First. Part 15

"Then maybe you shouldn't have started something you didn't want." She growled, her eyes on fire. I met her gaze dagger for dagger.

"I was vulnerable. You, you took advantage of that. I-"

"I don't have to hear this s.h.i.+t." She took a step toward the door, then turned to look over her shoulder. "Especially not from you."

"Get out, Beth. Get out and don't come back." My voice was shaking. I couldn't believe I had just said that. I couldn't breath. She turned slowly to fully face me, searching my face to see my sincerity. She must have seen something that she didn't like. She took a deep breath, adjusting her shoulders as if she had just been slapped.

"Later." She said, her voice barely audible, and she turned to open the door, closing it with a soft click behind her.

I stood where I was, staring at the door in shock. What had just happened? A wave of nausea raced through me, and I hurried over to the bed, plopping down face first as the tears came yet again that day.

PART 7.

I SQUIRMED IN MY chair again. The hard seat was making my b.u.t.t and back ache. I blew out a long breath, readjusting my hat as the speaker droned on and on. Who cares! Just give us our d.a.m.n diplomas, already. I reached down and played with the gold cord around my neck, and looked around. My fellow graduates looked just as bored as I felt. I was sitting in the front row, so couldn't look around too much. Mr. Edwards had already given the guy next to me the evil eye for not paying attention.

I snapped out of my dazed reverie when I heard our speaker finally say, "And now we will begin to call our graduates of the cla.s.s of nineteen eighty four, honored with a gold cord, earning a grade point average of three point seven to four point oh."

Yippy. About time. I sat up straight, and smoothed out my gown. Our row would be first to be called. At the signal, we all stood, waiting in line as one by one we were called up.

"Emily Jane Thomas! Three point nine-five." I smiled and walked up onto the stage, feeling like a million bucks. I shook the princ.i.p.als hand as he handed me my diploma, and headed toward the ramp that would take me back to my seat. As I stepped back onto the auditorium floor, I searched the audience, seeing my parents and Billy, and his new girlfriend, Nina. My eyes quickly trailed over the other people around them, recognizing some of my friend's parents, but not seeing who I was looking for. I knew she wouldn't come, but I had hoped in the deepest part of me. I think I saw it like some movie where the heroine was surprised as the valiant knight rode up on his white horse, forgiving the naive maiden. Fact was, I hadn't seen Beth since the day she moved out of her mother's house. That had been back in early November. I had no idea where she had gone, or if she would ever forgive me.

I took my seat, and tried to look interested as everyone else went up to receive their prize for four years of study. My heart cracked just a bit when I heard them say, "Toby Elliot Samson. Erika Lynn Serky." No Beth Sayers. Then, never had I heard of a high school drop out getting a diploma.

I was getting more and more frustrated by the day. I was bored out of my mind! The longer I sat at home, the more admiration I had for my mother, staying home all these years. I sat at the kitchen table, the Pueblo Chieftain spread out in front of me. I scanned the Cla.s.sified section, looking over the help wanted section. My parents had told me I should enjoy this last summer before heading off to college, but I had had enough joy, and was ready to start feeling productive again. With a sigh I scanned the page with my finger, looking over the tons of babysitting jobs. Not interesting. I didn't really know what I was looking for, per se, but I decided that since I was one of the those lucky kids who didn't have to work that summer, I was going to do just what I wanted to do.

My eyes suddenly stopped in their search. I squinted, drawing my brows to make sure I was reading right. Hot d.a.m.n!

Help wanted in private law firm of Monica Nivens. Secretarial, must be able to type, file, etc. Some training preferred.

I couldn't believe it. I knew absolutely nothing about secretarial work, but to work for a law firm. And I had no idea that my neighbor had her own firm. I was even more impressed than I had been with her as a child.

