TWENTY-ONE
It wasn’t until three evenings later that I finally felt calm enough—and brave enough—to listen to all the phone messages that had been piling up ever since I’d left Parsons Valentine.
When I felt good and ready, I poured myself a glass of red wine, wrapped myself in an old flannel blanket, pressed PLAY on the machine, and curled up onto the couch to listen.
I leaned my head all the way back and closed my eyes.
“Ingrid, sweetie.” Rachel’s voice was strained. “Are you okay? I just heard about what happened at work. Call me.” Beep.
“Hi, it’s me again,” said Rachel. “Where are you, Ingrid? Are you okay? Haven’t heard from you in a few days, are you still eating? Let me know if you want me to come over. Just give me a call to let me know you’re all right, okay? Doesn’t matter how late.” Beep.
“Ingrid?” It was Margo, speaking in soft tones, and I knew she was at work, trying not to be overheard. “Honey, I heard what happened. We’re all in shock. We just can’t believe it. You deserve it more than anyone. Let me know if there’s anything I can do for you, honey.” Beep.
“Ingrid. It’s Tyler. Listen, I have no idea what happened, and no one will tell me anything.
I can’t believe it, Ingrid. You’re the one person everyone thought really deserved it.
This is total bullshit. Anyway, I just wanted to say I’m worried about you.
Call me when you’re feeling up to it. I just hope you’re okay, sweetie. ” Beep.
A moment later: “Yung, it’s me.” Murph’s low, warm voice filled my living room.
I sat up, sloshing red wine into my lap and onto the couch.
“I know you probably hate me, but I just wanted to tell you that . . . that I’m really sorry about everything that happened.
” He paused. “I mean about the partnership vote, and . . .” He trailed off.
“And about us, too. I’m really, really sorry.
I know I screwed up.” He paused again and sighed.
I could tell he was trying hard to sound plaintive and pathetic.
“And I hope, in some way, I mean, I know it’s a lot to ask of you, but I hope that in some small way, at some time down the road, you might even come to forgive me.
” A final pause. Then, “So, that’s all I really wanted to say, Ingrid.
Call me sometime, if you want. I mean, I hope you will. Bye.”
How dare he?
I leapt off the couch. I stood there in the middle of my living room, about to scream.
I screwed my eyes so tightly shut I saw angry spirals of red.
How dare he call here, invading my home, sounding so calm, so collected, so reasonable?
In what parallel universe would any of those things Murph had said to me—all those horrible, painful things that he’d screamed at me in his apartment—ever be, in any way, forgivable?
I looked down. The red wine I’d spilled was seeping into the fabric of my beautiful, impractical, celery-colored couch.
I rushed to the kitchen, ran a couple of white dish towels under the cold water, and dashed back to the living room, where I daubed and then scrubbed the fabric.
No matter what I did, the ruby color wouldn’t come up.
All I succeeded in doing was further spreading the stain around.
Fuck. I give up. I really just give up.
I stalked into the kitchen, balled up the ruined dish towels, and hurled them into the sink.
I stood there, bracing myself against the smooth polished countertop, and closed my eyes, pressing the heels of both hands hard against them, trying to make the angry spirals of red go away.
I opened my eyes. I took a few deep, soothing breaths.
In, out.
In, then out.
Again.
Breathe.
Calm.
Okay.
I leaned forward and rested both elbows heavily on the cool marble surface.
As usual, my kitchen was spotless. When you never cooked, your kitchen remained clean.
My gaze fell upon the only thing that was cluttering up the countertop—the Wall Street Journal that I’d picked up three days ago, lying inches from my left elbow.
As I glanced at the newsprint, one of the headlines that I’d only skimmed earlier at the Bagel Boat now leapt out at me in sharp relief:
CONGRESS IN PARTISAN STANDOFF
ON DRILLING REFORM
I bolted straight up. I grabbed the paper and flattened it out on the counter. I opened it to the page with the full news article and read:
BY DEbrA M. FINNEGAN
Democrats in the House and Senate plan to introduce new legislation in the coming months that will dramatically increase offshore drilling safety requirements and remove caps on corporate liability for catastrophic oil spills, sources on Capitol Hill say.
Environmental groups, labor unions, and advocacy groups for workers and small businesses disproportionately affected by last year’s BP oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico have expressed frustration over Congress’s slow legislative response to that disaster.
Democrats facing the upcoming election year are attempting to woo back their traditional voter base by proposing a new reform bill that will take a harder line on offshore drilling safety.
Key changes in the new bill include the elimination of liability limits for private companies involved in offshore drilling accidents, new regulatory standards for offshore rigs, and mandatory OSHA and environmental safety upgrades for owners and operators of such drilling platforms.
Although Republicans are expected to oppose the new bill, which could prove costly for large oil conglomerates, experts now say that if a bloc of lawmakers can agree on adjustments to the bill to ensure that smaller oil companies will not be disproportionately affected, the reform package has a chance to pass with a slim majority.
“We know we’re in the very early stages yet,” said Rep.
Kathryn McAlister (D-CA), newest member of the House Energy and Commerce Committee, “but we’re confident that we will prevail. ”
When I’d finished the article, I read it again. And then again. Thank you, Debra M. Finnegan. I closed my eyes, summoning everything I could remember from Professor Gunderson’s Legal Ethics and Professional Responsibility class so many years ago.
Before I lost my nerve, I picked up my cell phone. I still had the number programmed in, after having called it so many times over the past two months, but my hands were shaking so badly now that I had to hit the button twice.
Finally, I heard ringing on the other end. Once, twice, three times.
“Slugger,” said the gruff but warm voice on the other end of the line. “Well, well. To what do I owe this nice surprise?”