by Violet Paige
“Can you believe a night before nine o’clock? I’m making dinner. Want some?”
I nodded. “Yes, please. I’m so hungry.”
I reached for a plate as she heaped it with noodles and sauce.
“There’s shredded cheese in the fridge.”
I grabbed the bag and dumped a generous amount on my dish. “Deck?” I asked.
“Yes. The lights are already on.”
We walked outside and sat at the small bistro table.
“Wait,” Greer ran inside. “I forgot the wine.” She returned with a bottle of red and two glasses.
“I need that,” I groaned.
“Bad day?” she asked.
“Exhausting day. But I think a good day.” I twirled the pasta on my fork. “Thanks for dinner.”
“No problem. I was starving. We seriously needed to go to the grocery store.”
I was too busy stuffing my mouth to agree.
“I feel like I haven’t seen you in two days. What’s going on at the capitol?”
She sighed. “Everything is on hold.”
“What do you mean by everything?” I poured two huge goblets to the top for us.
“The senators on the committee can’t agree on a contract. They are at each other’s throats. No one is budging.”
“What kind of contract is it? Am I allowed to ask that?”
She smiled. “Are you going to sell my secret intelligence information?”
I tilted my head. “To the highest bidder.” I grinned.
“It’s a weapons contract. We’re outsourcing it of course. There are five private companies in the running for it right now. The committee has to choose one before they can push budget numbers forward to the Senate for final approval.”
I nodded. “Wow. Sounds intense.”
“It is.” She took a sip of wine. “And I’ve been working my ass off for them, researching plant locations, how many workers would be involved, what kind of contracts the companies have with other countries. It is endless. I basically have their shoe sizes in a file if someone needed that.”
I laughed. “Could come in handy if you need someone to make…” I looked at her. “What do they make?”
“Air to ground weaponry.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. It’s serious. These are billion-dollar contracts.”
My eyes lifted. “A billion dollars?”
“Many many billions. It’s the kind of money that’s inconceivable.”
She sank into her seat. “Please tell me about all the good you’re doing in the world. I need something inspiring.”
“I don’t know how inspiring I am. If I help one person, there are ten more right behind her who need even more. I can’t make a dent here.” I shook my head. “It feels like I’m spinning my wheels in that clinic.”
Greer sat forward. The weariness on her face lifted for a second. “While I’m at the Capitol working on weapons, you are out doing actual good. If you help one woman in that clinic, you’ve done something. Don’t let the numbers depress you.”
“How can they not? It’s hopeless. That’s how I felt when I left the clinic today. Hopeless.”
“Because, you have to believe in paying it forward. At least you used to.” She stared hard into my eyes. “It might not be in the same way, but for every woman you help, she’s going to turn around and pull up another woman behind her. Sometime in her life she’s going to do that.”
I felt guilt in my own cynicism. “You still think that, Pollyanna?”
She nodded. “Somebody has to. Because working with the assholes I work with will shred the humanity right out of you.”
“I need to remember that. Thank you.”
“Sure thing.” She smiled. “This is hard town to live in, but it does so much good. It’s just hard to see sometimes.”
I nodded. “I may not have figured anything else out, but I think I got that point.”
We finished dinner and the entire bottle of wine.
“Did I mention I have to finish my syllabus for class tomorrow?”
“What?” Greer laughed at the empty bottle of wine between us. “You have to work tonight?”
“How terrible would it be to show up without one on the first day?”
She started to clear the table. “Pretty terrible. Let’s clean this up and I’ll help you.”
“No. You’re already exhausted. You don’t have to do that.”
I rinsed my plate in the sink and stuck it in the dishwasher.
“How much do you have finished?” she asked.
I tried to think at what point in the semester I had stopped assigning chapters and cases. “I think I have through fall break. So really I just need to finish off November.”
She smiled. “That’s not too bad.”
“Exactly. I can finish it before bed.”
“You sure? I’m a little rusty, but I can look over some stuff for you. It might be fun to do together.”
I appreciated that she wanted to help. But I knew I could finish the work on my own, and maybe faster.
“I’m sure. It will take me an hour at most. I’ll work on it in bed until I’m done.”
She stretched her arms overhead. “If you don’t need me then I think I’m going to take a shower and go to bed. Tomorrow’s another early day.”
Greer pulled me into a big hug after we cleaned the kitchen.
“I’m so glad you’re here.”
“Me too.” I stood back and looked at my friend. “Good night.”
“Good night.” She walked to her room and closed the door.
I picked up my laptop and padded off toward my room. There really weren’t many classes left to map out. I knew if I left things vague for the last month of classes it would be ok if I added assignments as the semester progressed.
I worked through the weeks leading up to final exams and saved everything to a backup drive before closing my laptop.
I changed into an old college T-shirt, brushed my teeth, and washed my face. I was too exhausted to rinse off in the shower. I slid under the covers. My eyes burned I was so tired.