I unbuckled my seat belt, and glanced over at the building with a deep, nervous breath. Gathering my wits with my resume, I climbed out of the Jeep, and headed toward the darkly tinted, gla.s.s double doors. The Nivens law firm shared s.p.a.ce with another lawyer that I didn't remember the name of. There was a single receptionist desk in the middle of the small, well air-conditioned lobby. A woman sat at the desk, her brows drawn as she concentrated on a form in front of her.

I walked up to the desk, looking around, waiting for the woman to notice me. She didn't seem to feel the need, so I cleared my throat. Her head snapped up, as if I had surprised her, and she looked at me questioningly.

"h.e.l.lo." I smiled. She still looked at my questioningly. "I'm here to see Monica Nivens." I told her, and got no reaction from her at all. "Um, she is a lawyer here?" maybe if I explained it to her a bit better she'd pretend to be helpful.

"Yeah, that way." She said, pointing a long-nailed finger as she turned her attention back to her form. I followed her finger, and saw another darkly-tinted gla.s.s door. In white letters was stenciled: Monica J. Nivens. Attorney at law. A feeling of awe washed through me. Wow! A real lawyer. I was so excited.

I walked to the door, feeling very nervous for reasons that I couldn't figure out. I pushed it open, and stepped inside a nice office done in maroons and dark greens. Two chairs sat against the wall by the door. A single desk was across the room, a computer set up on it, and tons of paperwork scattered across top. No one was sitting behind it, however. I looked around, confused. Then a door in a short hall off to the left opened, and a man looking to be in his early twenties, stepped out with a cup of coffee. He looked up and nearly threw the cup into the air. He closed his eyes and put his hand on his chest.

"My G.o.d, you scared me." He walked over to the desk, and set the cup down, then turned back to me. "Do you have an appointment?" he asked, dabbing at his tie with a Kleenex. "I guess it's a good thing brown is in this year." He muttered.

"Sorry about that." I smiled, hoping that I didn't feel quite as stupid as I felt. "Um, I saw the ad in the paper for-"

"Oh, yeah. Right." He sat behind the desk and sipped from the coffee, wrinkling his nose and setting the cup down. "She keeps making it this strong, she'll have more hair on her chest than I do." I grinned as he looked around for a pen.

"How about the one there?" I asked, pointing to my ear. He looked up at me, reaching up to feel the Bic behind his ear. He rolled his eyes, and began to write.

"Okay, sweetie, what's your name?'

"Emily Thomas."

"Emily Thomas," he murmured as he wrote it down. "Okay. Wait here. Oh, give me your resume." He reached his hand out, and I handed him the paper that would tell Monica that I had absolutely no useable experience whatsoever. The man walked off toward another door in the hall, disappearing behind its dark paneling. I sat in one of the chairs against the wall, and crossed my legs. I felt very self-conscious in my summer dress. I rarely wore them, was told I looked good in them, and figured this was definitely an occasion for one. I smoothed out the skirt as I waited.

"Hon?" my head snapped up to see the man from the desk standing in the doorway to what I a.s.sumed was Monica's office. He smiled and waved me over.

"Thanks." I said as I pa.s.sed him. He shut the door behind me, and I turned to look around. The office itself wasn't that big, but the s.p.a.ce it did have was used well. The colors were like that in the reception area, maroons and dark greens. Surprisingly masculine motif. Sitting behind the large cherrywood desk was Monica Nivens. My neighbor. I stood by the door, my arms crossed in front of me, and stared at her. She wore her dark hair very short. Certainly shorter than I had ever seen it, but it was very complimentary to her thin face, and dark eyes. She wore a red pant suit that made for a striking contrast between her dark features and pale skin. She was beautiful.

"h.e.l.lo there, Emily." I jumped, started from my appraisal to look into amused dark eyes. "Come on in. I really don't intend to yell across my office at you." I smiled nervously, and sat in one of the two chairs that were placed before her desk. She looked so professional, so regal sitting there with her elbows on the desk blotter, her fingers steeped under her chin. I noticed a pair black rimmed reading gla.s.ses sitting on a manila file.

