by Emily Duvall
“How did she find out about the relationship?”
“Caleb’s co-worker. They used to date, and she had seen us together.”
Doctor K inhales deeply and stretches her neck to the side. “It sounds like Caleb didn’t betray you, but possibly this coworker did. Has he contacted you since the trial?”
“No.”
“What if he does? What will you say?”
Tears spring in my eyes and roll down my cheeks. Doctor K offers me a tissue.
“There’s a lot of pain there,” she says lovingly.
I nod with more tears coming and coming and dripping off my chin. “I’ve never known what it’s like to love a man, but with Caleb, I felt I was close.”
“And what do you think about that?”
“It’s like I’m injured, but nothing’s physically wrong.”
Her smile is easy. “That’s how love can feel. It can cause suffering and joy.”
“I’d rather skip the rough parts.”
“That is impossible.” She makes a note. “How are things with your family?”
“They’re in my space,” I say, thinking of my father insisting he watch the golf channel at my apartment. “They treat me like I’m five and they want me to talk about the case and Caleb all the time. I want my life to go back to how it was.”
“Part of being independent is defining your own space. Setting limits and rules for the people in your lives. What are some boundaries you can set for them?”
A boundary is a line. A barrier. A division. Lines are what I see. I’m on one side and my family is on the other. Big, bold, black lines going through my imagination. I see them in Doctor K’s office. I look at the floor and find them patterned into the hardwood. Line, line, line, line.
“Did you come up with anything?” she says.
Line, line, line. Line. I snap my head up. “You want me to set rules for my family?”
“Do you want to?”
“Oh yes.” I smile. This is best advice I’ve heard. I’ve wanted to do this for years. “How come no ever told me I could set the rules?”
“You have to be ready. What would you want to tell them?”
“To stop asking about Caleb and if I’m okay. I get sad when they bring him up. And I would like for them to stop cooking for me. I like getting back into the kitchen. I don’t always like my mom’s food. She doesn’t use salt.”
“I think this is a good start. A positive step. Your expectations are reasonable and healthy.”
“I know them though. They’ll come over and ask anyway.”
“You can tell them to leave and come back when they can talk about other topics.”
This doesn’t sound like a big deal and I decide I’ll think of more rules.
“We’re out of time for today,” Doctor K says, standing.
I get up and head to the door.
“Maren, this is the last time we’ll see each other before the baby comes.”
I glance at her belly. Oh, right. Say something. “Have a nice baby.”
She smiles. “Thank you.”
This evening I go for a jog, even though the motions feel off. With every breath I wonder if I’ll run into Caleb. I think I spot him, running ahead of me, too far to close the distance. My heart jumps and I go after him, stopping abruptly in front of a mom dragging three kids and a stroller. She stares at me for a second and I go around her, losing sight of Caleb. I want to be next to him. I have so many questions. But he’s gone.
My parents go back to Florida and Libby’s already in New York, which leaves work to eat up some of the space and time I have now. Commentary about the trial drags on, and more than once, I’m confronted with a photo of Dana or Mr. Pierce and office talk about the case. I sign up for a dating app, but my enthusiasm for checking it isn’t there and I uninstall the program.
I find refuge in my office.
Charlotte’s typing and wearing earbuds to block out the noise. I glance over my shoulder to see Cathy enter the office. She’s been coming by more, asking questions that are no doubt repeated in the break room. She pulls up a chair next me and sets down a box of donut holes. “I’ve been worried about you.”
“Thanks, Cathy.” I point to the donuts. “Are those for me?”
“Yup. The whole box. All yours. I know you don’t like to talk about the case, but we’re a family here, and I want to make sure you’re doing okay.”
Charlotte’s chair squeaks. She takes of the earbuds out of her ear.
“I still don’t,” I say.
“I can’t believe what those attorneys did to you. Your personal life is nobody’s business. What were you thinking up on that stand? That woman blabbed to everyone about your relationship with the defense attorney?” She shakes her head. “My sister-in-law is a lawyer if you want her number.”
“I don’t need a lawyer.” I pick up one of the chocolate donut holes covered in chocolate icing. “I don’t ever want to talk to one again.”
“You should reconsider.” She turns her head to Charlotte as if she might overhear and lowers her voice, “you could make some money.” Out of her pocket, she takes a business card and places it on my desk. “I also want to say if you need any help with your speech, I wrote a little something. Did I tell you that my nephew has some challenges? I thought you would like some input.” She clasps her hands at her chest. “I’ll email you the document. It’s just a few paragraphs. Use what you want.”
“I’m not sure I’m giving the speech,” I say and scoot closer to my desk. With everything that’s gone on, preparing to speak in front of a roomful of people is the last thing I want to do. Now they know everything about me.
“What? Why wouldn’t you?” Cathy’s aghast.
Charlotte clears her throat.
“I’ll let you decide later,” Cathy takes back the box of donuts. “If you do decide to give the speech, make sure Mr. Williams knows that I contributed, okay? I would be thrilled, since he owns the company. I’ve never met him, but I hear he came to this office and asked you in person to give the speech.”
I reach for the donut box. “You said these were for me.”
