by Elle Casey
He shuts the door very quietly behind him and walks over to the edge of the bed. “Hi,” he says. He’s fully dressed.
“Hi,” I say, pulling the sheets up to my neck. I feel very vulnerable in my T-shirt and shorts when he’s standing there in jeans and a sweater.
“Can we talk?”
I nod.
“Thanks.” He sits on the bed, arranging a pillow behind his back so he can lean against the headboard comfortably. His legs extend in front of him, crossed at the ankles. He folds his hands in his lap and stares at them. “I’m sorry about everything that’s going on.”
“What are you talking about?” There are so many things happening, I can’t even begin to know which one he’s referring to.
“Stuff that happened at the clinic, the way the police department is handling things.” He shakes his head, looking supremely disappointed in himself.
“It’s a lot to take in, but it’s not your fault. I don’t know why you’re apologizing for things other people have done.”
He looks over at me. “There’re some things I haven’t told you that make it difficult for me to just let it go.”
“Like what?” I’m afraid that this is the part where he tells me we can’t continue to be together. He lives there and I live here . . . it’s an impossible situation.
“You know I have a niece named Linny, right?”
I nod dumbly, thrown by this curveball.
“She’s my sister’s daughter. My sister has a lot of problems, which means I end up taking care of Linny a lot of the time.”
I try to imagine him raising a teenage girl, but it doesn’t match up with my earlier impressions of his life. “I thought you said you don’t get home from work until ten.”
“When I don’t have Linny overnight, that’s true. But I often have her with me, and in those cases, she comes to my office after school, and then we leave for my place together. It’s the reason I took the job in corporate law instead of environmental law and agreed to work exclusively with the band as my only client. I don’t have the time to take on other clients when I also have a teenager at home.”
I’m a little shocked hearing this. I can’t believe I haven’t already been fully informed by Amber. “Does my sister know this?”
“No. Nobody knows except the partners at my firm.”
“Not even Red?”
“Not really. He knows that she spends quite a bit of time with me, but he doesn’t know the details.”
“Why are you telling me?” I’m afraid to hope that it means I’m special to him.
“Because. I thought it was important that you know.”
I suddenly feel very sad as doubt creeps in and takes over the hope. “Are you giving me the reason why this relationship isn’t going to work?”
“No, not intentionally. Why would you think that?”
“What else am I supposed to think? It sounds like you’re about to tell me that you have a lot of responsibilities and no free time.”
He sighs. “I guess on paper that’s what it looks like.”
“And you are a lawyer, after all.” In other words, a paper chaser.
“I am.” He looks up at me, something like sadness filling his eyes. “But I’m also a guy who really likes you.”
“I like you too.”
“You do?” he asks, sounding like he doesn’t believe me. “Even after . . . the way I’ve acted?”
“Yes, I do. Even after that. But sometimes it feels like we’re . . . I don’t know . . . doomed, maybe.”
He gives me a sad smile. “Star-crossed lovers who can’t get the timing or circumstances right.”
“Exactly.”
“So where does that leave us?”
I shrug. “It’s up to you.”
“No, it’s up to both of us.”
“How so?”
He looks down at his hands again. “I believe everything is negotiable. Anything can be settled, one way or another.”
“You know this because you’re a lawyer.”
“Yes. I see it all the time. Two people who are arguing and don’t agree on anything can always find a way to compromise and come to a conclusion they can both live with.”
“But we aren’t arguing, and to be honest, ‘living with’ something doesn’t sound all that romantic.” Am I wrong to want it all?
“You’re right, we’re not arguing, but we are in a somewhat untenable situation with complicated logistics that require some sacrifice to work. And romance has nothing to do with logistics.”
His words are cold. Businesslike. The least romantic words a man could say to me. I feel like he’s going to serve me with a subpoena any second. I slide down into the bed and put my head on the pillow, rolling away from him. “I’m really tired.” I can’t deal with this right now. It’s too much sadness. First I have Red tugging at my heartstrings, and now this. The one good thing I had going on in my life was this affair with Greg, but now it’s over. It’s over before it even started.
The bed jiggles around, and I think he’s getting up to leave, but then I feel him behind me. His body presses against mine as he lowers his head to share my pillow. His hand comes up to rest on my waist. “I don’t want to leave.”
I shrug, the shared pain of regret and hope lancing my heart. “So don’t leave.”
“It’s not that easy.”
“No, it’s not.” The sadness is almost overwhelming.
“Do you think you’d ever consider moving to the city?”
Part of me wants to lie so that we can continue this love affair for as long as the lie will hold out, but I know that wouldn’t be fair to either of us. “No. I would never consider that. I would never be happy in that city. I’m sorry.”
His warm breath tickles my neck. “I understand. It’s what I expected you to say.”
The devil inside me decides I need to drive the knifepoint deeper into my own heart. “Would you ever think about moving out here?” I just need to hear him say the word: No. Then I’ll know this is finally over.
There’s a long pause before he responds. “Maybe.”
I twist my head around to look at his face, to check and see if he’s lying. His expression is blank.
