Starting Now

by Debbie Macomber

  “Did you ever think I would be the type?”

  Robin grabbed her towel and headed toward the shower. “Can’t say that I did.”

  “Me neither, yet it’s the most peaceful, wonderful thing to sit with those newborns and sing them Bob Dylan songs.”

  “Bob Dylan?”

  “And the Righteous Brothers and the Bee Gees and—”

  “Poor things. They haven’t even left the hospital and already you’re twisting their young minds.”

  Libby laughed and followed her friend into the shower room. “I’ll probably give it up soon. If nothing else, what happened with the interview showed me how far I’ve slipped lately. I need to get back on track.”

  It wasn’t until they were dressed and ready for their day that Libby mentioned opening her own office. She hesitated and waited for her friend’s reaction. She could trust Robin to be straight with her. If this was a foolish idea, she wouldn’t hesitate to tell her so.

  Robin seemed to take a long time mulling it over.

  “Well? What do you think?” Libby hated to be so obviously anxious, but she valued her friend’s opinion.

  Slowly Robin nodded. “If anyone could make a go of it, it would be you.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered, embarrassed by how badly she needed encouragement and approval.

  “Are you sure you can get Sarah?”

  “Positive. She says the morale of the entire law office is in the gutter. Everyone is afraid of being the next one cut. The workload has doubled and the staff is expected to keep up this killing pace without a pay raise. Sarah told me they’re all supposed to just be grateful they have jobs.”

  Robin frowned. “It’s the same with the city. It’s been a nightmare with budget cuts. You won’t believe what they did last week,” Robin said, and exhaled. “They called it amnesty day.”

  “Amnesty day?” Libby repeated, perplexed.

  “Yup. If you return office supplies within a twenty-four-hour period … rubber bands, pencils, paper clips, the things that somehow inadvertently got taken home, then the city won’t prosecute.”

  “You’ve got to be joking,” Libby said, and shook her head, aghast. If it weren’t so ridiculous, she would cry.

  “I wish I was. Now, let’s get back to you setting up your own practice.”

  “Okay.” Libby was open to any advice her friend was willing to give her.

  “Where will your office be?”

  “I’m not sure … I’ll think about that later.”

  “You don’t want to work out of your condo,” Robin said. “There are probably restrictions on setting up any kind of business that uses your condo as an office. Plus you’ll want to get away at the end of the day and ‘go home.’ ”

  Libby had already thought of that. “I’ll need to find a space to rent.”

  “It won’t be cheap and you’ll be required to sign a lease.”

  Libby had taken that into consideration as well.

  “That’s the bad news, but there’s good news, too. There are complexes that come with a receptionist and all the necessary equipment, copy machine, fax, that sort of thing.”

  “But I have Sarah.”

  “You think you have Sarah,” Robin reminded her.

  “I have her,” Libby insisted. Whenever they talked, Sarah spent half the time complaining about all the changes at the firm and relaying the latest gossip. The rest of the time was spent telling Libby how much she had come to hate her job now that she’d been assigned to work with Ben Holmes.

  “Call Sarah before you contact a realtor,” Robin advised. Dressed for work, she headed out of the locker room.

  Libby stopped her and shocked them both by briefly hugging Robin.

  “What was that for?” Robin asked, clearly taken aback.

  “Because you’re my friend and I’m so grateful.”

  Robin straightened her jacket front and adjusted her sleeves. “Well, get over it.”

  Libby smiled. She hurried back to her condo and settled down on the sofa before she reached for her cell. She knew the direct number to Sarah’s desk and was able to sidestep the receptionist entirely.

  “Sarah,” Libby said anxiously when her friend picked up. “Happy Monday morning.”

  “I’ve got news,” Sarah said, cutting her off.

  “What’s up?” Libby was all ears.

  “I meant to call you over the weekend but didn’t get around to it. Mrs. Reed has left the firm. Ben dropped the ball on something and she said enough is enough and told Hershel she was through. This would never have happened if you were still working on her account.”