"Hi." I said, feeling rather stupid.

"It's been quite a while." She said.

"Yes." I answered intelligently. Always impressed with my own communication skills.

"Well," she said, grabbing my resume from between her elbows that had been resting on the desk. "I have to be honest here, Emily. You really have no experience." She smiled at me. I nodded, feeling really stupid. "And to be honest, the paper was supposed to take that add out on Friday. The job's been filled."

"Oh." I said, my heart sinking. "Well, thank you for seeing me." I smiled, and began to stand.

"Hold on a sec." She said, sitting back in her chair, studying me. "You still intend to go to school for law?" she asked conversationally. I nodded enthusiastically.

"Yes. I got a scholars.h.i.+p to CU. Four year." She raised her brows, obviously impressed.

"Good for you, Emily. It's a good school." She said with a wink, having graduated from Boulder herself. "Listen, I love to see young people follow their dreams, so I'll tell you what. I have a really big case I'm working on right now, and could really use an a.s.sistant. Would you be interested? Could show you a bit of the ropes." My eyes lit up, and I felt my chest puff out with pride. Was she serious? G.o.d, please let her be serious.

"Absolutely!" I said, leaning forward in my chair.

"Great." She smiled, pleased. "I can't pay you much."

"Oh, that's no problem!" I exclaimed, probably a little too much get go in that one. "To me the experience is priceless." I smiled. Okay, was I trying to win a beauty pageant, or get this job? I had always had so much admiration for Monica, and the thought of actually working with, and learning from her was almost too much.

I walked through the door of my house as if I were walking on a cloud. Nothing could burst my bubble. I flipped through the pieces of mail in my hand as I headed into the kitchen to get some iced tea when my brows drew, and I tossed the other stuff on the table. Let my mother worry about those later. I saw the heading in the top left hand corner, and recognized it as letters Aunt Kitty used to get from the doctor. I plopped down on one of the kitchen chairs, and slid my finger under the flap, ripping it open. The neatly folded letter came out easily, and I covered my mouth with my hand as I read. I dropped my hands, along with the letter, into my lap, and stared out the window over the sink. I could feel my throat tighten, and immediately tears sprang to my eyes.

"Hey, honey." My mom said as she brushed by with a large trash bag from gathering trash around the house. When I didn't answer, she turned to me. "Emmy? You okay, babe?" I handed the letter to her, my eyes looking on numbly ahead of me.

"Apparently someone does not keep their records updated very well." I said quietly. My mother took the letter, setting the bag on the floor. She read over it, her brows drawn in concentration, then her face paled and fell. She gently laid the paper on the table, walked over to the sink, her shoulders slumped as she rested her weight on her arms.

"Now they want to give Kitty a kidney." She breathed. I walked over to her as she began to quietly cry. I laid my hands on her arms, resting my chin on her shoulder.

"You okay, mom?" I asked, swallowing back my emotions so I wouldn't upset her anymore. She nodded.

I sat in the driver's seat, still parked outside my parent's house, and checked the address that I had been given one last time. Greenwood. Nice area. Impressed, I turned the key in the Camry, and pulled away from the curb. As I drove I looked around the city. My mother had told me about how much Pueblo had been growing over the past five or so years, and she was certainly right. As I looked, I saw so many businesses and neighborhoods that had not been there when I had been a kid. After the big quake in California, people had left the state in droves, and many of them had found new homes in Colorado. Why not? The economy was booming, and Pueblo seemed as good a place to them as any other. They were settling down there, and opening new businesses, or expanding on the one they'd had back on the coast. New York had become my home, but all the same, it felt good to be in a place where you knew you would always be welcome.

I drove by the my old high school, and smiled at the cars in the parking lot. Sunday practices for whatever. A line of yellow buses unloaded kids from a returning sporting event. It all seemed so long ago, like another life time ago. In many ways it was.

