The First Law of Love

by Abbie Williams

  “Lee, this is Patricia Gordon,” Case said then, surprising me. My first name! He hadn’t ever spoken it in my presence, and it threw my heart into even more intense and agitated motion.

  The bartender leaned her hips against the counter and said, “Oh, so you’re the new lawyer in town, working for Al. Well, nice to meet you.”

  “And this is Lee Heller. Her family manages The Spoke. And they’re cousins with Garth and those guys,” Case explained to me.

  I reached to shake her hand, saying, “I’m pleased to meet you.”

  “Dad was saying that the new lawyer at the meeting seemed like a little pistol,” Lee said, her eyebrows lifting as she regarded me anew. “I see Case here already recruited you on his side of this land debate.”

  Case laughed a little at her words. He said, “I did no such thing. And watch who you’re calling names, now.”

  “It’s a compliment!” Lee insisted to me. “Means you impressed him, and my dad isn’t easy to impress. Means you’re getting the job done, just like a pistol would.”

  “What Lee’s dad didn’t mention was that you’re gorgeous,” said the guy on the far side of Case. He rose and came to stand closer to my barstool, extending his free hand. “Since Casey here obviously isn’t going to introduce us, I’m Travis Woodrow.”

  Case took a long drink from his beer as I shook Travis’s hand; Travis was about my age probably, stocky and cute, with a black cowboy hat and a dark goatee, and added politely, “Patricia.”

  “It’s Tish,” I explained. “I mean, that’s what everyone calls me.”

  “That’s all kinds of cute,” Travis said smoothly, reclaiming his seat. “You see our show?”

  “No, I got here too late,” I said.

  Travis said, “I happen to have a roll of tickets right here, in my pocket.”

  Lee burst into laughter, teasing me, “Watch out, he’ll want you to reach into his pocket, next thing.”

  Travis grinned exuberantly, leaning around Case to insist, “I’ve been crazy to ride that Ferris wheel tonight. You want to join me, little lawyer lady?”

  “‘Lawyer lady’?” I repeated, with just enough bite in my tone, to which Travis was totally oblivious, and Lee laughed even harder. Case might as well have been deaf to everything we were saying, barely reacting at all.

  “Yeah, you sure know how to win ’em over, Trav,” Lee giggled, refastening the clip holding back her hair.

  “Come on,” Travis wheedled. “It’ll be fun. I’ll keep my hands on the bar at all times.”

  “I need to unwind a little while,” I said, holding up my bottle to indicate, and I was surely imagining the satisfaction that briefly flickered across Case’s expression.

  “Later?” Travis pressed.

  “Maybe,” I allowed, as Lee moved down the bar to wait on an approaching group. As though a floodgate somewhere had released a burst of thirsty people, the bar grew busy. A man jostled my elbow, apologizing even as he crowded closer.

  Without questioning the action, I scooted over to the left, freeing the space for the group to my right. This happened to put me right beside Case, who acknowledged the proximity of our bodies with the faintest flicker of an eyelash. Determined to engage him in conversation, I leaned over the bar on my forearms and said, “Have you been here long today?”

  Travis filled in, “Since the early set. We’re done for the evening now.”

  Case angled just slightly towards me; his right knee and my left were only about four inches apart. My leg was bare, his in jeans, and I wondered just what would happen if I pressed my skin against the denim on his thigh.

  No, I warned myself, fiercely.

  Your mind is clouded by lack of sex, I tried to tell myself. It’s fucking up your judgment.

  Takes his time on all the right spots…

  Goddammit it to hell.

  “Did you walk over?” Case asked me. He looked so damn good that I had to take another long drink before I could think about answering this simple question. His jaw appeared chiseled, lightly stubbled with a day’s growth of beard, his gaze holding mine lightly as he waited for my response. I noticed then that he had slight shadow-smudges beneath his eyes, as though he hadn’t slept well, and I curled my fingers around my beer bottle, as so not to touch him somehow. He was sitting with his forearms lining the bar, a posture which emphasized his wide shoulders. The yellow-tinted bar lights created a warm glow around us, and highlighted the hair on his arms.