I tossed and turned. I must have awakened five times that night. Every time I looked at my phone, I knew I wasn’t checking for the time. I was looking for a missed call or text from Vaughn. It was stupid. Silly, really, but I thought I would have heard from him. I should have been worried about going into a class. Attempting my first lecture on law to a group of students. But I was hung up on a guy.
I exhaled, remembering he had even professed not to follow dating rules. He made his own rules. That was part of what was so attractive about him. He did and said what he wanted.
I thought about writing in my journal. Maybe it would help to get all of this pent-up frustration down in words. I finally rolled over at five a.m. in defeat. I wasn’t going to get any sleep like this. I couldn’t turn my brain off.
I slipped on a pair of running shoes and did something I hadn’t done since I moved to D.C. I went for a morning jog.
I headed out before the sun was fully in the sky. The buildings glowed from shimmers of early morning yellow. The whiteness of the city soaked in everything the sun painted on it.
It was gorgeous. I took in a deep breath, crossing the sidewalk and jogging around the block. I thought about what Greer said at dinner last night. There was good to do in this world. Looking at the enormity of what had been accomplished here, I felt inspired. Compelled to embrace the enormity of what lied ahead. And then I remembered. Today I had my first students.
6
My heels echoed in the hall outside the lecture hall. I took at least four deep breaths. Public speaking wasn’t for everyone. And it was one of the reasons I had opted out of trial law. I didn’t like it.
But I had convinced myself teaching wasn’t the same as public speaking. That now seemed ludicrous faced with a class of fifty students.
I was also on trial. Everything I did was observed, recorded, and reported. My residency at Am
erican depended on my interaction with students and how they received my teaching methods. It didn’t matter that it was an introductory class. Some of the students were actually pre-law from the undergraduate level.
I only had to get through one class at a time. Today we would go over the syllabus and the schedule. I could drill down into our first cases later in the week.
“Professor Charles?”
I stopped at the door. There were two students blocking my entrance. It sounded strange to hear my name with professor tagged at the front.
“Yes?”
“We’re your mentees for the semester,” the girl explained. She had bright green eyes and her hair was pulled away from her face.
The guy beside her was slightly overweight and much taller than both of us.
“Yeah. I’m Gregory.”
“And Jessie,” she elbowed him.
“Oh. I didn’t realize you were coming to class.”
“We’re supposed to follow you everywhere. Class. The clinic. All of it.”
“All of it?” I hadn’t heard that part of the mentor program. I was surprised. And not prepared.
Jessie nodded. “We will sit in class and observe, but we can help with anything you need. Anything.”
“Oh. All right. Thank you.” I looked at each of them before walking inside.
“Nice to meet you,” they echoed behind me.
I felt unnerved. There were parts of this program that didn’t make sense to me. How was I supposed to be a mentor, when I was still getting my own footing? How could I guide and lead when I needed my own person?
Students were mumbling to each other and setting up their tablets and laptops when I walked in the room. Luckily, it was a small auditorium. I took a few seconds to unload the materials I had prepared and slow down.
I only needed a few brief seconds to frame my perspective. I remembered my first day in law school. I didn’t know the professors’ backgrounds or where they attended school. I didn’t know how old they were or how many years they had practiced law. Later, I found out some of them never had. It didn’t matter. I was too wrapped up in my own journey. My own reasons for being there.
And I was 99 percent sure these students had the same approach. They didn’t care about anything that had happened to me before I crossed that threshold. They had one motivation: pass law school. As long as I helped them do that, the rest was just interference.
I exhaled and smiled.
“Good morning.” I gathered the syllabi in my arms and walked toward the first row. “I’m Professor Charles. Welcome to your introductory trial class.”
I counted out the sheets and passed them to a student on the end.
“Don’t worry. The syllabus is also online, but sometimes it’s nice to have something you can reference if you need to make notes.”
I walked to the second step and counted another section.
“Let’s get started with the expectations for the semester and then you’ll have a chance to ask questions about the papers and exams.”
I walked to the front of the auditorium. Jessie and Gregory both smiled.
I realized there was something empowering about having all eyes on me. They weren’t intimidating. They were listening.
“Please look at page one.”
7
The next week I walked into the office and Addie adjusted her glasses to the brim of her nose. It had taken her three days to return to work. She said she caught a nasty stomach bug. In those three days, I managed to set a record for the most clients seen at the clinic. Not to mention, I brought her mentees onto my team while she was out. They had no one to help them. It felt as if I were running my own law firm. A very mini-non-profit law firm. But I loved it.
Addie did not.
“Meg says you have the files on Haskins, Tate, and Bomstand.”
“Good morning.” I smiled. “Yes, I have those. Do you need them?”
“They are supposed to be my cases, so yes.”