I hoped my slacks and simple b.u.t.ton-up s.h.i.+rt would do the trick. Monica had told me to dress dressy-casual. Whatever that meant, so I had come up with this. I parked in the back lot where she had told me to, cutting the engine, and readying myself for my first day as an a.s.sistant.

"Okay," Richard, the office manager said as he gave me the "grand tour". "This is where she keeps all the files. They are all in order by last name. Each case is given a number." He pulled one of the manila folders from a filing cabinet, and showed me the number and the name printed on the front. He opened the folder, and showed me the file. "This woman here, she is a total loser." He said, looking very serious as he eyed the details. "Now, don't do what I'm doing right now, because A. Monica gets really, really mad. And B. It's really, really illegal." I grinned and followed as we walked from the file room where the copy machine and coffee machine's were, and we continued on to his desk in the reception area. "This is my desk, is you hadn't figured that out by now. I answer all the phones, make appointments, yadda, yadda. Any questions about anything other than law stuff, ask me, not Monica. Don't get me wrong, she's a great boss with fabulous taste in clothes, but she has absolutely no clue what goes on here, or how to run this place." He stopped to take a break, and a sip from his coffee, his finger reaching up to put a perfectly placed piece of blonde hair back in place. "She'd be lost without me."

"Oh, really?" I jumped, turning to see Monica walking into the office with her briefcase. She had a brow quirked, and a grin on her face. "Don't listen to a word he says, Emily. He's usually full of it, anyway."

"Am not." He said, his hand on his hip with an incredulous look on his handsome face.

"Jack, I need you to pull the Reed case, please?" Monica didn't wait for an answer. As she breezed by his desk, she dropped a white bag, which made Jack's blue eyes widen, and headed off into her office. I stayed where I was, not sure what I was supposed to do. Jack jerked toward Monica's office, then back to me. Getting it, I followed.

Monica waited for me at her door, holding it open for me, then closing is behind her. I stood in the center of the room, waiting for her to tell me what I was supposed to do. She walked over to her desk, her black suit well-fitted, high heels sinking into the thick carpet.

"Jack is a pain in the a.s.s, but I'd be lost without him." She finally said, plopping down into her chair. I sat in the chair I had been in the day before during my interview. She ran her fingers through short, dark hair, and sighed. "Okay, well did he give you a basic tour of the place?" she asked, sitting forward in her chair with her fingers steeped again.

"Yes. He showed me the file room-"

"Ah, yes. Where he goes through and reads the cases and pretends that I don't know?" I stared at her, not sure is she were joking or not. She cracked the slightest bit of a smile, giving me permission to share in the joke.

"Exactly. He showed me how the front is ran."

"Good. Okay." She opened her briefcase and removed her reading gla.s.ses and a pen, and a stack of folders, then placed it on the floor under her desk. "Here's the deal,"

Monica went on to explain that she was working on a case for a Mrs. Rhoda Mills. Mills was suing her husband for domestic violence, and also to get a restraining order against him for herself and their eleven year old daughter, citing suspicion of s.e.xual abuse. I listened, transfixed, as my new boss outlined what she had already done in the case, and what still needed to be done in order to go to court in two weeks. We would have a lot of research still to do.

"How good are you at research?" she asked. I looked up from the case I had been reading.

"Really good at it." She nodded and smiled.

"Excellent. You'll be doing a lot of it here. By time you go off to college you'll either love it or hate it."

I decided to take the long way, driving through the park, watching families as they laughed and played together. The smells of hamburgers and hot dogs on the grills wafted through the open windows of the rental car. I smiled as I watched children chase each other, or the volleyball nets that had been set up. I braked as I saw a big red ball roll out into the narrow lane of the park road. A man waved as he hurried in front of the car to grab it, then ran back onto the gra.s.s to lecture a careless child of the dangers. It seemed as if all was well in the world.

"Where the h.e.l.l is my wife!" a man's voice screamed out. I glanced up from my work to look at Monica with questioning eyes. She had already been pulling her reading gla.s.ses off her nose, and glancing at the closed door.

