Unconditionally

by Erin Lyon

“Are you sure that’s why?”

  “Why else would someone take their phone in the shower?”

  I got nothing. “I see your point. Well, it’s not too late to change your mind.”

  Now she started crying. I guess I should have seen that coming and been a little more evasive with my response.

  “But I love him!”

  I sighed and looked down at her timer. Brad was right when he said clients should realize that a therapist would be cheaper than calling your attorney when you’re upset.

  Rochelle continued sobbing and talking. I wasn’t sure how to cut her off. Or if I should.

  “Maybe he’s not doing anything,” she said with a sniff. “Maybe I’m being overly suspicious. But last time I wasn’t suspicious enough, and look where I ended up … with his screwing half the neighborhood! I just want to be able to trust him again. But instead I end up watching his every move—looking for signs.”

  “Rochelle…” I began, but she steamrolled right over me.

  “I mean, Kate, I smell his clothes when he’s in the shower to see if I smell another woman.” Ew. Didn’t need to know that. “But I’m worried he’s going to see me do it and get upset that I don’t trust him.”

  “Okay, Rochelle. That’s not fair. You have every reason not to trust him, and if he’s really sorry, he’ll work to prove that you can trust him again, not get mad at you for being suspicious.” I’d lowered my voice. Not sure how much relationship advice I’m allowed to give out in this job. I’m guessing I shouldn’t be playing therapist.

  “Exactly,” she said, emphatically. “I should tell him he’s going to have to prove himself!”

  “Absolutely,” I said. And it absolutely was never going to happen. It would take a miracle for her to ever actually stand up to her ex.

  She must have come to the same conclusion, because there was more noisy sobbing after that. I had no idea what else to say. I waited a minute. Gazed out my window. Reached into my purse and checked my cell phone for messages. (Yes, I’m weak. This is not news.)

  “Rochelle, maybe give it some time before signing another contract. We can always go back and schedule the child support hearing again and go forward with that.”

  She sniffed. “Maybe. Maybe we should just proceed. I don’t think I can go through this again.”

  “I understand.”

  “Go ahead and schedule the child support hearing. I’ll tell him I’m not signing again.”

  “Are you sure?”

  She sniffed some more. “Yes. I can’t live like this.”

  Alright. Go, Rochelle. “Okay. I’ll call you once we have a hearing date.”

  “Okay. Thank you, Kate.”

  “You’re welcome, Rochelle. You take care. I’ll talk to you soon.”

  “Bye.”

  After I hung up with her, I buzzed Mags. “So I guess we’re going to need to notice another child support hearing.”

  “Nice work,” Mags said. “I’ll update the motion and let you review it. I’ll get it served on Dr. Dickhead’s attorney today.” Mags knew that my uncle Tony (who was also my boss) had nicknamed Rochelle’s dentist ex “Dickhead” in all his handwritten notes in the file. Given the list of women Dr. Pope had been sleeping with before Rochelle finally caught on, it did seem fitting.

  “Great. Thanks.”

  Before clocking out of Rochelle’s time, I sent a quick email to Dr. Pope’s attorney, Doug Simpson, letting him know that it didn’t look like the new contract was going to happen and that we were going to go ahead with the child support motion. I wanted to give him notice. I’m guessing surprise attacks don’t make friends.

  I picked up the Trainor file for my upcoming deposition and started reviewing the notes.

  “Kate?”

  I looked up, and didn’t hide my surprise at seeing Sandy standing in my doorway. With a big box. Oh no.

  “Hi,” I said, standing and walking over to her.

  She set the box down on one of my chairs and gave me a quick hug.

  “I’m sorry. Is it okay for me to drop in on you like this? I told Rita at the front desk that I was your landlady and she just walked me over here.” Sandy seemed to be channeling Audrey Hepburn today, wearing a black pencil skirt and moss-green blouse that matched her eyes.

  “Of course,” I said, with a smile. “No problem at all. So … what’s up?”

  “My attorney is in this building and I was there signing some lease documents on some commercial property I have. And I had something for you, so I figured … what the heck.”

  “That is so sweet of you,” I said, shaking my head.

  She grinned at my approval, picked up the box, and set it on my desk. It was oblong and wrapped in white paper. So sweet. So awkward.

