by Whitney Boyd
When sunlight finally breaks through the blackness of the outside world, I am relieved. I’ve lost weight worrying about my hearing. I’ve spent too many sleepless nights worrying about Josh.
Let’s get it over with.
Every path has its puddle.
—English Proverb
Chapter Thirty
Thank you for coming.” L. Gordon Perry, the man with round glasses who I had met at Carter Clinton months earlier, shakes my hand, escorts me to a chair and invites me to sit. As if I had a choice in coming, I think, but I smile and thank him.
I arrived at the Calgary office of the Law Society of Alberta at seven forty-five on the dot and was led immediately into a small conference room. Three tables were set up, one at the front with two chairs behind it, and two more next to each other. My side of the room and their side. They might as well have put up a No Trespassing sign with a fence for how foreboding everything to my left looks.
Carter Clinton has pulled out all the stops. Five senior partners are seated at the table when I enter, and they have a row of folding chairs set up behind them with seven associates and paralegals, all holding briefcases, frowning and writing notes on their laptops. Everyone is wearing black suits. No navy blue or brown or grey. Pitch black, like the uniform of an executioner. The amount of money the firm is losing by having twelve employees, most of whom bill a minimum of five hundred dollars an hour, makes me quake. They are serious. They mean to intimidate. And it’s working.
I have never felt this alone in my entire life. I take my seat and refuse to look over at Carter Clinton’s side again. The clock on the wall says I have five minutes left before the proceedings begin. My parents aren’t here yet. They had promised to make it, especially since Heather had a calendar shoot with some makeup company and couldn’t be here with me. I sneak my phone out of my purse and check it under the table. I don’t want the Law Society to think I’m a flighty texting teenager, but I need to see if my parents called or something.
No texts, no calls.
The minute hand on the clock moves closer and closer to the hour mark. L. Gordon Perry and a female associate enter the room and take their seats at the head table. Janice Monroe, proclaims the name plate in front of the woman. I eye her nervously. Women can be interesting. Sometimes they support other women for the sake of feminism and solidarity. Other times they will stab you in the back for the last tube of lipstick on sale at Walmart.
I really hope she’s a kind, loving feminist.
L. Gordon clears his throat and every eye in the room turns to him. He looks at Carter Clinton and asks, “Is everyone ready to begin? All individuals needed for the hearing are present?” The lead partner, whose name I can’t remember, nods. Then L. Gordon looks at me. “And you?”
“I guess. I mean, yes,” I state firmly. I don’t need the parental support. I really don’t. Even though I feel completely empty inside.
“All right, we’ll begin.” He pushes his glasses up on his nose and moves some papers around. “I am L. Gordon Perry and this is my associate Janice Monroe. We are representing the Law Society of Alberta today, which is, as you all know, the self-governing association of practicing lawyers in the province. Our mission is to serve public interest by guaranteeing a high standard of legal services and professional conduct. Today, we are going to decide whether Miss Charlotte Southard,” he inclines his head in my direction, “has violated the ethical nature of law practice and whether or not she should remain a practicing attorney in Alberta.”
The Carter Clinton crowd seems to be writing down every single word, their fingers flying over the laptops as though they are afraid that they’ll miss something that might be on an exam later. I sit rigidly in my chair, listening intently, but afraid to make even the smallest note in my binder lest my hand starts shaking and I end up a messy puddle on the floor.
The door behind us opens right as L. Gordon finishes his opening monologue. I turn my head and feel a rush of relief pour over me. My mom and dad, dressed to the nines, enter the room, followed in by none other than Josh. My Josh. He came. My parents sit down in the row of chairs behind me, but Josh slides into the chair next to me at the table.
He looks incredible. His hair is tamed with some concoction of gel or mousse or something, and he is wearing a lovely grey suit with a baby blue collared shirt underneath. He looks professional and dependable and so handsome.
“Sorry we were late, Mr. Perry,” Josh says. His expression is serious and sincere. L. Gordon nods his head, “That’s fine. And you are?”
“I’m Joshua Mahoney, attorney and co-counsel representing Charlotte Southard,” Josh replies instantly.
“I thought you were representing yourself,” Mr. Perry inquires, looking at me.
It’s all I can do to keep myself from beaming. Josh came. “Uh, yes, sir, this is a bit unexpected, but Mr. Mahoney is correct. I’m representing myself with his assistance.”
“Very well. Let us continue.”
Underneath the table Josh puts his large, comforting hand on my knee. As L. Gordon continues reading the opening statements for the case, Josh scribbles something on his legal pad and slides it over to me.
“Wouldn’t have missed this for the world. You look beautiful. Don’t be afraid, we have this. Sorry I was late . . . had to pick up your parents and there was traffic.” I read the words silently and blink back tears of gratitude.
“Thank you,” I mouth to him. He squeezes my knee and we refocus on what is being said.
The hearing takes an hour and a half, starting with Carter Clinton’s accusations and reasons they are pushing for disbarment. Then L. Gordon Perry asks them questions, which they dodge around. He wants to know why they are upset with me and not seeking legal action against the intern. He inquires as to my being fired “without cause” if they think I am in the wrong. And then he turns to us.
