She rested her head on one hand and tapped a pen on the desk with the other. Where would she start? In truth, she did not have any cases on the calendar. Calls had come in and appointments had been made, but today was free. It was a good time for catch-up, she thought. She could tackle the paperwork that nagged at her, which she routinely avoided. Procrastination was not her style, except when it came to mundane filing and account ledgers. If business continued to increase, she would consider sharing Tom’s bookkeeper.
She tugged the Chronicle from her tote bag. She pulled the rubber band off and laid the paper across her desk. She scanned her favorite sections; buried at the bottom of local news was a brief article that she almost missed. “San Francisco attorney pleads client guilty,” the headline read. “In a turnaround move, T. Cash McCullough pleaded his client guilty of arson and aggravated assault.” Reading the rest of the article, Christie was shocked that Cash had accepted a plea bargain from the district attorney. “A second client, who had been a person of interest, is no longer being investigated,” the article concluded.
What had caused Cash to change direction with the kid, she wondered. What evidence had convinced him to abandon a not-guilty plea?
Sharon poked her head in the door. “I’m making a pot of coffee, would you like a cup?”
“That would be great. I wouldn’t mind a little company while I drink it, if you’re not too busy.”
Sharon appeared startled at the request. Christie rarely took the time for a coffee klatch with her. “Unless you’d rather not.”
“I’d enjoy a time-out. Coffee should be ready in a few minutes.”
Christie realized that the invitation had been a delaying tactic. Subconsciously she was concerned that thoughts of Cash would insinuate into any unfilled space in her mind. The Chronicle story brought a torrent of questions, and no answers.
When Sharon returned with the coffee, she had a small brown bag with her. “I packed a piece of cake with my lunch. Baked it myself, a Bundt cake from a mix. Would you like to share?”
The cake Sharon withdrew from the bag was dark chocolate, and it looked sinfully rich. “I would love a piece,” Christie said. “Why not start the day with decadence?”
Sharon smiled. “I agree. My best friend’s motto has always been that you should start a meal with dessert, that way if anything happens to you before the end of the meal you won’t have missed out on the best part.”
“Good thinking,” Christie said.
She held her coffee mug between her hands and gazed into the dark brew. Her thoughts had already wandered to Cash. What was he doing right now? Was he thinking about their time together in Arizona?
“You seem lost,” Sharon said.
“Am I that transparent?”
“Not to an outsider, but you aren’t usually so quiet. What’s going on? Or am I out of place to ask?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Yes?” Sharon prodded.
“You know I was seeing Cash McCullough, the attorney.” Sharon nodded. “Well, I’m not seeing him anymore.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Or are you glad that you’ve broken up?”
Christie ignored the question. “We had a blowup because I gave him advice based on an analysis of a client’s handwriting. He was furious, and I reacted in kind. End of story.”
“It can’t be the end if you care for each other.”
Christie was silent. How could she answer?
“Surely you can make up.”
“I…I don’t know if I want to make up. I don’t know if I can live with the knowledge that Cash represents people that are a threat to society.”
“Someone has to represent them.”
“Yes, someone does.” But did it have to be the man she loved?
“You have to draw a line between his work and your relationship. If he treats you well, that’s what counts.”
“Maybe. But I think it’s too late to change anything.”
“It’s never too late. Talk to him.”
Sharon took her empty coffee mug and returned to her desk, leaving Christie alone in her office. Talk to him—the words echoed in her mind. Margo had said the same thing. Talk to him. Why did they make it sound so easy, when it wasn’t?
The Chronicle article seemed to indicate that he had reconsidered her warning, perhaps admitting to himself, at least, that he’d been wrong. Margo had insisted that one of them had to take the first step, and that it would be a smart move if she was the one. If she didn’t she might regret it for the rest of her life. But if she allowed his treatment of her to stand, it could set the course for their relationship. He had to respect her or she would lose an important part of herself.
She hadn’t become angry because he dismissed her advice; what had infuriated her was the way he had done it. Could she overlook that? If he had exhibited remorse for his treatment of her, she’d have forgiven him on the spot. Or maybe she would have simmered for a while and then given him a second chance. Now, too much time had passed, and the emotional distance had widened.
Sharon had been emphatic in pointing out that the important consideration was how Cash treated her personally. Until the argument he had been thoughtful and caring. He used his time and money to help others: the pro bono cases, the housekeeper’s nephew’s education, his devotion to family and friends, the way he was there for her when Tosha took ill. These were outstanding traits. She had jumped on him about the kid, had focused on his unsavory, possibly dangerous clients, while forgetting all the good he did for the community and beyond. He had trampled upon her feelings, but was that enough reason to cast aside his compassionate, loving ways?
She faced a huge dilemma: whether to go to Cash or stand fast. Her future depended on the decision.
Sunlight flooded her office. She needed to get some air. She had no plan of action, but a walk would give her time to think. She stood up and yanked her jacket from the coatrack. As she moved around the desk, she shoved an arm into one sleeve and struggled with the other. Passing through the front office, she slung her purse over her shoulder and grabbed the doorknob. “I’ll be gone for the rest of the day, Sharon,” she said as she was halfway out the door. “Hold down the fort.”
Sharon smiled a sort of knowing smile. She undoubtedly assumed that Christie was going to act on her advice. If only it was that easy.
She walked to the elevator and pushed the button for the lobby. She watched the indicator light slowly move upward. The elevator stopped at the third floor, the fifth, the sixth. Her office was on the tenth and she was becoming impatient. Finally, the arrow above the door blinked red and a bell jangled. The doors slid open, and Christie waited while two men in business suits walked out, their conversation steady as they crossed the tiles. She stepped inside and pushed the button. The ride down was agonizingly slow; the elevator stopped at almost every floor. The car filled, and with each start and stop she was bumped by one of the passengers.
The elevator finally reached the lobby and the door slowly slid open. The push was on as bodies crushed against one another, eager to be first out of the car. Christie held back, not wanting to be caught up in the stampede. She took a step forward, then froze. Like an apparition, Cash stood, shoulders above the others waiting to enter the elevator.
Shock registered on his face. Or was it disdain, she wondered. She hit the button to close the doors. She knew it was a cowardly thing to do, but Cash looked formidable. The doors began to slide together, blocking her view. The waiting passengers shouted, outraged at her action. She hit the button for the tenth floor. The doors were only inches apart when she saw Cash’s hands grip the edges. The doors reversed and slid open. Cash stepped onto the elevator and the doors closed behind him.