by Fenton, Liz
I step out onto the plush deep-blue carpeting and walk toward Sam’s office. Thanks to Chase’s intel, I know two things: Jeremiah has exited the building, and Sam is on the rampage and looking for me. No doubt wondering why I won’t take the case—why I would turn down hundreds of thousands of dollars for the firm without so much as consulting him. As I approach his door, my heart starts to rattle, and I feel my confidence slipping away with each step. The little voice inside me, the one that guides most of my questionable choices, my inner bad girl who always encourages me to have that third glass of wine, to eat that second sleeve of Girl Scout cookies, to sleep with Sam, is screaming, What are you doing? I already think you’re a fool for breaking things off with Sam, but now you’re leaving the firm too?
I stop walking. “Stop! You are not influencing me anymore!” I say to my inner voice.
I look up and see Adam coming toward me.
“Sorry. Prepping for trial,” I lie.
“Whatever,” he says unconvincingly as he continues past me.
“Wait!” I say, and Adam turns slowly.
“Look, I don’t feel like getting yelled at right now if it’s all the same to you.” Adam starts to walk away again.
“Adam,” I say. “I’m sorry.”
He stops walking and swivels around. “Did Lila Bennett just apologize?”
“She did.”
He steps closer. “For what it’s worth, I didn’t know the details. And I’m sorry I triggered an old wound. It wasn’t my intention.”
“I know.”
“And the case . . . I dumped it. The guy had four prior DUIs, and this time he killed a teenager.”
I shake my head.
“Truce?” He holds out his hand.
“Truce,” I say and shake it.
I take a deep breath and walk into Sam’s office, with the understanding that nothing will ever be the same again once I do. Hoping things will go as smoothly as they did with Adam, but I already know better.
He leans back in his chair when he sees me. “There she is.” He raises his eyebrows, causing the lines on his forehead to deepen.
“Here I am,” I say and stand up a little straighter even though my heels are pinching my toes.
“We need to talk. Jeremiah just left. He said—”
“Let me stop you right there,” I say with more force than I intend.
He starts to speak, but I cut him off. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be so curt.” I walk over and sit in the chair across from him. He starts to get up to come around the desk and sit next to me as he’s always done in the past. “It’s okay,” I say. “You’re fine right there.”
“Lila?” He frowns, trying to assess what’s going on with me.
“Sam, please, I need to say something, and it isn’t going to be easy.”
“You already ended things,” he quips.
“It’s not about us.”
“It’s always about us.” That smile. The one that stretches from ear to ear and hides his eyes. The one that used to make my stomach flip. The one that could make me agree to anything. Have one more drink. Kiss me. Stay the night. But right now, in this moment, the smile only conjures images of Carrie, a tiny life growing inside her. Of Ethan, my husband, who is trying to do better in his life.
“Maybe it has been. But not today,” I say, looking down, avoiding my kryptonite. Finally, my eyes make their way back up to him. “I’m not representing Jeremiah. Or Greenwood, for that matter. Because—”
“I told you, Greenwood is not optional. You are not getting off that case. Stop whining about it, and get the job done!”
I swallow my frustration. Fight the urge to storm out. To simply send him an email with my resignation. But I have to do this. In person. Not for him. For me.
“I’m done, Sam. I’m leaving this firm. Consider this my resignation. I’ll handle the preliminary trial for Greenwood this afternoon, since it’s too late to change counsel. But after that, I’m out.”
“You’re what?” He stands up. His tie is loosened around his neck, and his pants are wrinkled. “Is this some kind of joke?”
“No, it’s not a joke. I’m serious. I need you to hear me on this. I’m done. I’m finished with all of this. The chase. The hunt. The thrill.” As I say it, I’m not sure if I’m talking about the job or him or both. And I’m not sure he is either.
“That’s what makes you tick, Lila. It’s who you are.”
“No, Sam, it’s who I was.” And with that, I walk around the desk and give him a hug, his body stiff against my embrace because he’s processing. I put my arms around him because in a really strange way, he’s helped me get here, to the person I was meant to be. And for that I’m thankful. As he starts to relax and tighten his grip around me, I pull back and look at him.
“Can you do one thing for me? I’m in the appeals process for that drug possession case, and it’s looking good for a win. Can you give it to someone good, please? I really want to do right by the client.”
He starts to say something, but I rush out of the room before he can. I am pressing the elevator button hard when I hear him coming after me.
“Lila, wait . . .”
The doors slide open, and I step inside. I press the button several times so the doors will close. They’ve almost met in the middle when he comes into view. The look of understanding on his face is clear. And then the doors close, and he’s gone. I know he won’t follow me down. I know he’s finally letting me go.
I’m starting to sweat in my car and finally hit the ignition button, cranking up the air until I begin to feel relief. I rode down in a trance from Sam’s floor. I don’t recall walking to my vehicle, letting myself inside, or slipping into the seat I sit in now. So many thoughts layered upon more thoughts. I’m gripping the steering wheel, my knuckles white. I take a deep breath and start the car, heading toward Santa Monica. To Carrie and Sam’s house. As I exit the freeway, I pull over quickly at a gas station. I reach into my bag and pull out the spiral notebook. One by one, I tear out the pages with the tally marks, rip them into tiny pieces, and let them float downward into a trash can.
