Hope you’re doing okay and having fun on your vacation. Love you.”
The message I left my mom made me think of Ryan. What a crazy lunch that had been, and I’d been so quiet in the car because I wasn’t good at opening up to a man.
The right thing was to call Ryan, and clear things up. Before I could change my mind, I sent him a text: Just wanted to apologize for my dad calling you a turkey at lunch.
Beep! Beep! Sliding my finger over the screen I read: I’ve been called worse.
I typed: I’d love to hear about that. In detail.
He replied: I can be over in fifteen minutes.
A zing zipped through me, and I typed: Then what are you waiting for?
My phone chirped: Not a thing. See you soon. :)
****
Twenty minutes later, Ryan a
rrived with a bottle of wine. “If I had known earlier I was coming over, I would’ve tried to find Mojito in a bottle for you.”
I laughed. “If it doesn’t come in a bottle, then it should. Come in.”
He followed me into the kitchen, where I uncorked the bottle, then poured us each a glass of the Merlot. We took our wine to the living room couch, where I curled up, and faced him.
I sipped the rich liquid, and twirled a lock of hair around my finger, wondering about Ryan’s life before Corbett, Gray, & Shaw. “What made you leave your job in San Francisco?”
This was actually something I’d wondered about since that first week we’d gone to Takeshi. I’d asked him the same question, and he’d avoided answering.
His eyes clouded, and he took a sip of wine. “My mom had been sick.”
The look of pain that crossed his face tugged at my heart. Instinctively, I took his hand. “What happened?”
Two lines formed between his brows. “She needed a kidney transplant. My dad immediately offered, but after blood tests and crossmatching, it turned out that he wasn’t compatible. I was.”
Chills traveled down my neck. He’d donated one of his kidneys to his mother? I marveled at the incredible sacrifice, and how he’d said it like there had been no choice involved. For him, there probably hadn’t been though. “How long was recovery?”
“The first few days were the worst, but the morphine took away most of the pain.” The two lines stayed between his brows as he spoke. “I was released after three nights, and then recovered at my parents’ house for about a month.”
I wondered why he’d have to quit his job in San Francisco. After all, it was a family emergency. “Your firm in San Francisco wouldn’t give you leave?”
“They offered, but things were so stressful at the time I decided to move to be close to my parents. I even bought a townhome in San Diego.” Ryan stopped for a minute, and appeared deep in thought. “After my mom got better, she decided she wanted to move back to her roots here in Sacramento. Their house is on the market, and they’re waiting for a buyer. Meanwhile, Jim called. So I moved back before them.”
