by Whitney Boyd
Suddenly the weight of what is being loaded on me hits. A hearing and all the consequent messy paperwork will consume me for months. Not to mention, no one will hire me if they know my law license is an inch from being stripped away.
“Is there no other way?” I ask weakly. I glance around at the partner’s faces. “I can’t pay a fine—I have no money. I know you all probably hate me, but it was an honest mistake. I trusted someone that I shouldn’t have, but that was the only thing I did wrong. You know me! You know I’m a damn good lawyer. Can’t we work this out?”
My plea falls on deaf ears and I wish I had said nothing. Unceremoniously I am ejected from the building. I clutch the business card Mr. Perry handed me on my way out and stare at the writing. The Law Society of Alberta. Only fraudulent lawyers end up in front of them.
And yet here I am, one of them.
A tear falls down my cheek and then another. I know why they wanted to meet with me. They hoped I would plead guilty or that my story would have changed from my official statement. Maybe they figured the shock of having reported me to the Law Society would nudge a confession out of me right in front of Mr. Perry himself.
My phone buzzes. I glance at it . . . one new email.
I open it and squint at the small screen. It’s from Josh.
“Charley, I spoke to my buddy whose dad works at CC. They are setting you up. Don’t meet with them. They have been losing a lot of money since you left and they want to pin it all on you. They are after blood and nothing more. Word is they are going to try to get you fined or disbarred. DON’T WORRY! You have done nothing wrong. I know a few people who can help you out. There will probably be a hearing with the Law Society, but I repeat, don’t worry. They listen to facts. Not to mention, it’s is EXTREMELY difficult for someone to get disbarred. You will be fine.”
At this point in the email I am sobbing. People passing by give me strange looks and I know I must look a sight. I blink three times fast and continue reading.
“Call me if you need anything. I’m still your friend. I’m still here. Josh”
Why didn’t I listen to Josh? Why did I go into stupid Carter Clinton? They’d have tracked me down regardless, made me end up at this hearing, but at least I would have retained a shred of dignity.
With trembling hands I punch in his familiar cell number. It rings once and Josh answers. “Hi.” I can sense the baggage and awkwardness between us and I’m sure he feels it too.
“Hey.” I know he’s busy, it is three-thirty on a Monday after all, but I can’t rush this. “So I got your email. I know there is a lot we have to say to each other, except right now I don’t know what it is exactly that I should say. I know I miss you. I miss what we had. But you don’t need to deal with that right now. I called because I need your help.”
“Of course. Has Carter Clinton contacted you again?”
“Yes. I met with them. I thought you were wrong, and that maybe they wanted me back. It’s a mess.” I explain the situation and he whistles.
“Wow, they broke out the CEO and six senior partners. That’s pretty big stuff. They must be hurting pretty bad for them to lust after your blood like this. I meant what I said in the email, though. They can’t touch you. You did nothing wrong. I guess they could try for negligence, but even that is a stretch. At most you’ll get a slap on the wrist and a warning.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive. It’s human nature to want to cut deeper than the person who cut you. The firm can’t go after Grace since she’s family, so they have to blame you. This is probably an attempt to crush you . . . ruin your life so you can’t get hired anywhere and your name is blacklisted throughout Calgary.”
“Well, looks like it’s working,” I sniff. “I couldn’t even get on at that environmental firm, and that was without them even knowing that my license may be suspended.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Josh says cryptically. “Hey, I have to run, but if you want, you can give me a call later and we can talk. We’ll leave everything that happened in Victoria behind us and move forward. Sound good?”
“Yeah.” We hang up and I feel a little lighter. I decide not to catch public transit since it is turning into a pretty day. I walk home with a slight spring in my step and only one thing on my mind: We talked. As I turn onto our street, I notice a white butterfly with dainty gold markings on its wings flap by and land on a bush beside the sidewalk. “If the first butterfly you see in the spring is white,” I murmur the familiar words my Grammy always said, “you will have good luck all year.”
My heart beams. I already feel luckier.
A bird does not sing because it has answers.
It sings because it has a song.
—Chinese Proverb
Chapter Twenty-Five
When I get home the first thing I do is call my mom. I need a hug and the love that only a mother can give. She won’t understand all the legal crap going on in my life, but at least she will listen and provide me with refuge for a day or two. I have a lot to think about. I need some unbiased advice.
She answers on the first ring. “Hello?”
“Hey Momma, are you on rotation at the hospital today?”
“No, I’m off until Friday. Are you back in town?”
“Yes. Can I come home?”
“Of course you can come home. What’s going on? Is your car still broken? I can come pick you up.” Her spidey-senses must be tingling because she tells me she’ll be on her way and see me in half an hour. I write a quick note for Heather, telling her that I’m going home for a day or two, and then throw some clean underwear, my pajamas and a toothbrush into a bag.
My mom’s Ford Fusion pulls up out front and I hurry to meet her. I climb in the passenger side and buckle up.