  I ripped off the paper and opened the box to see items wrapped in brown paper. I plucked one out and carefully unrolled it from the paper. It was a wineglass. A gorgeous wineglass, finely etched with a tiger print design. That, by itself, undoubtedly cost more than my entire broken set.

  I looked up at her with wide eyes. “Sandy…”

  “I’m sorry. I looked. I couldn’t find your darling giraffe ones anywhere. But these seemed to have a similar … personality.” She was smiling, eager for my reaction.

  “It is so beautiful. You really didn’t need to do this.”

  She waved her hand in front of me in that no biggie way. “They’re actually different,” she said, reaching into the box and unwrapping another glass. She held it up to me. It was etched with a leopard print. Oh my god. So darling.

  “These are the cutest things I’ve ever seen,” I said. “They’re so much nicer than the ones I had, Sandy. You really shouldn’t have.”

  When I hugged her, she hugged me back hard. I really liked her. Damn you, Adam.

  “I’m so glad you like them,” she said, her hands still on my arms. She was touchy like that.

  “And who’s this?” I heard Tony ask.

  Shit. Uncle Tony. My inappropriate uncle, who I’ve wanted to gag on more than one occasion (since you never knew what un-PC thing might come out of his mouth at any moment), and who also happened to be the Manetti in Manetti Markson and Mann. I looked up and he was darkening my doorway, smiling at Sandy. His salt-and-pepper hair was brushed straight back from his forehead and temples and he was more broad than tall in his fancy navy suit.

  Ugh. I guess it would be a little difficult to smuggle her out now without them meeting. Maybe he’ll be polite and not embarrass me. Miracles happen, right?

  “Tony, this is Sandy, my landlady. Sandy, this is my uncle, Tony. He’s my boss. One of them, anyway.”

  Tony moved forward to Sandy, extending his hand, doing his charming goombah thing.

  They shook hands, but Tony didn’t let go right away.

  “Very nice to meet you, Tony,” Sandy said with a lovely smile.

  “The pleasure is mine.”

  And this is why I need to start keeping a flask in my desk drawer.

  “So, you’re Kate’s landlady?” Tony asked, with a brief glance at me.

  “I am.” She smiled at me. “I feel so lucky to have her.”

  “I’d say she’s pretty lucky to have you, too,” he said, still holding on to her hand.

  Ew. Mayday. No flirting. Sandy is perfect. Tony is icky. Must stop this.

  “Sandy,” I said, stepping between them. “Again, thank you so much for the glasses. You really shouldn’t have.”

  “I’m just so glad you like them, sweetie.”

  Tony eyed me with a raised eyebrow. He was not appreciating the interference.

  “So what do you do, Sandy?” Damn. Tony would not go gently into that good night.

  “I used to be a real estate broker, but now I just manage my rental properties. Good lord. At my age, it’s enough.”

  “Your age? What are you? Forty-five?”

  Shoot me.

  Sandy laughed. “I appreciate the thinly veiled attempt at flattery, but I turned sixty this ye
ar.”

  “It was more than an attempt. You are a beautiful woman.”

  I need to leave my office. Out the window if necessary. Watching my uncle put the moves on anyone would give me nightmares. Watching him put them on Sandy … might give me a seizure.

  “Oh my. Thank you, Tony. That is very kind of you.”

  “I’m sorry. I realize I lost all subtlety some years ago. Life is too short to beat around the bush.”

  Sandy nodded at him.

  “Are you signed?” he asked.

  “Um. No.”

  “Would you have dinner with me?”

  Sandy looked at him, wide-eyed.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, grasping her hand again. “Like I said, I’m no good at subtlety. But if you left and I were foolish enough to not ask … I know I’d regret it.”

  “Well. Um. Okay, Tony. That would be nice.”

  No! No, it wouldn’t be nice. It would be creepy. Like accepting a date from the ice-cream man who also happens to be on the sex-offender registry. Wrong.

  Tony was grinning, looking all genuine and un-assholey for once. “If you were on your way out, I could walk with you, get your number so I could call you and set a time.”

  “Okay,” Sandy said. She smiled at me.

