Chapter 24
Two weeks and 214 hours of regret later
The phone screen lit up with the persistent ding-ding-ding of the morning alarm. Gabriel shut it off, then lifted to sit on the edge of the bed, where he remained, staring at the clock. When 6.59 turned into 7.00, he got up and walked to the bathroom.
One, two, three, four, five, six minutes. Wash up, brush your teeth, don’t thinkof Ida. One, two, three, four, five, six. Shave. The beard was long since gone, and he only needed to do a quick shutting down of the overnight stubble for maximum presentability. One, two, three, four, five, six. Style the hair. He’d cut it to a medium length, one that barely touched his neck as he slicked it back. His old look met him in the mirror. It should have felt welcome, but it was like staring at an alien.
No time to dawdle. Doing so only left the door wide open to the memories. One, two, three, four, five, six, dress. White shirt. He paused in front of the jacket rack, fingers sliding along the sleeve of the gray jacket with the cube pattern.
This was his first day back after the suspension had been lifted, and based on his bosses’ brusque communication so far, most likely his last. Did he dare risk it—possibly worsen it—with his choice of attire? He turned to another jacket—a simple charcoal gray, no pattern, not even a single stripe. He already had it off the hanger when he cursed, put it back, and grabbed the cube one.
Fuck it.
If he went down, he wouldn’t do so dressed in some boring suit.
In the wide open space of his apartment, he grabbed a cup of coffee and crossed to the window. Early morning light reflected on the glass of nearby skyscrapers, painting their facades in shades of blue, intercepted by blinding strips of orange. He closed his eyes and chased away a pale, oval-shaped face with big, deep brown eyes.
You told me to go. You said it was better.
Time to get back to work.
Little had changed in the firm. The floor was still the same old polished tigerwood, mixed with strips of white tiles. A path of round ceiling lights— unflickering, not even blinking once—led Gabriel through the hallways of glass-wall offices, eyes following him as he passed. By the common area, a group of five paralegals lingered, plastic coffee cups in hand; they hushed as Gabriel approached, gave him a mix of reluctant smiles and scared greetings, and started whispering again.
Another lawyer stepped out of his office as Gabriel passed by.
“Rodriguez,” Gabriel greeted.
Rodriguez looked at him as if he’d suddenly gotten a bad case of indigestion.
“Great to see you,” Gabriel continued as it became clear no response would come from the man, and continued toward his office, head held high. Thank god his office didn’t have glass walls; he wasn’t sure he could bear becoming the floor centerpiece.
Finally, he made it to his safe haven. There’d been some rearranging to his desk—Ollie, no doubt—but otherwise, it looked the same. A tasteful gray rug, shelves filled with books that would assure any incoming client the lawyers in this firm knew what they were doing, and a baby rubber plant on the shelf behind him to add a homey feeling. Gabriel’s diploma, and three more certificates showcasing his achievements, hung on the wall.
No notice of termination in bold, red letters rested on his desk, but that didn’t make Gabriel any less nervous. He’d only exchanged seven emails with his bosses, three of which were to deal with his suspension being lifted. Of the other four, two hinted, in all of their tweet-length glory, that Gabriel might get some papers served soon—but not those for a partnership.
After a short knock, the door creaked open. Gabriel braced himself for scrutiny when the wildly curly head of his assistant peeked through. “Mr. Vane! I’m so glad you’re back!”
“Ollie. Nice to see you.”
Ollie walked in, smile wide, foot only lightly tapping. Tap, tap. Tap. “I, sir, uh… I missed you.” He made another step forward, and a very awkward hug followed. Gabriel clasped his back, and at last, Ollie retreated.
“It’s good to see one friendly face, at least,” Gabriel said. Something about Ollie reminded him of the people in Buttons, and while the memory hurt, Ollie’s presence felt comforting. “How is it going?”
“I have everything prepared, sir. You’ll be ready to jump right in.” Ollie pushed up his glasses and scanned the desk. “These are the summaries of all the relevant briefings you’ve missed, so you can catch up. Here are the memos, in there is a list of messages, sorted first by date, then by alphabet, and here is a memorandum for—”
“Ollie.” Gabriel used his steadying tone. “Thank you for all of this. But…” His stomach roiled at the thought. “Ernest said I’m to meet him in ten minutes.”
“Why? Because—oh, no. Sir, don’t tell me you won’t be working here anymore! But I’ve already organized everything, and I know what kind of coffee you drink and that when you say you need something in five minutes, you really mean four minutes and fifty seconds, and—”
“Ollie!”
“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”
Gabriel leaned on the desk and sighed. “No, I’m sorry. I put a black stain on all of you with my behavior.” How could it be that he seemed to make nothing but bad decisions? And then more bad decisions as he tried to fix the first ones? He wasn’t even sure what he was doing anymore, and where he was heading; events and consequences swam in his mind, loose and senseless, occasionally hitting the walls he tried to pull up, and making him wince.
“Anyway,” Ollie said, his look indicating he’d been waiting for Gabriel to pay attention. “Mr. Ernest is in a meeting with Mrs. Ashford-Abernathy at the moment.”