We chitchat about my brother who is finishing up his undergrad at the University of Lethbridge and she fills me in on typical family gossip. My auntie Marge is dating again. The last guy she dated ended up going to jail after robbing a convenience store, so hopefully this new one will be better. Uncle Bert had another breakdown and has decided that his calling in life is to be a bus driver. Two of my cousins have had babies. The usual chatter carries us the twenty minute drive down Deerfoot and back to my childhood home, a bi-level split nestled in the heart of Midnapore.
It is an old community. Years earlier it had been its own little town, but has long since merged with the ever-expanding city of Calgary. The quiet streets are lined with towering poplars and evergreen trees that have seen better days. The community backs onto Fish Creek Provincial Park, a massive wildlife preserve that stretches farther than the eye can see in every direction.
We pull into the driveway and my mom parks the car. I have so many memories here . . . memories of my Grammy baking cookies with me and my brother after school, the sound of my dad laughing when he came in the door from work, the feel of my mom wrapping her arms around me when I drove my bike into the neighbor’s fence and skinned my elbow.
“How’s Dad?’ I inquire as we enter the house. The scent of fresh laundry assails my nostrils and I follow my mother into the kitchen. There is a huge pot of soup boiling on the stove and the bread machine whirs on the counter.
“He’s doing well. The last surgery he performed had a few complications, but they are cleared up now. The girl developed a bit of an infection in her right eye, but with the correct antibiotics, he managed to get it under control.”
Two years ago, my dad decided that his life as a laser eye surgeon had no purpose. He retired from his thirty-year practice and volunteered for United We See, a program that helps kids in underdeveloped nations who have trouble with their vision. Most of what he deals with are cataracts and astigmatisms, and he has helped hundreds of people who were diagnosed as legally blind receive their sight.
“That’s incredible. Whe
n does he get home?”
My mom looks at the calendar hanging on the far wall, right underneath a ‘Home Is Where The Heart Is’ sign my Grammy cross-stitched. “He should be back by the first week of June, provided they don’t run out of medical supplies sooner. We’ll have a big family dinner. I know he’s missed my cooking.”
“He’s making such a huge difference in the world,” I note, sitting at the kitchen table. My mom stirs the soup and tastes a spoonful. “When are you going to brave the wild and go out in the middle of nowhere with him?”
My mom smacks her lips and joins me at the table. “One day I’m sure I’ll tire of the demanding hours at the hospital and join him, but for now, I feel my place is here. My kids are my priority, and even though you’re grown up, I still get the sense that you need me.”
I trace the swirly designs on the table with a finger. “I’m trying to figure some things out right now, Momma, and I don’t know what to do.”
She rests her head on her hands and watches me. Her hair, always in a chin length bob that she’s had for as long as I can remember, sways just a little. Her forehead wrinkles in concern. “Tell me. Is it about Drew? How was your reunion?”
I can’t bring myself to tell her everything, especially not the part where I cheated with him on his fiancée, or where I crashed their wedding and derailed the entire thing. Instead, I tell her the basics. We met up, we learned we weren’t right for each other and that was that.
“That’s good. It sounds like you have the whole thing figured out.” Mom gets up from the table and ladles the soup into two bowls. She carries them to the table and sits down again. “So if Drew isn’t the issue, what’s the problem?”
I raise the spoon to my lips and sip the piping hot liquid. It is delicious, a creamy seafood chowder with little chunks of corn and crab and salmon and shrimp. I take another bite and swallow before continuing.
“Josh told me that he’s in love with me on our last day out there. He said he’s loved me for years and finally now he’s managed to get up the nerve to tell me.”
I am not sure what reaction I expect, but certainly not for my mother to merely nod and take another bite of soup. “Of course. This wasn’t a bombshell for you, was it?”
My mouth falls open. “You knew too? Why did nobody tell me?”
“It was obvious, I always thought you knew but were just playing it cool. He hung around you like flies on manure. He treated you like a queen.”
I remain quiet and eat more of the soup. I shovel it in like a starving person and I can sense that my mom is watching me.
“What did you say to him, Charley?” Her voice has an edge to it. I remember when I was invited on a date when I was fourteen. It was a neighbor boy down the block and I couldn’t stand him. He was nerdy and didn’t wash his hair. He phoned one evening and my mom answered. She called me to the phone and before she handed it to me, had hissed viciously that if I hurt his feelings, she would ground me for a week, never let me go to the mall with my friends again and would give every penny in my college fund to my brother. I grudgingly accepted the date, and, to my surprise, enjoyed myself immensely. We remained friends all through high school until his parents transferred for work out of province and we eventually lost touch.
My mom has always insisted that I never hurt a guy’s feelings. “It takes a lot of nerve for them to ask a girl out. Don’t you ever crush them on a first date.” She’s going to kill me when I admit what happened with Josh.
“I was taken aback.” It comes out defensively and my mom glowers. I eat another few bites and almost choke on a bit of crab.
“So you shot him down, did you?”
“Sort of. I, well, I had just figured out that Drew and I were over for good, and it was bad timing. Besides, I didn’t want to ruin the friendship we have. People who are friends never date. It doesn’t work that way.”