“Seriously?” I will be so mad at him if he’s messing with me right now.
“It’s a possibility. I’ve thought about it.”
I fully turn over to face him, our noses just inches apart. “But you have your office in Manhattan. You’re a partner at your firm. You couldn’t possibly leave your practice.”
“I only have one client,” he says, frowning at me. “I can do my work from anywhere. My practice will stay exactly the same.”
I panic, afraid to believe that there’s any hope of this working out between us. “But what about all of your stuff?”
“What stuff?”
I panic. What stuff? What does he have that could possibly destroy our chances of being together? There must be something. I blurt out the first things I can think of. “Your officey stuff. Veronica. Your copy machines. The gym where you work out. Linny . . .”
He smiles. “I can put a copy machine in wherever I am, and I certainly don’t need Veronica in my life. And you have a gym in town. It’s only twenty minutes away. It takes me twice that long to get to the one I use in the city.”
“Really?”
“During rush hour, sure. Easy.”
“But what about Linny?”
His expression darkens and he sighs. “That is an issue. I have to be there for her, there’s no question. And her mother lives in the city.”
“Oh.” I reach out from the covers and play with the edge of his shirt. The Linny issue is not the only one we have to deal with. “I had a conversation with Red today.”
He blinks, maybe in shock at the sudden subject change. “You did? About what?”
“About the past. About his history with my mothers. About what the band went through. About the settlement.”
“Oh.” Greg takes m
y hand to still my movements, backing away a little. “Did you discuss anything specific? Come to any conclusions about anything?”
He looks worried, and I have to smile at that; the lawyer in him never sleeps. “I don’t know. Maybe. He said some things that were very compelling.”
“Compelling in what way?”
He’s so serious with his responses, it’s actually a little bit annoying. “Why? What does it matter?”
“I thought you told me you weren’t going to take that settlement.”
I pull my hand from his and gather the blankets so I can push them off me and sit up. I glare at him. “So what if I change my mind?”
“You can’t just change your mind.” He sounds offended.
“Says who? It sure seemed like Red was suggesting I could today. Was he wrong about that? Is there some kind of legal problem involved? Did I sign something?”
“No . . . because . . . ,” he sputters, “once you make a decision, you should stick to it.”
I frown at him. “That doesn’t sound very lawyerly.”
“What do you mean?” He sits up and pulls back, stopping near the edge of the bed with one leg hanging to the floor.
“You said I can’t change my mind, but you aren’t giving me a legal reason for saying that, are you?”
“I’m giving you a commonsense reason. You’ve made your decision. It was a good decision, and you should stick to it.”
I really want to slap somebody right now. “What is it with you and that settlement, Greg? Do you want the money for yourself or something?”
He looks at me like I’m crazy. “What? No! I have no entitlement to those funds whatsoever.”
“Then what’s the big deal?”
He looks away and hisses, running his hands through his hair. He punches the bed, causing me to jump in shock.
“What the hell is your problem?” I grab the pillow next to me, prepared to knock his block off with it if he gives me even a hint that physical violence is in my future.
He looks at me with the most horrible expression on his face. It looks downright scary, it’s so serious. “You can’t take that settlement.”
I’m two seconds from kicking him out of my bedroom. “Give me one good reason why not.”
“Because. You’re not entitled to it.” He stands and walks to the door.
I jump out of bed and run after him, grabbing the back of his shirt before he can reach the door handle. “Not so fast. You’re not going anywhere until you tell me what the hell you’re talking about.”
He stops, still facing the door. He says nothing but lifts his hands to run them through his hair. His elbows stick out to the sides and he bends over backward slightly, making a loud noise that sounds like a growl. When he straightens, he pulls his hands from his hair and turns around to face me, his arms folding over his chest. “We have a problem. We have a legal problem, and you are right in the middle of it.”
I stare at him in shock. “What are you talking about?”
He shakes his head. “This is not the time to discuss it.” Lawyer-Greg is back.
“This is the perfect time to talk about it. And you’d better start talking now, or I’m going to start yelling.” I lift an eyebrow at him, daring him to test me. Go ahead . . . make my day.
He shifts his weight slightly. Lawyer-Greg looks like he might be a little bit scared. He unfolds his arms. “Yelling? No. No yelling. Please.”
I nod, feeling very, very sure of my decision. “Oh, yes I will. I will yell the roof off this house if you don’t start talking. I am not kidding.”
An epic stare-down commences. I try to express through narrowed eyes and violently flared nostrils that I’m not joking, but Greg just juts his jaw out and looks like he’s not going to say anything, so I open my lips and get ready to scream.
He slaps his hand over my mouth and leans in, whispering, “Okay, okay! Please don’t scream. I’ll talk.”
I nod and he removes his hand. We slowly back away from each other. I cross my arms over my chest. “Well? I’m waiting.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Greg is just opening his mouth to spill the beans—whatever those beans are I have no idea—when the unholy sound of Banana going berserk stops him in his tracks.
Greg cocks his ear toward the door. “What’s that?”