  Sorry, Sandy. I accept no responsibility for this. If anything, I tried to run interference. But no. You two went right ahead with it like two dumb teenagers. Yeah. Keep telling yourself that, Kate. Damn right you feel responsible. Sweet Sandy never would have met Lecherous Tony if she hadn’t been here to see you. Have I mentioned that I hate that my conscience never lets me pass the buck? Like, never?

  Sandy reached over and gave my shoulder a tight squeeze. “Talk to you soon, honey.”

  I smiled weakly and watched them walk out of my office.

  Crap.

  I sat at my desk, thinking about that train wreck I just witnessed. I can’t say I know a ton about Uncle Tony’s love life, but I know enough to have the impression that he is an unabashed womanizer. And I definitely don’t want him womanizing Sandy.

  I pulled my phone out of my purse and texted Adam.

  I have a valid reason for texting. Not an effort to reopen a can of worms.

  I wouldn’t have called it a can of worms exactly. How are you Kate?

  Oh, Adam. Even through texts you overuse my name, making everything feel more intimate … and meaningful.

  I’m okay. You?

  Okay, true. That’s not why I was contacting him. I shouldn’t have asked. Hoping that he would say he was just awful and missing me terribly. Definitely not that.

  I’m fine.

  Damn. That was disappointing. Okay, Kate. Stop the self-centered thing and get to the point.

  So, I just wanted to let you know that your mom came to my office today to bring me a gift (because she is so ridiculously sweet and still felt bad about me falling and breaking my wineglasses) and she sort of met my uncle.

  Uh oh. Uncle Tony?

  Okay. Can I stop for a second to melt? Because I only complained to Adam about Tony once and he remembered. Of course he did. He’s Adam.

  Yeah. He’s kind of a … well, shit. I don’t really know what he is. But I’m pretty sure he shouldn’t be going out with your mom. Your mom is so sweet. I tried to run interference but failed. And they made a dinner date.

  I see. Well, she is a grown woman, Kate.

  I know but she’s a very sweet grown woman. And Tony is … crude. Sexist. Arrogant. Nowhere-near-good-enough for your mom …

  Haha. Sounds like you do know what he is. Okay. I’ll touch base with her. I promise. Can’t guarantee I can stop it, but maybe I can at least put her on guard.

  Thank you.

  Thank you, Kate. It’s sweet of you to worry about her.

  I closed my eyes. Counted to ten. No problem.

  I may have dropped my forehead on my desk, dramatically, but I was alone, so that doesn’t count as being a drama queen, right?

  “Kate?”

  Brad. Well, naturally.

  “Hi,” I said, sitting upright again with a fake smile on my face.

  “Everything … alright?”

  “Yep. Super.”

  He smiled. “Want to review for the depo?”

  “God, yes.”

  He laughed. “That’s a little too much excitement for depo prep.”

  “And, yet, it’s exactly what I need at the moment.”

  “A little sad, but I’ll let it slide.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Okay, well let’s review the main facts and decide what you need to get her to tell you tomorrow.”

  I smiled. Then had a brief aww moment when he not-so-inconspicuously glanced over his shoulder toward Mags’s desk, where she was standing, reading something. Her dark hair was back-brushed into a slight bouffant and she was dressed in her typical take-no-prisoners fashion, all bright colors and curves.

  Mags may have ended things, but Brad clearly hadn’t moved on. She looked up and smiled at us before sitting back down, out of sight. Brad sighed—or maybe I sighed for him … hard to say.

  After Brad and I had spent a productive hour or so going through the critical points of the case, he gave me a quick little pep talk about what a great job I was going to do in the depo tomorrow, before heading back to his office.

  I made myself a few more notes for the depo, and then picked up my phone when it buzzed.

  It was a Facebook notification. I had a friend request … from Rochelle. I frowned at the screen. I mean, I liked Rochelle, but it seemed a little odd to be Facebook friends with a client. I post pictures of my weekend shenanigans there, for god’s sake.

  With my phone still in my hand, I walked back over to Brad’s office.

  “Knock, knock,” I said, leaning into his doorway.

  “Hey. Did we miss something?”

  “Oh. No. I was just curious. What do you do when you get a friend request on Facebook from a client?”