  “I did,” I said. I had taken a good five seconds to respond, which was weird of me, I realized. He probably thought I was drunk. There were so many things I wanted to ask him, not the least of which what he thought of Derrick Yancy’s claim that he had an ancestor who’d been cheated out of land in this area. But I couldn’t seem to form coherent sentences, caught up in studying him.

  “Wy was saying something about how you wanted a cat,” Case said then. I felt as though we were encased in our own little private bubble, the laughter and chatter and teasing, the hard-rock music from the main stage, seeming distant from us.

  “I did, the other night at supper,” I said. I heard myself admit, “It’s a little lonely at my apartment,” and was then embarrassed. I babbled on, “I mean, I’m so used to the company of other people. I shared a room with my younger sister forever. I don’t have enough time to take care of a dog, but Clark suggested that maybe a cat would be perfect…”

  “One of my guitar students has one he’s been trying to get rid of, that’s why I brought it up,” Case said. “I can tell him that you’d like it, if you’re interested. Otherwise I thought I might take it.”

  I thought, suddenly, of Clark’s story, about Case’s terrible father making him shoot a pet dog. What kind of a bastard would do such a thing to his son? My eyes flickered to Case’s lips, the scar on his chin, then to the evidence of shadowy sleeplessness beneath his eyes, and then I looked entirely away, back to my beer. I felt all hollow and strange, as though I was actually drunk. Then I realized I hadn’t answered his question.

  “You can tell him I’m interested,” I said, my voice hardly more than a whisper.

  “I’ll see him tomorrow,” he said. “Will do.”

  “Thank you,” I said, unable to keep my eyes from him. He was thoughtful. He didn’t take people’s shit, but he was thoughtful, and kind.

  Travis, who had been joined by a noisy group of people, mostly girls, leaned around Case again, and said, “Ok, time’s up! Tish, lawyer lady, let’s go ride that Ferris wheel!”

  Case met my eyes and there was the faintest hint of humor in his expression. He seemed to find it amusing how Travis called me ‘lawyer lady.’

  “You go ahead,” I said to Travis. “I’m still having a drink.”

  Travis held up a crumpled roll of tickets and declared good-naturedly, “Don’t make me beg!”

  On inspiration, I asked Case, “You up for a couple of rides?”

  He finished his beer with two more swallows and said, not meeting my eyes, “I need to get home and feed the animals.”

  Disappointment again swamped my body, but I said lightly, “Just thought I’d ask.”

  He set a five dollar bill on the bar, then rose smoothly and collected his guitar and backpack from the ground. I watched all of this with a sickly feeling of desolation in my gut. For a second I thought he was just going to walk away without so much as a farewell; he’d shouldered the pack, guitar case in hand, but then he faced me directly and said, “Be careful walking home.”

  Stone Creek was close enough it would have been visible, were it day rather than night. His voice was light, but his eyes were momentarily intent, holding fast to mine, as he spoke these words. My heart lurched.

  “I lived in Chicago for the last three years,” I said, with the same casual tone, trying to tease a little. “I think I’m good to go.”

  He nodded, still studying me somberly.

  Offer me a ride, please, oh please, I’ll go right now, I thought.


  “See you around,” he said, then nudged Travis’s shoulder. “See ya, buddy.”

  “Casey! You gotta go already?” Travis complained. “You’re getting old, buddy!”

  Case grinned a little and said, “Shit happens,” and then he walked away without so much as a backward glance. I watched him until all I could make out was his hat, before he disappeared into the crowd.

  Travis asked merrily, “So how about that ride?”

  I joined their group for a while; we rode the Ferris wheel and the bumper cars, the tilt-a-whirl, and I laughed with them, even enjoyed myself a little. But I begged off early, despite Travis’s protests, and made my lone way back across a plowed dirt field currently in use as a parking lot. Stone Creek was in sight as I wound my way through the rows of cars and trucks. My shoes were irritating me and I had just slipped out of them, carrying them by the heel straps and proceeding cautiously, barefoot, when someone said, “Counselor Gordon. I thought that was you.”

