Chapter 1 Beckett
Exhaustion pulls at every bone in my body, weighing my muscles down like they’ve been pumped full of lead. Who would have thought going on thirty-six hours of no sleep would lead to me needing to nearly crawl up three flights of stairs to get to my apartment?
Of course, I didn’t let myself think about it. Not until I was standing at the bottom, staring up and wishing I could will my apartment closer.
Shower.
Bed.
That’s the plan as soon as I get to the third floor and make it down the hall toward my apartment. Food can wait until I can think properly again. At this point, I’d likely burn the building down trying to make a turkey sandwich.
Sweat beads on my forehead despite the December weather just outside. Man, it’s hot in here.
The sharp tone of my phone echoes off the walls of the stairwell, and I groan as I pause near the landing between the second and third floors to pull it out of the pocket of my slacks.
“Wallace,” I answer, continuing the climb while pondering exactly how many legal terms I can throw at the building owner to get him to fix the elevator.
Six weeks. That’s how long it’s been out.
“Just calling to make sure you made it home okay.” My skin crawls at the sound of the familiar smooth voice.
And here we are, making an already crummy situation worse.
At this point, falling down the stairs and starting over again would be preferable to talking to the man on the other side of the line.
“I didn’t realize you were that concerned about my well-being, Larry,” I reply coolly.
Larry Hardwell has been the bane of my existence for the past seven months as we battled it out in court.
His client was responsible for the deaths of three employees after he cut safety corners at his construction site.
They’d tried to pin it all on the victims, too, going as far as counter-suing the families for damage done when their loved ones plummeted to their deaths.
In the end, we won, and his client will be paying a hefty settlement to the families.
It won’t bring their loved ones back, but I seriously hope it’ll make their grieving process smoother if they don’t have to worry about where their next meal is coming from.
Grief is something I am all too familiar with, so this one hit close to home.
Especially since one of the victims had married his high-school sweetheart three months before the accident stole his life.
It infuriates me all over again as I think about the way they’d tried to take even more from the young widow.
“Just because we were both playing our parts—” Larry starts.
“I wasn’t playing a part,” I interrupt, uninterested in him finishing that sentence. “I was doing my job. Now, if that’s all?”
“Actually, I was wondering if you’d like to grab dinner tonight. About seven? I managed to get us reservations at Louis’. I’ll come pick you up in about half an hour. Sound good?”
Ugh, why did you have to finish the sentence? Now I’m nauseous on top of exhausted.
“No, thanks.”
He’s quiet for a moment. “Come on now, Counselor, Louis’ is difficult to get into. I had to call in a favor. It’ll be fun. Let your hair down and relax a bit. Put on something other than your suit. Maybe wear some heels. We can go dancing afterward.”
“Then I suggest you cancel that favor because I am not interested in seeing you unless we’re in a courtroom.” And even then, the interest is only in wiping the floor with you so I can watch that sleezy smile disappear from your face.
“You can’t keep grieving your dead husband forever. It’s been ten years. I’m just trying to show you there’s a better way to live than in constant reminder of the past.”
Anger surfaces at his callous words, but I bite it back down. Anger, to a man like Larry, is a lifeline to try to get what he wants. And in no way, shape, or form will I give him anything he wants.
“Goodbye, Larry.” Without waiting for his response, I hang up the phone then summon the rest of my strength to climb the final few stairs, all while hoping he’s smart enough to not call again.
At least, by the time I’ve reached the top, I no longer want to gag at the fact that he honestly thought I’d be interested in dating someone who makes a living by defending the guilty.
I’ve certainly walked away from my fair share of clients after that first meeting because I’d seen their guilt plain as day on their face. I won’t allow innocent people to suffer just for a dollar because that is not why I became a lawyer.
I spent years in law school and working my way up in my firm so I could help people. So I could bring justice to those who feel helpless. It’s why a good portion of my work is pro bono. I take the cases no one else in my firm wants to touch.
After unlocking the front door to my apartment, I push it open, lock it behind me, then toss my briefcase to the side. I kick off my heels and groan when my sore bare feet hit plush carpet.