Josh begins, standing politely and eloquently listing off a number of cases similar to my own where the defendant was not disbarred. He gives each memo to the L. Gordon and Janice team and then continues with character references. He makes me seem as though I am a golden girl, a shining beacon of light in the legal community. While everything he says is true, I am flattered and touched that he thinks this highly of me.
Finally, he clears his throat, and says, “Mr. Perry and Ms. Monroe, it is appalling that Carter Clinton has called my client here. I would like to ask her to tell you what happened in her own words.”
He sits down and smiles at me. I am amazed. If I had murdered fifty people in a crazy killing spree, I’m pretty sure Josh could get me off. He’s that good. I stand, knees knocking together behind the table and lick my lips. I hold on to the table for support and begin.
“It was a mistake. You’ve heard the facts as to what happened, and they are all true. It was my responsibility to get the correct draft prospectus to the correct people and I did not check to make sure that my assistant had done so. However, I was not the one who attached the additional documents. I did not courier it. I printed the correct papers and trusted someone who I should not have trusted. My punishment was being fired. I was unemployed for months. I had zero cash flow and it took me a long time to find another employer. This was my sentence. I should not be punished further for something that was a mistake.”
The two at the head table nod, writing notes the way they had the entire time and then L. Gordon clears his throat. “Thank you, Miss Southard. Please be seated. We will recess for thirty minutes and then my colleague and I will inform you of our decision. We are adjourned.”
“We have some final closing statements,” the partner from Carter Clinton adds pompously. “It will only take a moment.”
L. Gordon frowns. “This isn’t a court of law. You have made your case, Charlotte has made hers. We are adjourned.” They stand and stride out the door without loo
king at either side of the room.
“Ha,” Josh whispers to me. “It definitely favors you when they see how pretentious and stuffy old Carter Clinton is.”
The moment the door closes behind them, I spin in my chair and my parents lean forward with smiles. “Sweetie, you were wonderful,” my mom coos. She takes my hands and beams at me. “You and Josh did an amazing job. These people would have to be total idiots if they go along with those pretentious penguins.” She bobs her head at Carter Clinton’s lawyers, all frowning and whispering to one another and looking very penguin-like in their black suits and white shirts.
I giggle and hold a finger to my lips. “Shh, don’t say that too loud.”
My dad pats Josh on the back. “Josh, thank you for helping. And let me tell you, if I ever get hit with a malpractice suit, I know exactly where to come. No offense, sweetie,” he says to me with a wink.
I am dying to talk to Josh, to ask him if his holding my knee under the table meant anything, if his missing work to support me was an indication that he loved me again, but I can’t. My hands are still trembling.
The thirty minute break passes excruciatingly slow. My parents and Josh laugh and chat and catch up with ease. I can barely put three words together by the end. I feel like a kindergarten kid on the first day of school. Finally, when I can bear it no longer, the door opens again and the two file back to their spots.
L. Gordon has an impartial, stern expression on his face that fills me with dread. But Janice shoots me a small smile as she sits. That smile.
“She smiled. That means you won,” Josh scrawls on his pad and passes it to me. He saw it too. Then his comforting hand finds my clammy, shaking one under the table and I hold tight to him. He is my life raft in a frigid ocean. I squeeze his fingers so tight I’m afraid it might hurt him, but I can’t seem to let go.
“Ahem.” L. Gordon addresses the room. I take a deep breath. Everyone leans forward, waiting, listening. “We have discussed and looked through all the evidence at hand. While what happened is unfortunate, we do not believe that the defendant, Charlotte Southard, purposely or accidentally violated any ethical or legal standards. Perhaps Carter Clinton can pursue legal action against Grace Martin, the assistant who couriered the draft prospectus to the opposing counsel, but that would be a matter for a different time and place. The petition for disbarment has been denied. Thank you for coming today.”
And with those few words, it’s over.
I bury my face in my hands as the truth of the matter sinks in. Disbarment denied. I’m safe. Josh’s arm goes around my shoulders supportively and he holds me. I can hear outraged cries and murmurs from Carter Clinton’s side of the room, I feel my parents hands grasp me, and for the first time in months, everything is right in the world.
I raise my head finally and throw my arms around Josh’s neck. “Thank you, thank you,” I babble repeatedly.
“I didn’t do anything other than lay out the facts,” Josh reminds me. He releases me and I fall into my parents’ arms and the four of us celebrate, laughing. Carter Clinton packs up their legal pads and laptops and the black suits file stiffly out of the room, studiously avoiding eye contact.
“Let’s go get ice cream,” my dad insists when the last of Carter Clinton’s minions have left the room. “This is a celebration and it’s stinking hot outside.”
“I have to get back to work,” Josh says and shakes his head. “Rain check though.”
I want to say something to him, but with my parents standing right there it’s hard to get the words out. I must look pathetic because my mom gives me a knowing look and says that she and my dad will meet me outside in a few minutes. They leave the room, holding hands like a couple of school kids. And I am alone with Josh.