  I smelled cigarette smoke then, jumping a little at the sound of a voice where I was not expecting one. I turned to see Derrick Yancy leaning against a black 4x4 with tinted windows, one row over, smoking and watching me.

  Not sure exactly how to respond, I heard myself say, “I thought you were from Illinois.”

  He tipped his head at me, questioningly. I explained, “Your plates say Colorado.”

  “Observant,” he said, smiling at me before drawing long on his smoke. He was dressed much less formally this evening than he had been last night. He skirted a couple of cars and walked over to me, darkly attractive and undeniably intimidating, not that I would dream of letting him see that I felt this way. He inadvertently blocked my path and made an observation of his own: “No shoes this evening?”

  I held up my sandals by their straps.

  Why the fuck were you on the Spicers’ land last week at night, you slimy bastard?

  I wished I was brave enough to grill him, right here, right now.

  You have to tell Case about this, I realized. No more excuses.

  “I meant to offer you my compliments last night,” he said then, catching me off guard, and I mentally reprimanded myself. I couldn’t afford to be caught that way at all, not with what amounted to my opponent. I drew the mantle of the last three years’ worth of training over my shoulders.

  “Don’t waste your time,” I said briskly, imitating my father at his most lawyerly.

  He chuckled a little, letting his gaze whisk up and down my front, lingering on my breasts, however briefly. He said, “I’d offer you a job, if I thought you were at all inclined.”

  “Not in a million years, but thank you all the same,” I replied. I would not fidget, no matter how much my stomach was churning with unease, hearing Professor Torres in my mind. She had maintained the downfall of young lawyers was the unconscious tendency to fidget and therefore inadvertently project uncertainty. I kept my shoulders back and held his increasingly familiar gaze.

  “You’re much too lovely to be in a career as brutal as law,” he said then, cajolingly.

  I almost snorted a laugh at this; did he think he could win points with such condescending flattery? Though I realized he wasn’t so much complimenting me as he was pressing his assertion that I was less-than, inferior to his experience and gender.

  “And you’re far too presumptuous,” I said back, though still on a friendly playing field.

  “Just calling things as I see them,” he said, edging one shoulder slightly closer to me, really studying my face. I sensed he was moving in for the kill, bit by bit. Hoping I was maybe just drunk enough to figure it was worth it to do something really stupid, like accompany him back to his hotel. He struck me as a big fan of one-night stands.

  “Why are you here, anyway?” I asked. “At the fair. It all seems so beneath you.”

  Derrick laughed a little at this, shaking his head. He said, “Maybe I was hoping to run into someone specific.”

  I felt even more sick inside, abruptly mildly fearful of him. I lifted my chin and said, “Then I’ll let you find him.” I moved to step around him and then he caught my upper arm in his grip, very lightly. But I would still have to tug to release myself from it.

  “It’s early,” he said, his voice far too close to my ear. He smelled overpoweringly of expensive cologne and cigarettes.

  “Get your hand off me,” I ordered calmly, not about to let him see my unease. At least, so I hoped.

  In what was obviously a nonverbal taunt, he stroked me with his fingers before obeying and letting go, to my extreme relief. I released the breath of air I had withdrawn, prepared to scream for all I was worth, and the sounds of the fair came rushing back to my ears.

  “Until next time,” he said.

  I simply ignored this, forcing myself to walk rather than run as I resumed my barefoot journey towards Stone Creek. At home less than five minutes later, I paced my little upper balcony, tense with this latest information. I debated calling Case, not that I had his number. I wanted to tell him about the 4x4 that had been on his property. I wanted him to come over, though that was out of the question. Instead I comforted myself with the thought that I would perhaps see him tomorrow.

  Restless as hell, I stalked back inside, clicking on more lights and the radio. I changed into a long pajama shirt, and plopped on the couch to reread my notes, adding the new info.

  Capital Overland – potential trespassers

  Derrick Yancy – GMC 4x4 from Colorado, uncertain if driving on 7/12

  Possible Yancy relative – possible landowner – cheated?

