Time Served (31 page)

“I’m happy!”

“Happy for reasons that didn’t have to do with work. Happy that lit you up from the inside.”

“You’re being corny.”

“So what happened?”

I swipe a hand across my eyes. “He defended me, when no one else would.” The words are nearly impossible to understand, coming out as they are through a mouthful of sobs and lost breath. “And I was so embarrassed. By him. And he knew it. And he told me my whole life was a sham and I told him we were over and he left. Because he knew I didn’t know how to appreciate him because I never did.”

“Why would he think that? You brought him to the party. Everyone told me how happy you two looked together. That he couldn’t take his eyes off you.”

“I danced with Todd,” I confess. I’m a sloppy mess. Broken-down and regretful.

“I thought he had a thing for Jackson’s secretary. What’s her name?”

“I can’t even remember!” I moan. “Why are you here, Parker? I’m a terrible person. I left everyone who loved me and never looked back. I wanted a good life and I thought I had it, but I didn’t. I’m awful.”

“Well...”

It’s almost impossible to draw a full breath. I feel like I did when I was nine years old and woke up after a nightmare to find myself alone in the trailer. I’d cried so hard I’d passed out. The only difference is that there was no one there to comfort me then, and now Parker removes his suit jacket and puts an arm around my shoulder, pulling me close. He’s my best friend in the world, and this is the most we have ever touched.

“You’re not awful, Rach,” he whispers. “You’re a good lawyer, with a good heart. You care more than anyone I know.”

“I only care about myself.”

“That’s not true. You buy almonds from that kid who ignores our No Soliciting sign and comes by every couple of months.”

I laugh painfully.

“And you treated those Fowler interviews like they were real people. You think I let you take the lead on those because I’m lazy? Because I thought they’d respond better to a woman? They responded to you.”

I wipe my nose with the hem of my T-shirt. “I hurt Dean’s feelings. Over and over again.”

“So apologize.”

“I’ve apologized a million times. It’s not ever going to be enough.”

“I wish I’d met him,” Parker says, pulling his fingers through my snarled hair. “I could have told him to overlook all your awfulness to see the good things.”

“He just wanted to fuck me out of his head.”

A pause. “He said that?”

“Yeah.”

“And did he?”

I think about last night. How it was anything but fucking. How gentle he’d been, how careful. Like putting the final pieces in a fragile puzzle, knowing that if he did it wrong, he’d have to start all over again. And he didn’t want to start again. He wanted to be done. And he was. And I wasn’t. I still wanted him. We’d been out of love longer than we’d ever been in it, and to my horror I’m realizing that even though I didn’t still love the boy he’d been, I was starting to love the man he’d become. The man who hated everything
I’d
become.

“Yes,” I whisper finally.

“Then he’s an idiot.”

“I need a minute,” I mumble, pulling away and standing. Parker lets me go, and I head down the hall to the bathroom, splashing cold water on my splotchy face, blowing my nose and running a comb through my hair. I’m a mess and it’ll take a lot more than this to put me back together, but it’s a start.

I’m relatively composed when I return to the living room to find Parker still on the chaise lounge.

“You okay?”

I nod and take a seat next to him. “Thanks for listening.”

“Anytime.”

I nudge him with my foot. “That’s enough about me. What brings you here in the middle of the day? I thought you had a meeting.”

“Wrapped up early. Adrian met me at the elevator and told me the news. Then I just went back to my desk and...couldn’t.”

“Couldn’t?”

“Couldn’t think. Couldn’t work. I just stared out the window and tried to imagine working without you, and I couldn’t.”

I’m surprised I have any tears left, and blink back the ones that spring up at the painfully kind confession. “That’s nice of you to say.”

“So
I
quit.”

My mouth falls open and my eyes bulge out of my head. I’m sure I look hideously unattractive, but I can’t control myself.

“I had to gather my belongings and leave the premises,” he adds as an afterthought.

“Did you break anything?”

He laughs sheepishly. “No.”

“Parker. Oh my God.”

He looks at me and we both snort with laughter. “So here we are,” he says. “Do you have any alcohol?”

We head into the kitchen and I pour us both a glass of white wine, clinking our cups together over the counter. “To unemployment,” I say.