“She’s here already?” Gabriel’s chest squeezed. And they didn’t tell me. They were going to take the case from him. His one shot was going down the drain and… “Okay. Okay.” He stared at the documents on his desk and slowed his breathing—in, out, in, out.
Think clearly. What’s the best thing for the currentsituation?
News was leaking into the media about him and Wynona getting back together; with some luck and a few successful showings, maybe they’d swing the public’s opinion. But that wouldn’t be enough for Ernest and Clifford. Gabriel needed to make himself valuable.
He looked up. “Ollie, come with me. We’re going to Ernest.”
“But, sir, I said he’s—”
“I know.” The chances of success were small. Mrs. Ashford-Abernathy loved him when he was a star on the rise, but she’d probably snub him now. As for Ernest, he might throw him out of the firm just for crashing his meeting.
But he had to try. For Ida. Because if he failed again, if he didn’t even get this life back, then he’d left her for nothing.
Gabriel and Ollie rushed to the conference room. Gabriel paused in front of the door, fist up and ready to knock.
“Sir, you are sure you want me there? I don’t think I need—”
“I know,” Gabriel said. “But I…” He needed someone. Someone who would feel like a friend.
“I understand.” Ollie gave him a small nod. “Let’s do it, then.”
Gabriel knocked rapidly and pushed the door open before anyone inside could object. He strode into the room, summoning all the confidence he could find, even if he was trembling in his shoes. “Good morning, Mrs. Ashford-Abernathy, Mr. Ernest… Mr. Clifford.”
Well. Go figure he’d get both of his bosses in one place. Mrs. Ashford-Abernathy sat on one end of the long, white table; Ernest sat two chairs away from her, with his partner across from him. As Gabriel entered, the three heads simultaneously snapped to him.
“Vane.” Ernest’s voice cut into the name. “We’re in a meeting.”
“Yes, we can see that, sir,” Ollie began. “But Mr. Vane had to—”
Gabriel nudged him in his ribs. “I’m sorry for intruding. I need to speak with all of you. Urgently.”
“You can do so once we’ve concluded with Mrs. Ashford-Abernathy,” Ernest bit off.
“Can’t do. I need the client.”
Mrs. Ashford-Abernathy’s painted-on eyebrows rose.
“You must know you’re not getting the case.” Ernest’s voice left no room for objection.
“But Crawford has retired, and we’d planned to—”
“I know what we planned, and if I remember correctly, the article currently circling around wasn’t part of the plan.” Ernest’s chest rose in indignation. “The case is being assigned to another lawyer. Now get out.”
Gabriel clenched his fists, fighting for air that suddenly felt too thin. He was back at the huge, intimidating, and very real courtroom at his first mock trial—and there was Anderson, taking all the credit for Gabriel’s work, and Gabriel staying silent because surely Anderson would see, surely someone would recognize his effort, someone would help him—“No.”
“Excuse me?”
Gabriel swallowed. “I said, no. I’m not leaving. This is my case.”
“The gall!” Ernest jumped to his feet; behind Gabriel, Ollie took a preventative step back. “The deal was you’d steer clear of scandal. You couldn’t do that, you’ve endangered our reputation, and now you dare to request a case—”
“My boy, do calm down.” Mrs. Ashford-Abernathy lazily patted a hand in Ernest’s direction. The man silenced, though Gabriel wasn’t sure whether out of respect for her, or because a woman his age (perhaps—Mrs. Ashford-Abernathy’s age was difficult to pinpoint) dared call him a boy.
“Vane, your reputation is best not to be paired with an already scandalous case,” Clifford said, gentler.
“Not any case, really,” Ernest grumbled.
I’m working on fixing that,Gabriel wanted to say, but felt he’d come off as a schoolboy who’d forgotten his homework. Forgiveness has no place in myworld.
He didn’t need them to feel sorry for him, he needed…
He needed to use what he had.
“Mrs. Ashford-Abernathy wants a scandalous trial. If she didn’t, she’d have settled long before this.”
Mrs. Ashford-Abernathy didn’t say anything, but her slight tilt of head gave him enough encouragement—she was interested in what he had to say.
“I’m the best-prepared lawyer in this firm for her case. I did all the research on it. She wants to make the news with her victory…”
“I’ll settle for nothing but the front page,” Mrs. Ashford-Abernathy said.
“And as a bonus to my already accrued knowledge, I’m also really good at getting into front-page news,” Gabriel concluded, clasping his hands
behind his back. Mostly to steady himself—although it did make him look more confident.
The room fell silent.
“He said one true thing,” Ernest spoke. “He is notorious.”
“Honey.” Mrs. Ashford-Abernathy rose and fixed her faux mink fur shawl. “My middle name is Notoriety.”
“I thought her middle name was Wilhemina,” Ollie whispered to Gabriel.
Mrs. Ashford-Abernathy’s eyes swept the gathered company until they stopped on Gabriel again. “You may be the only person currently more notorious than I am. As such, I believe we’d make a great pair.” She tilted her head at Ernest. “I want him as my lawyer.”