  I chewed the end of my pencil and then set aside my notebook. I leaned and snagged my laptop from the floor, firing it up and giving in, typing Case Spicer into the search engine. At least I was home, no one to burst in upon me here. Still, my hands trembled as though I was committing some kind of crime, and sweat dampened my skin as I clicked on the Images link and his pictures spread like a checkerboard across the screen.

  More than a half hour passed, but I only realized when I glanced at the toolbar clock and saw that it was after midnight. And still I kept clicking on images of him, punishing myself somehow, especially drawn to the photos of him playing his music. There was one in which he was holding the fiddle (and it was always with the fiddle that he had his eyes closed), tipped just slightly forward, such an expression of concentration on his face, and yet joy was present too, an aching joy. I could tell this just from the set of his lips, the angle of his head, the way his eyes were held tightly shut.

  What was he playing just there? I wondered. And then I saw a small triangle in the center of another image, and my heart lodged itself in my throat. I clicked this and cranked up the volume, and heard laughter and chatter; the video was poor quality, slightly grainy and jerky, as though held in the hand of someone half in the bag, sitting to the right of the stage. Case and Garth were both up there, laughing together before the audience quieted and they lifted their instruments, Case on the fiddle. He closed his eyes the moment it was positioned under his chin.

  I tried to zoom in, but it wouldn’t let me. I full-screened the shot and started it over; when the music began Garth was singing lead, and I recognized the song from old movie westerns that Grandma and Aunt Ellen liked to watch, “Red River Valley.” Vaguely I recalled singing it in elementary school, once upon a time. Case played the violin with so much skill, such obvious love, the notes sweet and haunting, catching me straight in the heart. He sang harmony with Garth, his beautiful deep voice that made tears form in my eyes. It was the late hour, the lack of sleep, it was the homesickness in my heart…it was all of these things.

  The song ended to raucous whistling and applause, and I was about to start it over when, in the video, the woman named Lynnette came to the stage and Case leaned down to kiss her, catching the back of her shiny-haired head in one big hand, holding his fiddle to the side. She put her hands on his shoulders and it was a long kiss, a good fifteen seconds. My stomach tightened and surged the
way it did before I was about to vomit.

  My eyes scanned frantically for the date of the video, seeing that it was from November of 2009. Newly-married then. Was this when she was still pregnant? What had I been doing that November? Last year at U of M, frantically prepping and reviewing for the looming LSAT exam, sleeping occasionally with Randy, the last of my longer-term boyfriends. In the video, Case hopped from the stage and collected his wife to his chest, his hand still cupped behind her head.

  I slammed the laptop closed.

  Chapter Ten

  The next day I was the one with sleepless shadows beneath my eyes, though I worked like a champ, drafting minor things for Al, reorganizing files; Dad had always joked that a lawyer’s primary work was paperwork. The clock rolled around to noon; Mary and Al went home for lunch, as usual, while I had neglected to bring any food for myself. I sighed and decided I had time to drive home too, not that there was anything to eat there. But I was restless as hell.

  Outside under the baking sun I climbed into my car and turned over the engine only to hear a grinding chug.

  “Dammit,” I muttered, trying once more; again the Honda didn’t start, instead issuing a pathetic wheezing. I slapped my hands on the steering wheel. “Dammit!”

  Back inside the office, I debated what to do about the car. Clark would probably help me, or maybe Al could recommend someone. Just what I needed right now. I plopped ungracefully into my desk chair and reached for my cup of coffee without looking, bumping the edge of a picture of Camille, Ruthie, Clint and me, knocking it to the floor and shattering the glass in the frame.

  “Dammit,” I said for the third time, feeling my headache intensify. I wanted to cry.

  I knelt down to check out the damage and then looked around for a broom and dustpan. Shit, I knew Al had one somewhere. I sighed and grabbed an empty file folder, intending to create a makeshift one to scoop up the shards. First I collected the biggest pieces and I had a large handful when the bell above the door tingled. I looked up and received what felt like a lightning bolt straight to the heart. Ironically, Case, holding a white cat in his arms, was standing right beside the AED box on the wall.