“You misunderstood. I meant they’re for everybody. They’ll be in the break room.” With a hard pull, she wins the war of the donut box and leaves with a huff. “Oh, and if either of you are interested, my son is still single.” She looks from Charlotte to me and leaves our office.
Charlotte spins around, snagging the earbud out of her ear. “That was awesome.”
“She should mind her own business,” I say.
“That’s an understatement.” Charlotte wheels her chair over to my desk. “I’m sorry she’s so nosey. I’m sure her son is still single.”
I laugh. “I couldn’t stand to have Cathy for a mother-in-law.”
Charlotte giggles. “You got that right. We still on for braiding class tonight?”
“I don’t feel like going. I think I’m done with the hair class.”
Her lips roll into a pout. “You don’t like it anymore?”
“I can’t meet any men there.”
“Ahh, I see. Is this about Caleb? You need to stay away from him.”
“I am.”
She rests her arms on my desk. “But?”
“I want to call him.”
“Don’t even think about doing that. I won’t let you. The man is scum.”
“Is he though?”
Charlotte flips her hair over her shoulder. “You’re too good for him. If you get in touch with him, you will get hurt. He’s way too self-absorbed for you. Don’t kid yourself that he’s not. Get over him by finding someone else. Like this guy I’m seeing. He’s a totally cute, single dad I met in the grocery store.”
“Sounds like Andy.”
Charlotte’s gaze jumps to mine. “My guy is also named Andy. What are the chances, right?”
“This is your mystery guy?”
“Yes,” she says slowly and no longer smiling. Charlotte bustles around and g
ets her phone out of her desk drawer. She brings up a photo. “Is this him?”
“Why do you have a picture of my Andy on your phone?”
“Son-of-a-bitch,” she says, typing violently on her screen. “That’s the guy and his awful friends?”
“Yes,” I answer imploringly. This is a four-alarm emergency. “Charlotte, he’s not a good person. I told you about that night. The bad feeling about him and his friends. If it wasn’t for Caleb, I don’t know what would have happened.”
“I am sure there’s an explanation for this.” Charlotte’s eyes narrow as she checks her phone. “We’re supposed to see each other tonight, but I don’t know.”
“Don’t go.”
She turns around in her chair and doesn’t say another word.
I have no interest in going anywhere near Andy and I get back to work. Charlotte’s oddly quiet the rest of the day and she leaves while I am in a meeting. I stay late to avoid going home. I don’t leave my office for fear that no matter how much the trial took away, my life was way more interesting than before. I open a new tab on my computer and type in the search bar: How to get over a broken heart.
Chapter 28
Caleb
There is a lot of time to waste in the day. A week turns into a month, turns into the thick pit of summer. My suits hang in the closet collecting dust. The yard is overgrown. Dishes clutter the sink. I sip my morning cup of coffee and scroll through the news on my phone. After this, the day is wide open. I spit my coffee out and dry the screen to see the article I’m staring at is for real. “Dana Rosenthal joins Hockley and Lyon.”
The photo in the article is Dana in my old office. Julie and the other partners are standing next to her and grinning. Look at them. Probably having a laugh on my behalf after the shot was taken.
The story hasn’t slowed down like I had hoped. The coverage has gained momentum now that Amanda Thorne has passed away. The news came two weeks after the trial, after which Sara was named the attorney in charge of my case. The judge gave everyone more time and now with Amanda deceased, everything will get pushed back again.
The calls I have made to other firms have gone nowhere fast. They give me the same line. Don’t apply for a position until the business with the bar association is over. Those acquaintances with partners and lawyers I’ve spent years cultivating have done nothing except lead me to their cold shoulders. It’s icy here in the shadow of my mistakes. I’m not going to lie. I miss the rush of fact-finding for a client and occupying my time going over evidence; the constant smell of coffee and the late nights.
I miss practicing law.
My gaze catches the letter on the counter from the ABA and I set down my phone. I don’t care about Rosenthal or Julie. I’m scheduled for a preliminary round of questioning in seven weeks, followed by another meeting with the Committee for Counselor Disciplinary Action and I’ll do this all from their headquarters in Manhattan. I’m facing charges that could lead to me being disbarred. If I survive such a sentence (unlikely), I’ll have the bigger hurdle of landing a job with a tainted record. There’s too much gray area for my liking. Too many unknowns and too much time to keep replaying every nasty moment.
There’s a freedom to my life I haven’t lived in a long time. I have no job to wake up for and no deadlines to meet. My bills are manageable, thanks to investments and savings, for now. I’ll get to work eventually, even if it’s finding a new career, but most of the day I do nothing. I’ve gone to the driving range which I haven’t done in years and went out drinking a few times, solo.
I think about her.
All the freaking time.
At least the weather’s in my corner. Mild enough to motivate me to leave the house. My runs have turned into taking measures to not run into Maren. A few times I’ve seen her, sitting on our bench and I go the other way. Last week, I was in the zone, listening to Guns N’ Roses You Could Be Mine and she was about fifty feet in front of me. I split to another direction and I lost myself on the uneven streets of the downtown.