My mom’s eyebrows raise. “Oh really?” She has a dangerous quality to her voice but I am in too deep now. I have to defend my actions.
“Anytime friends date it ends up with a friendship ruined and both of them avoiding each other for years. Only in How I Met Your Mother do people who once dated remain friends. It doesn’t happen in real life.”
“So how’s your friendship now?”
I look away. “It’s . . .” I search for the right word. “It’s complicated.”
“Why would it be complicated? You didn’t date.” I hate it when my mother throws my own faulty logic back at me.
When I don’t respond immediately, my mother reaches across the table and places her hands on my own. She holds them tight, stopping me from fidgeting. “Your father was my high school sweetheart. I’ve told you that story many times before.”
“So?”
“So hear me out. We started dating when we were seventeen, but you know what? For two years before that, we were best friends. We hung out, went to football games together, played basketball at the YMCA and had all the same friends. It was a natural progression for us to date.”
“I suppose.”
“It is the most wonderful feeling in the world being able to be yourself with a boy. Not pretending, knowing they love you for you.”
“Well, that works for you and Dad, but I know myself. Relationships don’t last with me and I like Josh as a friend too much to let us go down in flames.” My chin juts out and I grind my teeth in frustration.
“You have always been the most stubborn child. I remember once on a science test when you were in grade school, you wrote that neutrons, not electrons, had a negative charge. You argued with your teacher for an hour after you saw that you got that question wrong. You hauled out your class notes, swore up and down that your teacher had told you this. Even when the evidence was right in front of you, you still clung to your silly belief that you were right.”
“Stop with the neutron/electron thing, Mom,” I complain. My mom sees fit to bring that story up at least once every few years and I always cringe with embarrassment at how stupidly stubborn I had been.
“The point is, you rarely back down from a fight. That’s why you are such a good lawyer.”
“If I were a good lawyer, Carter Clinton wouldn’t be trying to get me disbarred,” I mutter.
Mistake. My mom’s ears perk up and she grabs hold onto this new piece of information. “Why? Because of that mistake the intern made?”
“Yeah. They claim it was an ethical violation, or something. I’m going to have a hearing and everything.”
My mom shrugs it off. “Sweetie, lawyers are always jumping on the bandwagon of suing others or fighting within their ranks. Disbarment is rare, and really quite a drastic outcome. It’s like losing your medical license. I would imagine it is quite hard to get disbarred. I wouldn’t lose any sleep over it.”
“That’s what Josh told me.”
“Well, Josh is rarely wrong, from what you’ve said in the past.”
We both finish the last few bites of soup and my mom gets up from the table and carries our bowls to the sink. She rinses them and sets them down. Then she turns and leans against the counter.
“Charley, there is nothing better in the world than being in love with your best friend. That’s what your father is to me. I could not imagine life without him.”
“But I’m not in love with Josh,” I protest. “I love him, but not in the way I’ve loved boyfriends in the past.”
“Maybe that’s the problem. You keep blaming fate and bad luck for you never being able to make a relationship last. What if your relationships always end in flames because, plain and simple, you aren’t friends with those guys.”
I think back to all the boys I’ve dated, all the men I’ve met at the pub and gone out to dinner with, guys I’ve gone out for drinks with from school. I was never perfectly at ease with any of them.
I always worried about what clothes I would wear and what I would say. Even Drew, my supposed soul mate, I could never be fully comfortable with. I watched what I said. I never told him the whole truth. He never saw me vulnerable. He never saw me crying with snot running down my face and makeup smeared across my eyes.
My mom observes me with compassion. “Imagine life without Josh. You won’t have to dig too deep to find those feelings.”
“I’ve felt lost without him,” I grudgingly admit. “Empty, lonely. He was the first person I would call when I had good news or bad news. Today when the stuff with Carter Clinton went down, he was the one I turned to, even though it was awkward as hell.”
“Don’t say that word,” my mom says automatically, and I giggle and throw my hand dramatically over my mouth.
My mom comes over and crouches down in front of me. She places her hands on my knees and turns my face to hers. “Your dad fixes eyes, sweetheart. He makes blind people see color and shapes and the whole vibrant world. Remember what he always said, that when people take in how the world looks for the first time, they cry? They are so overwhelmed at how beautiful it is that there is no room for logic, no words to express what they feel. They just feel it.
“Charley, you kept saying that your life was in ruins due to the one who got away. Don’t be too blind to see the beauty that is out there. What if it’s not the one who got away, but the one right in front of you that you were too blind to see?”
The tears flow. “I was such a fool, Momma,” I sob. She cradles my heaving shoulders in her arms and rocks me like she did when I was little. We stay like that for a few minutes and I finally understand.
My mom lets go eventually and straightens up. Her knees pop and she stretches with a groan. “Mmm, I’m getting too old to be kneeling on the floor like this.” She pulls me to my feet and we wrap our arms around each other. “I’m making a new quilt for Mrs. Bunnage down the street. Do you want to see it?”