We drink in silence, and when the glasses are empty I fill them again. “Do you really think there’s a law firm in town that will hire us both?”

“Oh, definitely not.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“I think we should go into business for ourselves,” he says seriously. “Open our own practice and choose our own cases and not work on weekends.”

“We don’t know the first thing about starting a business!”

Parker mulls this over. “Maybe Moira knows. She’s smart.”

“What does she think about all this?”

He avoids my eyes. “Ah...”

I slap the countertop. “You didn’t tell her?”

“It’s not like I planned this! It was spontaneous.”

“She’ll kill you.”

“Nah. She loves me.”

“I don’t see it, if we’re being honest. The two of you. You’re as mismatched as Dean and I. Were.”

Parker twists his wedding ring on his finger. “She just couldn’t help herself,” he tells me. “No one else could understand why that woman would want me, but she did. And she didn’t care what they said.”

“What did they say?”

“You’re not going to believe this, Rachel, but some people said they thought I was—quote—
super gay
.”

I try my very best to look aghast. “
No
.”

“But Moira just said, ‘Parker, it doesn’t make any sense whatsoever, but I love you, and if you love me, let’s just do this thing.’ And here we are, fifteen years later. She’s a successful surgeon, and I’m jobless. Things just have a way of working out.”

“You can move in with me if she evicts you.”

“Thanks. My point is, this—” He gestures between us with his glass, wine sloshing over the edge. “
This
may not make sense, but let’s do it. Let’s be partners.”

“You and me. Partners.”

“I’ve got some loyal clients, and you’ve got...a great smile.”

“That’s very kind.”

“What do you say?”

* * *

We agree to take the rest of the week to think things through. I have my doubts. My dream has always been to work for a big, high-powered firm. The prospect of working for myself, opening a small office that could fail completely and utterly, is terrifying. I’ve spent the better part of each day vacillating between a confident “can do” attitude and meek thoughts of “Maybe if I apologize, they’ll take me back.”

I’ve been so self-absorbed that I’ve completely forgotten about Ruthie Block and Reginald when he calls on Friday morning.

“So,” is his greeting when I answer.

“Hi, Reginald.”

“You’re not a lawyer anymore. I called your office. They said you were no longer with them. I thought that meant you’d died.”

“I’m not that lucky.”

“So where are you working?”

I wince. “Um...”

“You need a job? I could use a ring girl.”

“Let me polish up my resume.”

“Well, at least your sense of humor is still intact.”

“I’m sorry I’ve been out of touch,” I say, meaning it. “I’ve been preoccupied, and your case completely slipped my mind.”

“What are you talking about? I’ve got the paperwork right here. A giant stack of it. That’s why I’m calling. I need you to come down and tell me where to sign.”

I close my eyes and smile faintly. Adrian must have done it. “There should be red stickers marking the pages you need to sign. It’s very straightforward.”

“You have to come here and help me.”

“No.”

“I’m sorry, Rachel, are you busy with a job I don’t know about?”

I shake my head stubbornly, even though he can’t see me. “No,” I say again, meaning it. “No. Don’t do this.”

“Don’t do what?”

“You’re meddling, Reginald.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re trying to get me to come to the gym so I’ll bump into Dean. Well, I’m not doing it. We’re done, and you can sign paperwork without my assistance.”

“But I need to pay you.”

“Consider it a gift.”

There’s a long pause. “Dean’s not coming in anymore.”

Despite my better judgment, I ask, “What? Why?”

Reginald sighs. “I don’t know. No, that’s not true. I do know. He came in late last Saturday—” After our fight,
of course
. “And wanted to get in the ring. I told him no, work out his issues with you once and for all and stop taking it out on Oscar Hall. More like letting Oscar kick his ass. Anyway, we argued and he left. Hasn’t been back since.”

“It’s good you didn’t let him fight.”

“I care about that kid,” he says. The words ring true. “It’s stupid, and I should know better, but I do. So maybe I am a ‘meddler,’ but my intentions are pure.”

“You had me until ‘pure.’”

“I shoulda quit while I was ahead.”

I blow out a huff of air. I feel guilty for forgetting about Reginald and then accusing him of meddling when I know his intentions regarding Dean are far less selfish than mine have ever been.

