Total pages in book: 31
Estimated words: 29192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 146(@200wpm)___ 117(@250wpm)___ 97(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 146(@200wpm)___ 117(@250wpm)___ 97(@300wpm)
“Morris sounds like he’s not worth the fee.” She hasn’t told me much because attorney-client privilege exists but enough for me to know that working for him is bruising her soul, not her ego.
“He isn’t. I wouldn’t have taken the case myself. My senior partner did it as a favor.” She wrinkles her nose. I pour a little more wine in her glass. She needs it. “Did you have a case that made you decide to pack it all in?”
“No. It was my mom. She got diagnosed with cancer. Dad died when I was fourteen in a car accident. Black ice. Semi.” I pound the boneless chicken a little harder than necessary. “Couldn’t avoid it, and it’s been Mom and me ever since. When she was diagnosed, I had just started my own law practice, and I kept missing her doctor’s appointments. A chemo IV infusion can take hours. Sometimes she was alone, and it just didn’t sit right with me. No case was more important than her.” I throw salt and pepper on the flattened white meat before dredging the chicken in egg first then bread crumbs.
“She’s looking good these days,” Natalie offers tentatively, likely wanting to be careful in case Mom wasn’t in remission.
“She is,” I confirm, throwing the breaded meat into the pan. “And we’re closer today than we were before. Long days in the hospital will do that.”
“Did you watch a lot of soaps or something?”
I think back to the cold treatment rooms with Mom’s hands lying weak against her knitted afghans, giving me tips on how to hold the needles, string the yarn between my fingers for good tension, and count the stitches. She’d read off the pattern, telling me to yarn over, purl four, knit three, do a right leaning increase, a turn and a double stitch. Then she’d check my work like I was an elementary student bringing back my spelling test for her to review. It felt good to see her pleased and contented smile as I finished my first baby hat, and then a blanket which she made me keep so I could look back at it.
“Or something.” I transfer the fried chicken into a baking dish and spread the tomato sauce over each breast and then top the deep red sauce with mozzarella, basil, and provolone.
“Did she teach you how to cook?” Nat dips her head toward the oven where I just stashed the chicken to finish its baking process.
“Yup, but I only know how to do a handful of things well. With the rest I’m fairly mediocre.” I lean my ass against the counter and let my eyes rove over her. The tightness around her eyes has eased, and her shoulders are no longer around her ears. The smile comes quicker and lighter than when she first arrived.
“No siblings, then? Since you said it was just your mom and you.”
“No siblings. You?”
“I’ve got a younger sister and a younger brother. My brother is a pharmacist, and my sister is still in college.”
I wait for an invite to meet her family, but none is forthcoming. I shrug it off and refill Natalie’s wine glass. I move on from family and ask about what she does in her spare time. She reads, watches movies, hangs out with her friends. She likes to go to flea markets but hasn’t bought much. “It makes for good people watching,” she says. “It’s fun to see what people gravitate toward. Lots of jewelry. There is one stall that specializes in vintage lenses. That’s the only thing he sells.”
No word about the writing, so I ask, “Do you get ideas for characters in your stories from there?”
Hands cradling the wine glass, she peers at me shyly from under her lashes. “How did you guess?”
“It seems like a good resource. Your practice does too.”
She laughs. “Yes, I know exactly what kind of mannerisms to give a villain. Although, do you remember the one case—” She rattles off a vaguely familiar name.
“The defamation suit over the neighbor being included in the book?”
“Right. You can’t be too obvious or you can get sued.”
“You're too clever for that.”
“And I haven’t published anything. I haven’t even finished a story yet.”
“It’s your law practice.” The timer dings, and I have to stop to take the chicken out. I set the baking dish on a trivet. While Natalie uses the spatula to serve the chicken, I grab a couple forks and make my way around the center island to sit beside her. This time, she tops off my wine glass.
“I do envy you for quitting. I think 99 percent of us want to quit, and the other one percent is just lying about loving the practice. Every lawyer I come across says that they want to do something other than law—except for Frankie. She really does love her job.”