Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Before I’m gone. Months, not years. It bounces around and around my head.
“Just don’t let it interfere with your job too much,” Dad advises. “You’ve built one of the biggest, most successful practices on the East Coast.”
“I know,” I say, nodding.
“Listen, sweetie, we have to go,” Mom says. “We love you lots. Okay?”
“Love you, Mom. Love you, Dad.”
Dad chuckles, making mwah-mwah-mwah kissing noises and waving his hand. I get into my car, resting my forehead against the wheel. I know I’ll soon have to tell them the truth after the meeting with the oncologist, maybe when I’ve heard the specifics.
The specifics were the worst part last time with Charley. Hearing about all the ways his body twisted and conspired to shut him down, hearing about the misfires and malfunctions.
Taking out my phone, I navigate to the pro bono website I’ve used. I’m immediately met with a message when I try to log in. I hear, “Hello, returning user. It has been over four years since your last log-in. Since then, we have updated our system. Please click this link to make a new account.”
It’s been four years since I last did pro bono work. I guess life can race ahead, mine and Ethan’s work taking us from one high-profile case to the next. There are always more marriages to help peel apart, sometimes frictionlessly, sometimes with fire.
After making an account, I scroll through the entries for the city.
“Months, not years,” I whisper, struggling to make sense of it or even begin to process it.
Mom and Dad don’t deserve to lose another child.
I keep scrolling, thinking maybe, at least, I can do some good before the end.
CHAPTER TWO
LILY
When I started working as a junior social worker three months ago, I was stunned by how hectic the main office was. When I first walked in, I was sure I’d accidentally wandered into a newsroom or a stock exchange. People walked back and forth, snapping information at each other. People exchanged hurried notes. There were stacks of paper everywhere. Everybody looked tired and worn down.
Now, it doesn’t shock me. I arrive for work with the same determination I’ve felt since first winning a scholarship out of high school. The competition required me to write a letter explaining how I wanted to help people, an interview, a test case, and now this—my reward.
I’m twenty-two years old and ready to make the world a better place despite what my boss, Carter Weston, says daily. Today, he’s leaning back in his office chair, his feet resting on his desk. He’s in his mid-forties, but this job—or maybe just life—has aged him more than that. His hair has crept back. His face is rough—almost leathery—and his expression always seems resigned but never angry, more like accepting of how cruel the world can be.
“We’re going to have to split today,” he mutters, glancing up from the sheaf of papers he has propped on his chest.
“Okay …”
I glance across the busy room to the director’s office. Technically, I’m not supposed to head out into the field without Carter beside me. However, with our absurd caseload, Carter sometimes sends me to jobs alone, and then I’ll fill in the paperwork as though he was there. He signs it, and we move on. So far, it’s meant helping more people.
Though, it also means risking my job. It’s a danger, for sure. On my first day, when Carter opened the files for his nine active cases and told me to choose one to ignore, I learned how cold this business really is.
“As long as we’re safe,” I mutter.
“Safe,” he repeats with a humorless laugh. Sitting forward, he puts the papers down, staring at me with bloodshot eyes. “We’re safer than the three brothers trapped for an entire day with their violent, drug-addicted—”
“I don’t need the emotional blackmail, Carter,” I hiss. “I’m here to help people. Otherwise, I would’ve told you to go to hell months ago.”
He sighs, nodding. “You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s just this job …”
“Try to think about the good we’re doing. That’s what I try to do.”
“For every good thing, there are ten or twenty bad ones.”
“If you think like that, you’ll never be happy.”
“I’ve worked here for nearly twenty years, Lily. Believe me, I stopped trying to be happy a long time ago.”
I shake my head. I think I may even make a tsking sound, which I’ve tried to stop myself from doing because it makes me come off as thinking I’m better than people, as prissy.
“I don’t agree with that,” I say. “I think if you come to work and do your best and manage to help some people, there’s no reason to let it eat away at you all the time.”
“So you haven’t had any nightmares? Or days off stolen by memories of this place?”
“I just don’t see the benefit in going on about it,” I snap. “Anyway …” I lower my voice. “Why the split today?”