I get dressed to run and close the front door of my house. I go. I don’t decide on a path. The streets welcome me as I unleash my frustration. I run until the cracked sidewalks of downtown are under my shoes and I have to weave around people going to their jobs.
I stop at the crosswalk of a busy intersection and wait for the light to change. My breath is harsh and uneven with sweat rolling down my neck. My gaze drifts over to the small crowd— my heart slams against my chest. She’s here. Is she? Or am I seeing what I want to see. I wipe the sweat from my eyes. It’s really her. Maren is standing on the opposite side of the street stretching her hamstring. She’s wearing my shirt from GW.
Maren’s eyes blink and she turns her head in my direction. Her eyes are on me in a heartbeat. I don’t take my eyes off her and she doesn’t stop looking at me.
The light changes. The automated voice counts down. “Fifteen, fourteen, thirteen…”
I go to her, walking slowly across the street. “Hi,” I say, mere inches from her.
“Caleb Allan,” she says with cool conviction. She almost has me fooled that her tone is on purpose.
“Back to two names?” My voice is unusually nervous. “How are you?” I ask, hating the tried-and-true question. I might as well have asked her about the weather.
She shrugs. “I’ve been busy.”
Maren gives me zero opening for this conversation. “I shouldn’t have said hello, I should have let you keep going.”
Her eyes are vivid green, reminding me of how she looks right before she kisses me. “Why would you say that?”
“I assumed you didn’t want to talk to me.”
“I do want to talk to you. Do you have any idea how hard it is to get you out of my head? I just want to know if you used me.”
“What?” I swear, clenching my jaw. “What are you talking about?”
“When we were together. Was there ever a time you showed interest in me because of the case?”
“I didn’t even know you had anything to do with the case until after it was too late. I had already fallen for you. And I’m sorry you got hurt.”
She puts her hand on my chest. “You got hurt too.”
Men and women trickle in around us to get the next light and Maren’s far from finished. This isn’t how I thought we would meet up, but she’s not letting go and I’m not either. I’m doing everything I can from pulling her to me.
“Did you and Sara set out to embarrass me?”
“No. Why would you ever think that?”
Her face becomes a mask of beautiful anger. “What happened between us blew up in court in front of everyone. You didn’t even call. You didn’t knock on my door. You didn’t explain.” Maren’s hand swats my face to slap me, and she falters, into a hit/smack that reaches my arm. She turns abruptly and runs with her arms straight and her fists clenched.
“Dude, you deserve that,” some guy with headphones comments as he presses the crosswalk button.
“Wait. Don’t. Maren!” I go after her. My steps are more determined than ever to make this right.
She’s too fast. She weaves and bobs through the pedestrians, leaving them to gawk at me and demand I slow down. I stop. My hands fall to my hips and I suck in my uneven breaths, unable to reach her. She’s headed away from me and damned if my heart hasn’t split and broken and crumbled at my feet. There is no way I can put the pieces back together.
I need to let this go.
I am a hot sweaty mess when I arrive at home. I pace in front of the counter, thinking about what I could have said and what I should have done. My hand smacks the counter and I brace the edge, dipping my head. In one explosive breath I shed the tears that I have been holding back. I pull back the handle of the drawer, looking for the number I brought home and had planned to never use.
I call Doctor K.
My heart and my head are throbbing. This is a mistake. Why am I calling? The assistant answers and I breathe a sigh of relief. She tells
me Doctor K is out on maternity leave. She takes my name and number and says the doctor will contact me after she returns. I shouldn’t have left my number. There’s no good reason. I’m insane to think anything good will come from this and I get on with my movie-watching day.
I awake at my phone ringing. Credits roll across the screen to subdued music. I must have fallen asleep. Snatching the phone up, I glance and see a number I don’t recognize. “Yes?” I say critically, expecting the press or someone from the ABA, someone bringing more bad news.
“Mr. Allan?” says a voice calm as a glassy ocean.
“Speaking.”
“This is Doctor Kavya. I work with Maren. We were introduced in my office a couple of months ago.”
I instantly regret making the call. “Thank you for calling back, but I have nothing to say. It was a mistake.”
“You’re sure? Because you have me on the phone. Is there something you want to talk about?”
No. Yes. Hang up, Caleb. Be done. “I haven’t seen Maren since the trial and I ran into her while jogging this morning.”
“How did that go?”
“Am I supposed to give some profound emotional reaction?”
“You called me. You tell me.”
“I lost my job because of the trial.”
“I saw that in the news,” she admits.
Her rational tone only makes mine worse. “Is this a session or something? I don’t want to commit to talking to someone.”
She skips over my statement and asks another question. “How do you see yourself now?”
I’ve asked myself the same question more than I care to admit. “I used to be someone capable of controlling my life.”
“And you’re not anymore?”
“No.”
“When you saw her at the crosswalk, did the two of you speak?” The sound of a baby cooing is in the background.
My hand tenses around the phone. The sound of a baby. The noise catches my heart off guard. “Briefly. She was angry at me and I chased after her like some idiot.”
“What was your intention in going after her?”
“To make things right. Now? She’s done with me.”