"Sir, you need to calm down."

"Get your G.o.dd.a.m.n hands off me! Rhoda! Rhoda, where the f.u.c.k are you?" the voice was getting closer to us in the office, and the sound of the file room door banging open made me jump. Monica sighed deeply, and stood from her desk, her face like stone. A moment later her office door swung open. In the doorway stood a large man with a hanging belly, and greasy baseball cap over graying hair. His face was red from the his upset, his eyes like those of a shrew. He looked around the room, his gaze stopping on me for a moment, before roaming over to Monica. "Which one a you is that Nivens b.i.t.c.h?" he asked, the stench of his breath reaching to me, whiskey prevalent enough to make me feel sick.

"Sir, you have no right to be in here." Monica said, her voice even, and calm. I had no clue how she was keeping herself together. My knees were beginning to knock. He glared at her.

"Where's my wife?" the man growled.

"I'm not your wife's babysitter, sir. I am her attorney." He bared crooked, stained teeth, taking a step forward. Monica did not move an inch, crossed her arms over her chest. "You must know this behavior will not help your case any." She pointed out. He stopped, looked slightly confused, but then the anger returned to his face. "Jack, call the police for Mr. Mills." She said, raising her voice enough for Jack to hear, never losing eye contact with the man. Ronald Mills understanding the implications of his being there. He took a step out of the office.

"You tell that b.i.t.c.h Rhoda that she will never take Carrie away from me." He growled, taking another step back.

"You can tell her yourself in court. Good day, sir." Mills stared at her for a moment before with a breath of disgust, walked out of the office. I glanced over at my boss, my eyes as big as saucers. Monica turned away from the door, her fingers at her temples. I could tell she was shaken up, and was trying to get herself under control.

"You were brilliant." I finally breathed. Monica chuckled ruefully.

"That is one thing they don't teach you in law school. How to deal with irate husbands. I really thought he was going to pull a gun, or something." She turned toward me, perching on the edge of her desk, her hands still slightly shaking.

"Well, you were great. I can't believe you were able to talk him down like that." My admiration had grown by leaps and bounds. Monica glanced down at her watch, then clapped her hands together.

"Well, I don't know about you, but I could use a break." She smiled at me, and I returned it eagerly. "What do you say to some lunch?"

Jack had other lunch plans, so we found ourselves out in the historic district of Pueblo on B Street, sitting at an outside cafe. I ran my hands through my hair, pulling it back away from my face. It was a hot day, and days like that I understood the inclination to chop the hair. I looked across the small, round table at my boss. She picked at her salad, taking a bite now and then. I stared down at my own plate, the cheeseburger and fries long gone.

"Are you okay?" I asked. Monica glanced up at me, and nodded.

"Yeah. That just shook me up." She set her fork down, and sat back in the wrought iron chair. "You know, I try and do so much for this community. When I finished my four years of college, then headed into law school, I had the typical idealism of youth and being naive." She took a drink from her ice water. "I really thought I could make a difference, you know?"

"But you do." I said. She chuckled quietly.

"Oh, Emily. I look at you, and I see myself all over again."

"Do you regret it? Going into law?" I stirred my straw around my c.o.ke before taking a sip. Monica was quiet for a moment as she thought of her answer. Then with a sigh she shook her head.

"No. I don't."

We talked for another hour, and she told me all about law school, and what I had too look forward to after my pre-law degree. I ate up every word, excitement soaring through me. I wanted to move on with my life, get away from the life of my childhood. What my age couldn't tell me then was that those would be some of the best years, the years that I would return to in my mind.

I pulled the Camry to a stop at a stop light, and tapped the wheel with my fingers as I waited for it to turn green. A large part of me was glad to be back home, though it would have been better under different circ.u.mstances, obviously. I shook my head as I realized that my twenty year cla.s.s reunion was coming up in a few years. I never went to my ten year. At the time, it seemed pointless. Now, I wasn't so sure.