I pull up in front of their white craftsman thirty minutes later. Its blue shutters and red front door always reminded me more of a home you’d see in Martha’s Vineyard than along the Pacific coast. But it suits Carrie. She has timeless style, much like this home, with its ruby-red roses blooming and daffodils standing tall, almost as if they are proud to be displayed so elegantly. I walk slowly up to her front door and ring the bell. After a few moments, it swings open.
“Lila?” Carrie says, tucking a blonde strand of hair behind her ear and cinching the belt on her robe. She frowns slightly. “Is everything okay?”
“Sorry, I should have called . . .”
“No, I’m glad you’re here,” she says, smiling widely. “I was about to take my coffee to the backyard. It’s a beautiful day. Join me.”
I hesitate, Carrie’s warm greeting reminding me yet again that I don’t deserve her; I’ve never deserved her. I follow her into the kitchen. All white, save for the black knobs on the cupboards. She reaches into one of them and grabs a mug and fills it with coffee. I take a sip; it’s strong.
“Milk?” she asks.
I shake my head. “Not today. How are you feeling?” I inadvertently glance at my Apple Watch. It’s not like Carrie to be disheveled this late in the morning.
“I’m okay,” she says. But she looks pale, and her hands are shaking slightly. “What about you? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in my neighborhood before six p.m.! Sam either, for that matter!” She gives me a look, and my heart drops.
Does she know?
“Both of you, two peas in a pod. Such workaholics!” she continues, and I try to catch my breath again. I drove here on pure adrenaline, deciding that when I arrived I’d know whether or not I should tell her about Sam and me. But now that I’m standing in her kitchen, staring at her in her pale-pink robe and fuzzy gray slippers, I don’t thi
nk I can. I remember how I felt when my mom told me about my dad. How afterward all I wished for was to not know. If I tell Carrie, she can never go back to the blissful unknowing.
“I’m okay. There’s just a lot going on,” I say and take another drink of my coffee and look around the kitchen. Not so much as a spatula out of place. Her pile of mail is stacked neatly, the bigger envelopes on the bottom cushioning the smaller ones on top. My eye is drawn to a large navy-blue one with white trim, and I do a double take. I could swear it’s identical to the one Ethan tossed on the table before he stormed out of our house. The one that had the pictures inside. I step closer to try to see it better and then look over at Carrie, who’s watching me, a small smile on her lips.
“Let’s go outside,” she says, grabbing her mug. Could it be possible that she has a copy of the pictures too? That she knows? Is that why she’s still in her bathrobe? My heart starts to hammer.
We step into her backyard, and the view of the ocean is breathtaking. Every time I see it, it’s as if I’m taking it in for the first time.
“I’m lucky,” she says, then pauses. “To have this.”
“You are,” I say, thinking of Ethan. Of what I’ve now lost. I had never stopped and thought about my good luck in finding him—of what life might look like without him. “How do you do it?” I ask her. “Remember to feel lucky? I always feel like I’m looking to the next great thing. Never stopping to see what’s right there, you know?” I squint and reach for my sunglasses in my pocket. “I don’t want to be like that anymore,” I say, and after the words are out I feel like I’m standing naked in front of her. Suddenly hiding behind absolutely nothing. The feeling is both uncomfortable and empowering.
Carrie assesses me for a moment as if she believes me. If Carrie believes I can change, that gives me so much hope. “Life can change in an instant, Lila. One decision. One wrong turn. One missed opportunity. That’s all it takes. And everything you had could be gone. So cherish it while you still can.” She gives me a knowing look.
I wonder again if she knows about Sam. If she should know about him. My mind spins as I try to decide how she could possibly be better off knowing. She has a baby coming, a marriage to which she’s always been devoted. Why should I rip that from her? A lifetime she could spend with Sam and their future son or daughter shouldn’t be stripped away because of six months of stupidity. But then again, doesn’t she deserve to know that her husband has broken their vows? That he doesn’t seem to love and respect her the way he should? But is it my job to tell? I’m the adulteress but also the best friend—which person should speak to her?
She begins talking again. “Do you ever think what your life would be like if you didn’t work at Douglas, Shirby, and Jones?” she asks, settling into a chair, patting the one next to her in a gesture for me to sit.
I let out an uncomfortable laugh, scanning Carrie’s face for a reaction. But she simply waits for me to answer. “Sure. I wouldn’t have met Ethan. We were set up by Patrick, the equities guy at the firm.” I sit next to her.
“You also wouldn’t have met me.” She smiles playfully.
“Right. And that would have been a travesty!”
We both laugh lightly at my joke. But my insides are tightening. It would have been awful if I’d never met Carrie. She brought light into an otherwise dark place inside me. But somehow, I was able to separate my work self—the one who represented bad people, the one who had the affair—from my other self, the one who loved Carrie and would do anything for her, the one who made sure her mother would never struggle again.