“We really need to talk,” I say slowly. He stands in front of me, big and tough and familiar. Our eyes are locked together and my breathing is ragged and harsh. “I have some things I need to tell you, have needed to for a while actually, and I think I’ll die if you brush me off without letting me speak.”
Okay, maybe I’m the one who sounds like a school kid. But Josh just smiles. “Deal. Dinner tomorrow night?”
“Only if you let me pick the place,” I retort. I can’t break my gaze away from his face. The room feels like it is closing around us, making us safe and secure and the only two people who matter.
“Okay. I’ll see you then.” He pulls his eyes away from mine and gives me one last hug. “Congrats on winning,” he whispers into my ear. And then we leave to find my parents.
The heart that truly loves never forgets.
—English Proverb
Chapter Thirty-One
My heart is beating rapidly and I can’t stop looking at Josh. He is different somehow, at least different in my eyes. “Thanks for agreeing to dinner.”
“Of course,” Josh says casually.
I have so much to say but I am afraid it won’t come out the way I’ve planned in my head. Through the sparkling windows that line the outside of this contemporary, rotating restaurant, I see lights, cars, everything in motion. Calgary’s sprawling urban neighborhoods reach out in every direction, lit up in the peaceful night. Discreet waiters move among the tables, making sure that every diner’s experience at the Sky360 in the iconic Calgary Tower is completely ideal.
“I owe you,” I finally say. I can see my reflection in the mirror along a side wall. I am dressed to kill, hair flipped out at the bottom, understated pearl necklace that my dad gave me when I graduated from law school and a new dress, borrowed from Heather for the occasion. “Not just for the hearing, which is huge on its own, but for everything. My new job is amazing. Natasha is incredible to work with, the kids are so sweet and helpless, I have never been more excited in my life. I think about my cases all the time, I obsess about whether something will help them or hurt them, I wake up early just to get to work and get started without moaning about how much I hate my life. I owe it all to you, Josh. Thank you.”
“You don’t owe me anything,” Josh replies. “This is what friends do.”
“But I haven’t treated you like a friend lately, not even since we started talking again,” I argue. “Back in Victoria I was rude and stupid and—”
“And stubborn and irrational,” Josh adds.
I attempt to frown at him. “You’re not supposed to agree with me,” I protest.
He raises his hands into the cowboy, reach for the sky position and a slow smile stretches across his face. “But since I’m your friend, I have to tell you the truth. It’s in the handbook.”
“So you’re all about truth, are you?” I lean forward on the pristine white tablecloth. “I’ll tell you the truth, but you have to tell me one more truth of your own first.” Courage, my heart.
“Sure,” Josh says and raises an eyebrow.
“Okay, are you serious about Julie? Heather told me about her. Are you two, like, dating and exclusive and in love and everything?” I can’t meet his eyes.
Josh grins and rests his chin on his hands. “Truthfully? No. We went out three times in total over the past few months, but I haven’t been able to get our relationship to go anywhere.”
“Why not?” I breathe, relief flooding over me.
“Because I love someone else,” Josh says simply. “And Julie knows that.”
My eyes fill and I pinch my leg under the table to refocus. Josh smiles once more and then adds, “Now, Miss Non-Disbarred Lawyer, tell me the truth you were going to say. You’ve heard mine.”
I take a sip of the Sprite Zero that has materialized in front of me. I hadn’t noticed the waiter at all. This is my opening and I am going to take it. Whether or not he accepts will be up to him, although his last statement has given me hope.
“You want truth? The truth is you need a haircut. I love it in the summer when your hair
is all buzzed and military. It makes your face look more rugged and right now you look shaggy.” My eyes are locked on his again, just like yesterday in the empty hearing room. There is an expression of anticipation mixed with wonder on his face and it makes my heart feel like the Grinch when it grows three sizes in one day.
“The truth is you snore a little. I learned that the hard way in Victoria. I would suggest those special nose strips thingies that you can buy on infomercials at three in the morning. The truth is that I know it was you who ate my last Snickers bar in the cupboard a few months ago. I heard you come in when I was in the shower and Heather doesn’t eat chocolate when she’s in pageant mode. You owe me a chocolate bar.”
The waiter interrupts right then and we give him our orders. Chicken penne in a white wine alfredo sauce for me and a steak, medium rare, with twice-mashed potato and a Caesar salad for him. When the waiter disappears, I pick up where I left off.
“The truth is you have a ridiculously attractive body. I don’t know how I never noticed it before, but when you were shirtless at our hotel in Victoria, I couldn’t stop staring. You are going to have to go shirtless a lot in the future.”
Josh grins. “That can be arranged.”
“And you have to teach me of your ways, Master. How do you get abs like that? Sit ups?”
Josh laughs and puts a finger to his lips. “Shh, do you really think I am going to tell you my secrets here? We’re in public. I’ll bring you to my gym sometime. Show, not tell. Do you have any more nuggets of truth hidden up your sleeve that I should know about?”
“The truth is that your baseball cap with the frayed rim and faded letters irritates me beyond belief. I have bought you about five caps over the last few years, all with the secret hope that you would ditch your ugly one, and you haven’t. One day I am going to toss it in a dumpster without your knowledge.”