  “Mrs. Reed has left?” That meant that Libby had to move fast. The first thing she intended to do was phone the older woman—probably this afternoon—and set up an appointment with her. She thought of Mrs. Reed as the grandmother she barely remembered. Well into her eighties, the widow had been frugal and wise with her money her whole life and she was wealthy now. While demanding, she’d been wonderful to work with and Libby had missed her. No one was going to pull the wool over this wise woman’s eyes.

  “Yes, and Hershel isn’t happy about it, either.”

  Libby could only imagine. Mrs. Reed was a major client and Hershel had decided to keep Ben instead of Libby even though Ben wasn’t half the attorney she was. His one attribute, and apparently most important asset, was that he’d brought in two big clients to the firm. The clients Libby had brought in were small potatoes by comparison.

  She had to know, had to ask. “Did my name come up?”

  Sarah hesitated. “Sorry, no.”

  Well, Libby couldn’t be too disappointed. She had her own plans now and they were big.

  “I’m calling with news, too,” Libby said, doing a poor job of disguising her eagerness.

  “You found a position,” Sarah guessed.

  “No.” And then she quickly added, “I’ve decided to open my own practice.”

  Sarah’s reaction was immediate. “Libby, that’s wonderful.”

  The paralegal’s confidence in her was reassuring.

  “I would like to offer you the position of my personal assistant and my paralegal.”

  “Two jobs?”

  “Just in the beginning.” Libby didn’t think it would be long before she could hire a second person and she told Sarah as much. “I need to get on my feet first, but it will only be a matter of a few months.”

  “You’re sure you could manage all that in such a short while?”

  “Positive. What do you think?”

  “Do you have an office?”

  “Not yet. I phoned you first, but my next phone call will be to a real estate agent. I’m really going to do it, Sarah. I haven’t been this excited in months.”

  Sarah hesitated. “What about clients?”

  “Well,” she said, lowering her voice. “I have a line on a new one already.”

  “You do?”

  It surprised her that Sarah hadn’t figured it out. “Mrs. Reed.”

  “Oh … of course.”

  “You’ll need more work than that,” Sarah mentioned, as though Libby hadn’t already figured that out for herself.

  “I know and I’ll get it.” She thought about all the people she’d met at the hospital. She’d have business cards printed and hand them out at the gym, too. Why, just the other day, Lydia had asked Libby a question regarding getting a power of attorney for her mother. My goodness, Libby should have realized it then, the answer was obvious. She should set up her own practice. This was going to be fabulous.

  “Are you on board?” Libby asked Sarah.

  “I’ll need time to think about it and I’ll need to talk it over with Vaughn.”

  “Of course.” Libby had understood that Sarah would want to discuss the job offer with her husband.

  “I’ll get back to you soon.”

  “Perfect,” Libby said.

  At that moment life felt exactly that way. Perfect. Hopeful. Yet even in her excitement and en
thusiasm, something was missing—or, rather, someone.

  Phillip.

  Chapter 20

  “Mom, we’ve got to do something to help Ava,” Casey pleaded while Lydia started dinner preparations on Monday evening. Ava and Casey had spent most of the afternoon together in Casey’s bedroom.

  “Ava’s been crying all afternoon. She’s going to have a baby and she doesn’t know what to do.”

  Lydia wanted to weep herself. The poor girl desperately needed help. “Does she have a caseworker?” If Ava’s grandmother was her legal guardian, then the state might have assigned the children someone from Social Services.

  “I don’t know and I doubt that Ava does, either.” Casey looked as if she was ready to break into tears, too. Although she would quickly deny it, she had a sensitive heart for the pain of others. It wouldn’t surprise Lydia if Casey decided on a career in the medical field. She seemed to be drawn in that direction. “Ava’s afraid of what will happen once her grandmother finds out about the baby.”