I hurry to pull my robe on. “That is Banana losing his shit. Something’s going on outside.” I wrap the belt of my robe around me and push Greg out of the way. “Watch out.” I run out into the hallway, but I’m not the only one there. Amber’s on the landing below me and so is Barbara.
“Is that Banana?” Barbara asks.
“Yes. Something’s going on.” I race past them down the stairs and find Banana digging at the door trying to get out. His doggy door is locked and he’s stuck inside. “Banana! Come here!”
He totally ignores me, barking and growling and scratching at the door. Something is out there and he wants at it. And frankly, I want him to resolve whatever issue he’s having before he wakes the entire household. I run over without a second thought and unlock the door, throwing it open. He takes off, racing toward the clinic, telling me there’s something really wrong down there. My heart feels like it’s going to explode with the stress and worry. The animals!
I pull on the boots closest to the door, throw on my long jacket, and run out after him.
“Where are you going?” Amber shouts from the doorway.
“To the clinic!”
Pounding footfalls come from behind me, followed by heavy breathing. Greg is suddenly at my side. “What are you doing?” he says, putting his hand on my arm.
I push him away and keep going, jogging in boots that are too big. “Something’s happening at the clinic. I have to get there.”
“I’ll meet you up there,” Greg says, racing ahead and leaving me in his dust. His form disappears, swallowed up by the darkness. I’m left with the sound of my heavy breathing and my feet pounding on the road.
It’s the longest trip to the clinic I’ve ever made. I’m moving as fast as I possibly can, but it’s taking too long. I smell smoke and, as I draw nearer, see fire. Panic seizes me. “Oh my god. No!” I’m running as hard as I can, my blood pumping, my limbs practically a blur. I’m crying as I try to breathe. “No! No, no, no!”
By the time I get there, Greg is already inside. I race in after him as fire climbs two of the walls in the lobby. “Greg!” I scream. “Where are you?!”
“I’m in the back! Help me with the kennels!”
I race in there and find him standing in front of the wall of animal cages with Banana barking at his heels, trying to figure out how to rescue my patients.
“The latches!” I yell, pointing to the wall. All of the kennels are affixed to the wall so they won’t tip over. Metal buckles hold them in place, making it impossible for the cages to fall over by accident but able to be detached for repair or replacement.
Greg grabs a chair and jumps up onto it, reaching on tiptoes to get to the first latch. It’s easily released, but there are so many . . . I can barely breathe with the panic that’s consuming me. The animals are going to die. WE are going to die!
Greg moves to the next one and I grab the first cage, yanking it off the stack. “I’m sorry, baby,” I say to the animal inside who’s being jostled around. I regret causing him discomfort, but there’s no time to be gentle. I set the kennel down on the ground and start shoving it toward the door; there’s no way I can carry it out, it’s too heavy. It’s not going to be enough! We’ll never make it! I could never choose which animals should survive and which ones shouldn’t. I’m going to keep working until I collapse on this floor; there’s no other way . . .
Suddenly, there are more hands there. Ty is standing in front of me.
“We gotta get these out!” I scream, very near the edge of insanity. My eyes are starting to sting from the smoke.
“Go, go, go!” he yells, waving me away. “I got this one!”
<
br /> I go back and get the next kennel. Greg helps to put it on the ground, and then Sam is at my side taking it from me. He lifts it like it’s made of cardboard. Hope soars inside me. Two down, ten to go!
The next kennel comes down, and then the next, and the next. As soon as I get one to the ground, someone is there taking it away. I see Sam and Ty, Amber and Emerald. Then Red, Mooch, Paul, and Cash show up, each of them grabbing cages without a word and rushing out. My moms are last, working two at a time to help me lift cages down and hand them off. A task that would have been impossible alone has been made possible through the teamwork of my family.
We have all of the animals out in the grass within ten minutes, with no one suffering anything worse than a little smoke inhalation. Thankfully, none of us are bad enough off that we need oxygen. Everyone made it. It’s a miracle.
I feel light-headed, not from the ordeal but from the idea that one of us could have died. How did this fire start? Was it faulty wiring or something more sinister? The last thing burning is the front door, and I can see the paint—B-I-T-C-H—bubbling as it melts away.
We all stand in a circle and watch the last several years of my life and my hopes for the future go up in flames. The distant sound of fire engines comes, but they’re too late. All four walls and the roof are now aflame. We have to move back, dragging the cages with us because the heat is so intense. We’re a full fifty yards away when we hear glass breaking and things popping inside.
My sisters are on either side of me hugging me. “I’m so sorry, sweetie,” Emerald says. “This is so awful.”
“We’ll rebuild,” Amber says matter-of-factly. “End of story. It’s already done. And this time we’re putting a bedroom in it so when you have to sleep there, you won’t have to put your head on the desk.”
What’s the point of rebuilding if someone’s just going to burn it to the ground again? “Somebody did this,” I say, my chin trembling as I stare at the destruction. I no longer believe it’s faulty wiring. I was just fooling myself; we had the electrical totally redone five years ago. “Whoever was calling me and whoever painted on the door, they did this.”