“You also wouldn’t know Sam. You two are tight,” Carrie says, her lips slightly parted as she stares at me.
We hold each other’s gaze for a few moments, and it’s so quiet I feel like I can hear the blood pumping in my ears. I swallow, trying to determine what she means by this. But her face gives nothing away. Finally, I nod. “Everything important to me originated one way or another from my job there. The positive and . . .” I pause, the good Lila pressuring me to say it. Finally I do. “And the negative.”
“I know. And isn’t it so weird to think you weren’t meant to have it? I mean, I wonder where you’d be now if you hadn’t taken it?” She gives me a knowing smile. And I can’t ignore the irony of her keeping a secret about my indiscretion all these years.
I take a deep breath. “It’s impossible to know, I suppose.”
“Would you go back and change anything if you could?” She raises her eyebrows over her coffee mug.
I sit very still before answering, trying to decipher whether there’s any hidden meaning in her words. “I can’t change the past—the only thing I have control of is my future.”
“Hmm,” she says, sipping her coffee and staring out at the ocean.
“Which is actually what brought me here today. My future.”
“Oh?” She turns, her eyes wide.
“I quit today.”
“Your job? At the firm?” Carrie inches forward in her chair.
“Yes.”
“Why?” She leans in, as if wanting to absorb my answer as fully as possible.
“A million reasons. But mostly because I want my future choices to be better than my past, and I don’t think I can do that if I stay.”
“Wow.” Carrie sets her mug down. “Just wow,” she says again.
“What?”
Carrie takes a deep breath, and I wonder if she’s weighing whether she should say what’s really on her mind. “I don’t know. I guess I never thought you’d leave Sam. I mean the firm.” She shakes her head. “I thought I knew you so well.”
“What does that mean?” I ask, and it comes out sharper than I intend.
Carrie looks hurt.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—” I start, but Carrie cuts me off.
“No, I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to take away from your news. I was sure you were a lifer. Despite what I said, your mom said, you seemed so devoted to your job.”
“I was, but things have changed.”
“What exactly?” Carrie’s eyes are soft, and she turns quickly as if she’s seen something out of the corner of her eye.
This is the moment I could tell her. Lay the truth on the table. Explain why Ethan really left. Tell her I’m not only leaving the firm because I no longer like the job. Tell her all of it.
She takes another sip of her coffee, and I follow her gaze. She’s staring at a hummingbird floating beyond a nearby tree. And it is then that both voices inside me say in unison, Don’t tell her; don’t break her heart.
I nod in response and wonder if Carrie noticed. But she’s still watching the bird. If Carrie and Sam are meant to work out, they will. I will let it play out for them however it should and hope whatever the outcome, it’s what’s best for Carrie and the baby.
“Do you see it? The hummingbird?” Carrie asks.
“I do.”
“Sorry I got distracted. He’s so beautiful. So tell me, what changed?”
“My heart’s not in it anymore,” I say, and Carrie smiles as if she understands.
“Does Sam know?”
“I told him about an hour ago. I have to go to a preliminary hearing this afternoon and handle a couple things, and that will be it.”
“Congrats,” she says, but there’s a sadness in her tone, reminding me of when I congratulated her on the baby. The words sounded hollow to me then just as hers do now. I wait for her to ask me how he took the news, but she doesn’t. I wonder why.
“Thanks. And . . . Carrie?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you for always reminding me I was better than that place. Than that job.” I give her a hug, and she tenses but then relaxes into my grip. “Wow, two signs of physical affection in one week!” She laughs awkwardly.
“I should go. I need to get to the hearing.”
“Okay.” She smiles, the color returning to her cheeks. “I’ll walk you out.”
We’re almost to the door when she stops
next to the pile of mail. Next to the envelope. She glances at it. And for a moment I think she’s going to pick it up, throw it at me the way Ethan did. But she doesn’t. If she’s already read it, then she knows and has been waiting this whole time for me to do the right thing and tell her. But if she hasn’t opened it yet, she could likely be alone when she does. Suddenly the thought of her finding out while by herself in this sterile kitchen slams me hard. I change my mind. I’m going to tell her.
“Carrie—”
“I lost the baby,” she says. “Miscarriage.”
“Oh, Carrie . . . I’m so sorry . . .” I say, and my eyes fill with tears.
“No, it’s okay. My body made the right choice. My body knew better.” She doesn’t cry, but her upper lip trembles, and her shoulders shake. She’s trying so hard to keep it together.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask, unsure of what to say if her answer is yes. But I will be the friend I should have been all along and listen to her as long as she wants to talk.
She doesn’t answer for a moment. Then she opens her mouth but closes it again. Finally she speaks. “Sam didn’t know. I hadn’t told him because I wanted to wait until the next appointment. My mom had three before me. Did I ever tell you that?”
I shake my head, but she keeps talking.
“I worry I caused it. That my fear brought it on.”