  Lydia had met Ava’s grandmother only once, and it hadn’t been a pleasant exchange. She’d gone to the Carmichael residence to pick up Ava. The girls were going to a movie together and she’d thought it was time to meet the young teen’s guardian. Darlene, who’d just returned from work, had been short-tempered with Ava and her brother. She made a point of complaining about the cost of the movie. Lydia had assured her she’d pay for the girls. The older woman had gruffly thanked her, but didn’t seem interested in chatting. Lydia had left after a few minutes.

  “Let me talk to Ava first,” Lydia said as she placed the tomato on the cutting board.

  “Mom, she doesn’t want to talk to anyone, especially about the baby.”

  “Where is she?”

  “She had to go home in case her grandmother came back to the house after work. If Ava and Jackson aren’t there, her grandmother gets upset. She doesn’t want them roaming the neighborhood.”

  Lydia wasn’t sure what she could do to help and said as much.

  “Ava’s coming to the yarn store with me in the morning. She told me Libby would be there, too.”

  Good. Ava trusted Libby. Maybe the attorney would know how to handle this situation. Lydia felt at a complete loss.

  “I think Libby wants to take Ava to the doctor,” Casey continued, “but I don’t think Ava will go because she’s afraid her grandmother will find out. Someone has to tell her grandmother and she’s too afraid to do it.”

  “Mrs. Carmichael will know soon enough.” Lydia wasn’t sure how Ava had been able to hide the pregnancy for this long.

  “You need to be the one to tell her, Mom,” Casey insisted.

  “Me?” Lydia would rather do anything than be the one to tell Ava’s grandmother her thirteen-year-old granddaughter was pregnant. Darlene Carmichael had already had to deal with the loss of her daughter, and she’d taken on the responsibility of rearing her grandchildren, and now this. It was too much.

  “Then Ava will have an excuse to go to the doctor.”

  “Sweetheart …”

  “Her grandmother needs to know. Sure, she’ll be mad, but she’ll get over it soon enough. It’s wrong to leave something this important up to chance. How would you feel if something happened to Ava because no one would help her tell her grandmother about the baby?”

  Her daughter made a good case. That was what Lydia got for letting her hang around with Libby a few afternoons a week. Casey could argue like an attorney. Maybe she’d choose law over medicine.

  “Ava’s frightened, Mom. Wouldn’t you be? But I told her she’d be better off dealing with this now instead of letting it upset her so much. Crying this hard isn’t good for her or the baby.”

  Lydia agreed with Casey that it was time for Ava’s grandmother to learn the truth. What she dreaded was being the one to tell her. Mrs. Carmichael was sure to be upset, but at least she’d be able to help Ava deal with the pregnancy. The girl needed medical attention, and her family needed to make a decision about the baby.

  “Will you talk to her grandmother for her?” Casey asked again.

  Lydia realized she was probably the best choice. At least Mrs. Carmichael had met her before.

  “Let me talk this over with your father first.”

  After the dinner dishes were cleared from the table, Lydia brought it up with her husband. Casey went outside for a few minutes with her brother and by the time she returned, Brad and Lydia had decided that Lydia should approach Darlene Carmichael.

  No time like the present.

  On the drive over, Lydia thought long and hard about the best way to break the news to the other woman. Ava wouldn’t be happy with her, but the girl’s physical and mental well-being was a far more important concern.

  As a peace offering, she brought along a plate of oatmeal cookies she’d baked with Casey that morning while it was still cool. Hopefully the cookies would help sweeten the older woman’s mood.

  When she pulled up in front of the house, Jackson, Ava’s older brother, was outside by himself, playing basketball in the next-door neighbor’s driveway. He didn’t seem to notice her.

  Standing on the front steps, Lydia rang the doorbell. Her stomach was in knots and she whispered a silent prayer, asking God to give her the right words. The front door opened and Darlene Carmichael stood on the other side of the screen. Her eyes narrowed until she saw the plate of cookies. The screen had a giant rip in the bottom half.

  “Hello again,” Lydia said. “I’m Lydia Goetz, Casey’s mom. We met a couple of months ago.”

  “I remember.”

  Lydia remained standing outside the screen door. “Would it be all right if I came inside for a few minutes?”