“You going to come down?” he asks eventually.

“Yeah,” I reply. “I’ll be there.”

“Thanks, Rachel.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” I warn him. “If this is some kind of trick, you’ll be sorry.”

“It’s not. I promise.”

“All right. I’ll see you later today.”

We hang up and I realize my heart is racing. A wise combination of fear and adrenaline course through my veins, jarring me out of the funk I’ve been in all week. For the first time in seven days I have a goal, even if it is as simple as pointing out the already-marked places for Reginald to sign his divorce papers. It’s a nice feeling. I climb into the shower to try to tame my hair, then leave it to air-dry in loose curls.

I may no longer be employed, but because I’m going to Camden for work I cover my white tank top with a light gray blazer, and finish the look with dark wash jeans and heels. Casual but professional, and still completely inappropriate for a boxing gym in the middle of a Friday afternoon.

The ten seconds after stepping inside the dark, smelly gym are nerve-racking. I blink frantically, willing my eyes to adjust faster, fearing that Dean will be there, waiting to continue our fight now that we’re on his turf. But when my vision sharpens and I look around, all I see are strangers, and all I feel is a sharp pang of regret and loss. The same one I’ve felt a million times this week, each time I remembered that Dean and I are done. That I ended it. That he’d walked out on me and finally gotten the closure he’d needed, leaving all my doors and windows blown off the hinges in his wake.

I ignore the curious stares and weave my way over to Reginald’s tiny office, rapping on the slightly ajar door and pushing it open when he calls out for me to enter. “‘Bout time,” he says, standing up from his spot behind the desk.

“Good to see you too,” I say. “Have a seat.”

“You in a rush?”

“Yes.”

“Liar.”

“You’re one to talk.”

“I missed you,” Reginald says, sitting back down.

“I’ll bet. Where’s the paperwork?”

He shoves across a manila envelope containing a large sheaf of papers, a dozen of which are clearly marked with red stickers.

“Do you have questions about any of this?” I ask, glancing around the desk for a pen so he can start signing.

“You think I’m making the right choice?”

I look up in surprise. “By agreeing to divorce the woman you left seventeen years ago? Yes. Absolutely.”

“I can’t undo what I did.”

“I know.”

“That kid you had working for you, he said I could probably get some money from her if I was so inclined.”

I arch a brow, unimpressed. “Are you?”

“Should I be?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because you don’t deserve it,” I say flatly. “You’ve both moved on, let it go.”

“She’s the one who’s been vandalizing me!” he protests. “She should at least have to pay for the damages.”

I sigh. “You hurt her feelings, Reginald.”

“I—”

“Seventeen years ago you left her broke and pregnant. She thought she’d built a life with you, and you pulled out the rug from under her. If she’s holding a grudge, just apologize.”

“I tried!”

“Then give her the divorce, don’t ask for things you’re not entitled to and let her move on.”

“Even after all the shit she pulled?”

“You own a boxing gym, Reginald. You haven’t been hit before?”

“Of course I have.”

“Then take your lumps and move on.”

“Just let her get away with it?”

“Yes.”

“You heard yourself, right? I own a boxing gym. I train fighters. You think that’s the advice I give them? Let ’em hit you, and don’t hit back?”

I do my best not to think of Dean, but as has been the case all week, the slightest thought of him conjures up feelings that threaten to overwhelm me. I feel it like a weight on my shoulders, his burden transferred to me. “Sometimes it’s your turn to take the blame,” I say, talking to us both.

Reginald runs a hand over his face. “I guess you’re right.”

I clear my throat. “So you’ll sign?”

“Yeah,” he answers reluctantly. “I’ll let her get in her punches, then take off. And that’s it. I never want to see that lunatic again.”

I swallow against the hot lump in my throat. “That’s how it works.”

Reginald signs swiftly, sharp jerks of the pen that mark the start of his penance for seventeen years of abandonment. Of unanswered questions and irreparably hurt feelings. Ruthie built a better life for herself without Reginald; she’d followed her dreams and carved out a successful future. Maybe there was some part of her that was grateful he’d left; that knew it was for the best. Would Dean ever believe that? Would I?