  He frowned through his big glasses. “You’re kidding. One of your clients sent you a friend request?”

  Perfect.

  CHAPTER 4

  By the time I got home that evening, I was fried. I pulled a bottle of wine from the rack, opened it, and poured myself a glass. I turned on the oven and tossed in a pan that I’d been marinating chicken in all day.

  After changing my clothes, I came downstairs again and went into the kitchen. I put my hand against the stove. Cold. Dammit. I just wanted some chicken and it feels like the universe is conspiring against me. I put the chicken back into the fridge and picked up my phone to call Sandy.

  “Kate! How are you?” Sandy asked, after picking up on the first ring.

  Her delight at getting a call from me melted away some of my grumpiness, and I actually found myself smiling. “Wonderful, Sandy. How are you?”

  “Right as rain. So what’s going on, honey?”

  Now I felt bad, spoiling her mood by just calling with a problem. “Well, my oven won’t turn on.”

  “Oh no! Is your pilot light lit?”

  Pilot light. I know what it is, I just don’t technically know where it is. Or what it would look like if it was lit.

  Apparently my delayed response gave me away. “Don’t you worry, sweetheart. It’s probably just the pilot light. I’ll send someone right over to check it for you.”

  “Thank you so much. Sorry to be a pain.”

  “Oh, heavens. You just moved in and your oven isn’t working. I’d say that warrants a phone call.”

  I laughed. “Thanks, Sandy. I really appreciate it.”

  “Okay. Call me back if there is any problem getting it fixed.”

  “I will. Good night.”

  I sat down on my sofa, feeling immeasurably lighter than when I first got home.

  About ten minutes later, there was a knock at my door. I looked down, glad that I’d left my bra on, since it was normally the first thing to come off at the end of a long day. I was in shorts and a tank top, but
at least I was “handyman appropriate.” If that’s a thing.

  I opened the door and it felt like the earth literally shifted. Adam was standing there. Looking a lot like he did yesterday when we ended up on the couch. Jeans, white T-shirt. Too beautiful for words.

  And he could read all that in an instant, I was pretty sure, by the gentle look on his face.

  “Adam.” Way to go. No. Seriously. I deserve props for getting that much out, considering I thought maybe I’d just faint, instead. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

  “That much is obvious, Kate. Can I come in?”

  The confusion must have registered on my face, because he lifted a black duffel bag in his hand so that I could see it. “My mom said your oven won’t turn on.”

  Oh! Shit. Handyman. Sandy’s son. “Oh, I’m sorry. Yes, come in,” I said, hastily moving aside. “I had no idea Sandy was going to bother you. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s no trouble. You know I’m always nearby.”

  Yeah, don’t remind me. Because there’s no need, since that thought crosses my mind almost daily.

  He had a healthy five o’clock shadow going and his hair was a little unruly. But, on him, clean-cut or overgrown, it all worked. It was really just a difference of whether he looked like an Armani model or an Abercrombie one.

  He frowned a little and I realized that I’d been staring at him, saying nothing. “So, what’s on your mind?” he asked.

  I shook my head, gave myself a mental slap across the face. Snap out of it, girl.

  He gestured toward the kitchen. “Can I take a look?”

  I nodded. Seriously. When did I get this tongue-tied around him? I let out a sigh, which for me seems to have the effect of mentally rebooting my brain when I’m flustered.

  “Yeah, sorry. So, I came home and turned on the oven for about fifteen minutes, and nothing,” I said.

  He opened the oven and crouched down in front of it. His T-shirt lifted away from his jeans a little, offering me a glimpse of his smooth, bronzed back. Which I’m totally not allowed to touch. No touch. He fiddled with the knobs on the stove while watching the inside of the oven.

  “Yeah. It’s probably the pilot light.” He reached into his bag and pulled out a few things. He smiled up at me. “I’m out of long matches, so I need to be creative.” He took out a screwdriver and a wooden match and proceeded to tape the match around the end of the screwdriver. Then he rooted around in the oven some more and eventually pulled out a small plate over the bottom of the oven. “There it is,” he said. Using a second match, he lit the match taped to the screwdriver and reached the screwdriver into the back of the oven. In a few seconds, I saw a small blue flame begin to burn.