  The older woman hesitated before unlatching the door, pulling it open for Lydia. When she stepped into the house the smell of cigarette smoke was overpowering. Mrs. Carmichael led the way into the living room and plopped herself down in a recliner. There was a beer can on the end table next to the chair.

  The sofa was covered with what looked like an old bedspread. Something had been spilled on it and left to dry. Setting the plate of cookies down, Lydia sat at the far end of the sofa as close to the edge as she dared.

  Ava’s grandmother concentrated on the television screen, which was tuned to a Hollywood gossip show.

  “I apologize for stopping by unannounced.” Lydia nervously smoothed her hand over her knees.

  “I hope Ava hasn’t been making a pest of herself.”

  “Not at all,” Lydia countered quickly. “I’ve enjoyed Ava tremendously. She’s a charming girl.”

  Mrs. Carmichael’s gaze left the television screen and a hint of a smile came and went from her eyes. “She looks a lot like my daughter. Sometimes …” she hesitated and then continued, “sometimes when I look at her I think it’s Gaylene and then I remember that Gaylene is gone. I miss her, you know.” She had a hoarse smoker’s voice that quickly turned into a cough. Grabbing the ashtray next to the can of beer, she stabbed the cigarette butt several times into the glass. “I quit smoking two years ago and only started back after we buried Gaylene … I plan to quit again although I keep putting it off. I know it’s bad for me and not a good example for Jackson and Ava, but for now I need these cigarettes.”

  She coughed again, so deep that for a moment Lydia thought she might need to slap the older woman across the back. Once the coughing subsided, Lydia said, “Ava and Casey have spent quite a bit of time together this summer.”

  “So I understand. Ava knit a couple of dishcloths; they aren’t half bad.” Her gaze remained focused on the television set. “She said you gave her the yarn.” The last part was added as if the older woman was afraid Lydia was going to ask her for payment. Lydia had no intention of seeking reimbursement.

  “I did … it’s leftover yarn from other projects I’ve done. I’m glad to see it put to good use.” Lydia smiled, proud of all that Ava had accomplished over the last few weeks. “Ava’s learned how to crochet, too. She is ac
tually a very quick learner.” She resisted the urge to jabber away rather than discuss the reason for her visit.

  A door opened; the sound came from the hallway that led off the living room. Ava came out and stopped cold when she saw Lydia. From her position, her grandmother couldn’t see her, which was a good thing because Ava’s eyes widened. It didn’t seem possible that she could go any paler, but she did.

  Lydia looked away. “Ava was over this afternoon and she mentioned that you’ve been concerned because she’s gaining weight.”

  Ava took two steps forward and made a cutting motion with her hands while shaking her head.

  Lydia ignored the girl as much as possible.

  Ava came all the way into the room. “Hello, Mrs. Goetz,” she said.

  “Goetz is your surname?” Darlene asked, looking away from the television screen.

  “My married name.”

  Ava stood almost directly in front of Lydia, her eyes begging her not to mention the pregnancy.

  “Do you know Ronny Goetz?” Darlene asked.

  “No, I’m sorry, but I can ask my husband if you’d like.”

  “Do. Ronny borrowed fifty bucks from me and never paid me back. Haven’t seen him in six months. I should have known better, but he had a sob story, and fool that I am I fell for it.”

  “Ah, sorry, I haven’t heard Brad ever mention any relation named Ronny.”

  “Goetz is an unusual name. If your husband’s related, I’d appreciate a phone number. I’m not the only one Ronny owes, so I’d like to get to him before anyone else does.”

  “I’ll mention that to Brad.”

  “I’d appreciate it.”

  “Getting back to what I was saying earlier …”

  “Can I get you anything, Grandma?” Ava asked, breaking into the conversation.

  “A beer. What about you?” She motioned to Lydia.

  “No thanks.”

  Ava hesitated.

  “Don’t stand there like a bump on a log; get me another beer.” The older woman glanced sheepishly at Lydia. “Another bad habit. I plan on cutting back on drinking, too. I only have two a night. That’s my limit; really can’t afford any more than that.”