I walked behind my desk and opened the top filing cabinet. “I thought maybe since you missed the first meetings you would be ok with me working on those. There are plenty more out there, Addie.”
She held her palm out to me. She wasn’t the kind of woman who discussed things. She didn’t chit-chat. She didn’t share personal stories. There was no morning coffee together, like I had with Meg.
“I was only trying to help.” I placed the files in her hands and she swiveled in her chair.
My phone buzzed. I looked at the screen and saw my favorite picture of my brother flash.
“I’m going to take this outside,” I announced. “I’ll be right back.”
I wanted her to go easy on the students. It wasn’t their fault she had been out with a stomach virus.
I jogged out of the office and down the hall to the bathroom.
“Garrett?” I answered, out of breath.
“It’s not working. It’s not working.” He was frantic.
“What’s not? What’s happening?”
“They’re making me sick. All the meds they put me on. Tell Mom to stop it. Can you do that?”
I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes. “Take a big breath for me and tell me what is going on. What are the meds? Are they something new?”
I heard him pause on the other end. I think sometimes that was the hardest part. Garrett listened to me. When he shut everyone else out, he listened to me. And I had left him behind, making his circle even smaller than it was.
“It’s the same stuff,” he groaned.
“Ok, then you know you need to take them regularly. The same time. Every single day. That’s the only way your body is going to find balance. You haven’t given it a chance. You’re on. You’re off. Let the medicine help you.”
“You don’t know what it feels like.” I could hear his breaths becoming more erratic. “They make me tired, like I’m looking through a bubble of glass. I hate them, Emily.”
I sighed. “I know you do. But how are things going to get better if you don’t try what you have to try?”
“I’m doing this on my own.” He cleared his throat.
“What?”
“I’m moving out. I’m going to detox this crap out of my system.”
I shook my head. If I were with him, I’d shake him. “No, no, no. Just six months. Try six months of staying on a schedule and then if you don’t like how you feel we can try something else, but don’t do this, Garrett. Not like this.”
“I’m tired of fighting with Mom. Dad doesn’t give a shit. I have a buddy who is thinking of going into business with his cousin down at the beach.”
“Business? What kind of business?”
“Setting up a repair shop. Boats, cars, whatever.”
I tried to control the trembles that had started. “You don’t have a background in mechanics. What are you going to do there?”
“Graphic design of course. I’ll do the marketing. The website. They want me to do the logo.”
A woman walked inside with a little girl who couldn’t have been more than five. I tried to smile at them as I slipped out the door and outside. I didn’t want to be too far away from the office in case Addie started searching for me, but I couldn’t leave Garrett in the middle of this.
He was in the middle of one of his highs. A high I had experienced way too often. And I knew what was coming next—the low. But when? How many days or weeks would it take?
“Just listen to me for a minute. I don’t think you have to pick up and move to work on this opportunity. It’s great they see how talented you are. Because you are an amazing graphic designer. But why not stay at home where you can focus on recovery and then if you have free time, you can freelance for them?”
“No, sis. I’m all in.”
Damn it. I knew that’s what he would say.
“Can we at least talk about this tonight when I get home from work? I want to know who these guys are. Have you looked at their business plan? Where is the shop?
What beach? The details are important here.”
He laughed. “Well, here’s the surprise.”
I cringed.
“I’m in the car. Already packed. I’m driving right now.”
“Holy shit. Does Mom know you left?”
“No, but I did leave a note this time so she won’t freak out and call the police.”
“Damn it, Garrett,” I seethed into the phone. “You have an illness and you have to take care of yourself. You’re going to break her heart.” I left out the part about how many times he had broken mine. I had scars that were jagged and deep.
“She’ll be fine. She’s Mom.”
Meg poked her head out of the door and waved me in. I knew the waiting room was full by now.
“Listen, drive carefully. Take your meds, and I will call you tonight.”
“I’ll do two out of those three.” He was laughing. He never took my worry seriously.
“Garrett, please.”
“Stop worrying. Don’t you think if there were something really wrong, you’d feel it? You know that psychic twin connection you always said we have?”
I wiped a tear from the corner of my eye. I pulled my finger away, smudged with mascara. I did feel it. It was terribly wrong. He was driving off a cliff. Over the side with a smile on his face because he thought he had found freedom. He thought he had broken free from his prison. He always forgot the prison was freedom. He couldn’t exist in the world without medical help.
In two weeks he’d be huddled in the corner of his room, crying and begging his friends to help him hurt himself. He’d call me at all hours of the night, wanting me to get him. His personal detox of whatever stabilizing drugs were in his system would take him to the brink of insanity. He’d stop eating. He’d drink. He’d use any drugs someone offered him to erase the pain.
Last time it was heroin. Before it had been cocaine. He would end up in the hospital, strapped to a bed, being forced sedatives and anti-anxiety medication.
Meg’s arm movements got bigger and bigger. I had to go before she tried to drag me in the building.