“But, Mrs.—”
“And should you fire him, well, I suppose I’ll have to go where he goes.”
Gabriel almost wanted to start tapping his foot like Ollie—not from nervousness, but from excitement. He did it! Mrs. Ashford-Abernathy had just lifted him back into rainmaker status.
Clifford sighed and drummed his fingers on the table. “Very well.” He shut down his partner with a single look, and turned his attention to Gabriel. “Gather what you need and start preparing. The trial begins in two weeks.”
“Wonderful.” Mrs. Ashford-Abernathy flicked the shawl over her shoulder. “Let me know when you need anything.” With a nod to everyone, she left the room.
“Go,” Ernest said to Gabriel.
“One more thing.” Clifford’s voice stopped him as he reached for the doorknob. “If we are to get you established again, we must do so as quickly as possible. Get this over and done with.” He shared a look with Ernest. “There’s a dinner party the day after tomorrow. Strictly business. Representatives of other firms, as well as other prominent society members, will be there.” He drummed his fingers again—one, two, three times—and focused on Gabriel. “You’re invited. I trust you’ll behave appropriately.”
“Thank you, sir. I will.” Precisely what he needed. Something akin to happiness—could it be?—resurfaced, and Gabriel grasped it with all he had. He got the case back, he’d get his respect back. He could do this. This was his old life, after all; it should be the easiest thing to fall back into. His routine, his work—lots of work, he’d need that to keep other memories at bay.
Yes. He could do it.
He turned back. “The invitations are usually for a plus one, aren’t they?”
“Yes,” Clifford drawled. “Why? You’re thinking of inviting someone?”
Gabriel breathed once again. It was risky—but what wasn’t these days? And Wynona’s plan was sound. “The former Mrs. Sinclair.”
***
She’d haunted books. She’d been to the garden multiple times, checking if any of the rosebushes grew, pretending to be indifferent when they hadn’t. She spent hours in the deer statue, but even its comforting, earthy feel was of little solace.
Ida simply didn’t know what to do.
Had she been doing these same things before Gabriel had arrived? Memory confirmed it, but it was hard to believe she spent months, if not years between tenants, doing the same old things over and over again. Phase through walls. Flicker the lights. Knock around.
Like this evening. The sun had set, and Ida lingered in the living room, painted over with the cool blue filter of oncoming darkness. She knocked a book off the shelf, put it back on, and repeated the procedure two more times. She could haunt it, but she didn’t feel like it.
She didn’t feel like much, in general.
Something screeched outside. Steps—coming closer—a scratch at the door—keys in the lock! The book bounced on the shelf as Ida abandoned it, and came to rest against another book.
The front door opened.
“Gabriel?” Ida began a glide to the hallway, only to stop in the middle of the couch as the landlady, Farrah, appeared in the doorway.
She’d already been here after Gabriel had left, to check up on the state of the house. If she was here again…
Farrah turned away and addressed someone behind her. “Let me get the lights going and I’ll show you around… there.” The lights came on; she inspected them, frowning. “Seems to be all good.”
If Ida’s heart dropped upon seeing that the visitor wasn’t Gabriel, it picked back up now. A new tenant! That was something, right? There used to be a time when she was ecstatic with the arrival of every new tenant.
A short, mousy man of about fifty, but with a knitted vest appropriate for a 70-year-old, reluctantly followed the woman into the living room. “Is there something wrong with the lights?”
“Oh, no. Some tenants have reported occasional flickering, but that’s just the old wiring. And it gives a sort of charm to the house, don’t you think?”
The man stopped not a foot away from Ida and swept the living room, his gaze passing straight through her. “I suppose.” He dragged his words like a teenager, weary of his parents’ interventions.
“I’m sorry we had to delay this. You know how meetings are! Always run late.” Farrah’s laugh was empty. “Anyway, I have the essentials sorted out. The kitchen has recently been refurbished, so forgive me if there’s something out of place. And as an apology for my tardiness, you can stay here tonight, and we’ll get the deal done tomorrow.”
“I suppose.”
Wow. A silver tongue, you are.
Farrah showed the new tenant around, and Ida dragged behind them. The man checked the bathroom and gave a neutral nod; wrinkled his nose at her former bedroom, but at least Gabriel’s… the other bedroom seemed to meet his approval.
They said goodbye in the hallway. The man ventured to the living room and, after emitting another sigh, sat down and turned on the TV.
“Okay, buddy,” Ida said. “All is not lost yet. So you’re a little shy, but that’s fine. We can’t talk, anyway. But surely you have good taste in movies.” Finally there’d be some noise and life (albeit fictional) around here.
He flicked through the channels.
“Come on. I know you have good taste in movies.”
He stopped on a channel showing a chess tournament.
“And… we’re moving onward…” Ida waved both hands at the remote. “You accidentally landed here. This can’t be it.”
The man stared at the screen for a few seconds, then settled deeper into the sofa, leaned his head back, and nodded to himself.
You’ve got to be kidding me.
Ida shook her head and popped into the deer statue.
Worst. Tenant. Ever.