“Ughhh, sweet relief,” I whisper as I stand for just a moment in the darkness, letting myself relish the fact that I’m home. And for the next few weeks, I have no cases to handle. No clients to meet with.
Vacation is mine. And it starts right now.
Light illuminates the room as I flip the switch and study the place I’ve hardly been in since I took this case almost a year ago.
Now that it’s over, I’m considering redecorating or, at the very least, finally unpacking that last box that’s been sitting in my closet for the past seven years, since I first moved in here.
Who knows? Maybe during this vacation, I’ll be able to sleep in, take long bubble baths, and finally get myself back into Pilates.
Maybe. If I’m lucky.
I set my keys down on the kitchen counter and pause right beside a photograph I can’t seem to put away, no matter how many years it’s been since my husband’s death. Paul—or Pauly as I called him—is standing there beside me, his plane in the background, a wide smile on his face.
He’d just taken me up for the first time, and I’d already been so in love.
We were married three months later.
It only lasted two years. Two years. Then I was burying him in the ground.
My chest aches as I rub the heel of my palm against it. The truth is: I’ve considered getting remarried. Finding someone else to spend my life with. But even though I’ve gotten past the guilt of wanting someone around, there’s this nagging feeling in my heart that things aren’t finished yet.
That there’s more to his death.
And if I move on? Doesn’t that mean forgetting him and letting the rest of it go, too?
My cell rings again, and for a moment, I consider ignoring it just in case it could be Larry again. But since doing that means potentially missing someone important, I pull my cell back out of my pocket and grin when I see “Mom” flashing across the screen.
“Perfect timing, Mom.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.” I head into the kitchen for a glass of water. “How’s it going?”
“Not bad. I was calling to congratulate you. I just saw the news.”
It was a relatively high-profile case, so I’m not surprised she was able to see coverage of it. “Thanks. I hope it brings them some peace.”
“It will.” She sighs into the phone. “How are you doing?”
After filling up my glass and taking a drink, I cross over toward my balcony and slide the door open to step outside. It’s frigid outside, but the cold settles around me, and I embrace it like an old friend.
Cold is numbing.
And sometimes that’s what I need.
“I’m good.”
“You’re lying.”
I smile in the dark. “I won’t pretend it didn’t bring up some memories, but it’s been ten years, Mom. I’m doing okay.”
“Then I’ll let it go, but just know that I’m here. Maybe you should come home. We can take a trip.”
Last year, my mom moved back to my hometown of Hope Springs, Maine. She said she needed a fresh start after losing my dad suddenly. I definitely can’t blame her, though my coping mechanism was to throw myself headfirst into work.
Just like after I lost Paul.
Familiar grief surfaces, and I beat it back down. “Maybe. I have a lot of things that need catching up on. But coming home sounds nice.” I can already feel the cold sand against my toes and feel the coastal breeze in my hair.
“You just let me know. I always have a room for you.”
“I know you do, Mom. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome, my Babygirl. I love you so much.”
“Love you, too. Talk soon.”
After ending the call, I close my eyes and tilt my face to the sky.
“Thank You, Lord, for this day. For being with me and all of those innocent people I was defending. In Jesus’ name, I pray, amen.
” When I open my eyes again, I take a deep breath and smile into the dark despite the heaviness in my chest.
The weight of all I’ve lost over the last decade comes crashing down all over again, and the hollow emptiness consumes me.
There was a short time after Paul died that I struggled to believe in much of anything. I didn’t understand why God would rob me of the future Paul and I had promised to each other.
Why He would want me to suffer.
But in that grief, I found my way back to the pages of my Bible, and I’ve come to the understanding that I may not see it, but He always has a plan.
Praising Him through my pain was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, and yet, knowing I wasn’t going through it alone is the only thing that helped me survive it.
Maybe someday I’ll find someone to spend the rest of my life with.
Someone to hold me when I’m lonely.
To love me until we’re old and gray.
Or…maybe I won’t.
Only God knows. And there’s a simple peace in that. In relinquishing that control and not seeking what I know only He can bring me.
Turning away, I head back inside and close the door, then leave my glass of water on the counter beside the photo of me and Paul. And after one final look at his smiling face, I head down the hall to wash the day off of me.