I realized as I began to drive again, that I had through my arrogance, thought that nothing pre-New York mattered. When in retrospect, everything pre-New York had shaped me into the woman I had become. I think now and then we all need a good lesson like that, as painful as it may be at the time.

As the weeks went by I realized just how much research Monica had been talking about that first day. Was she ever wrong. There was not just a lot of research, there was a ton of it. I did not mind after while, after I got pa.s.sed the overwhelmed feeling, that is. I found out that during law school I would have to have some time in as an intern, and this could take up some of that slack. I was thrilled. Monica was the most amazing person to work for, She was tough, but extremely fair and very generous. And, to my surprise, was a lot of fun.

I stared up at the dark ceiling of my bedroom, tired from another long night of depositions. After we'd left the office, Monica and I had headed to her small house over on Park. We set up the Burger King we'd bought on the carpet, and went to work, trying to find every angle of the case we'd need. She went over every point line for line with me so I would understand the ins and outs. I was impressed with Monica's extensive knowledge, and the way her mind worked. She had already told me that I could go to court with her the following Thursday so I could see how this case, that I had worked so hard on, was fought. It was a simple custody case, but nonetheless, I was buzzing with excitement and antic.i.p.ation. My first real case to witness, and I would get to sit at the table with Monica and her client as her a.s.sistant. She had told me that after the trial, she had a surprise for me.

I glanced out my window as a car pa.s.sed outside, the headlights s.h.i.+ning across the ceiling like an apparition. I hugged my trusty teddy, Ruffles to my chest as my gaze landed on the overhead light. I thought about my new boss. I wondered if she was married, which I doubted, or had a boyfriend. I had sort of brought it up one day, and she had made pretty plain that the subject was off limits. I wondered why? Was it too painful to discuss? Had she been through a really terrible break-up? I grinned as I realized I sounded like one of Beth's stories. Beth. It had been so long since I'd seen her. I'd heard through the grapevine of the neighborhood that she'd gotten some job, though what, I had no idea, and was doing the community theater. That part I did not doubt at all. I hoped she was happy. Beth deserved a bit of happiness after such an unhappy childhood.

That old saying, don't know what you've got until it's gone, really made sense to me that night. I realized just how much I had taken Beth for granted, thinking that she'd always be there. But wasn't that what she had always said? I would be nineteen in a few days, and Beth would soon follow in October. We were growing up.

I sat at the table, digging anything out what Monica asked for. She was brilliant, pleading her case to show why Laura Martinez should have custody of her daughter, and not the father, Jose Sanchez. I watched the judge, and the jurors to see how they responded to her. They watched with interest, and sometimes out and out awe. This was definitely what I wanted to spend the rest of my life doing, and where I wanted to be. Monica Nivens was a sight to behold. My eyes trailed over her well cut suit, the way the gray, pin-stripped skirt clung to her hips, the jacket dipping in at the waist, then flaring out at the shoulders and bust. She wore a silk blouse underneath, and a simple silver chain around her neck to match the small, silver hoops in her ears. I gazed back down to her legs, long, shapely, and ending in sleek, black heels. She was beautiful.

I was shaken from my thoughts by her low voice, asking for her notes. I shook my head to shake myself out of my daze, and handed her the yellow legal pad. She grinned, and turned back to her witness. I tried my best to concentrate on what was going on, but could not help but watch her every move. I mean, I admired and wanted to be like her some day. I should look. Right?

Monica was elated as we walked out of the court room, her client right next to her. They laughed, and talked, and Miss. Martinez thanked her over and over again for helping to get her daughter, Maria back under her roof. Monica was gracious, and kind.

"Please take care of her, Laura." She said softly, taking the younger woman's hand in hers as we waited for the elevator doors to open. Laura Martinez nodded enthusiastically.

"Of course, of course!" she said in her heavily accented English, then her happiness seemed to fade. She looked down at the floor. "Miss. Nivens, I talked with my father this morning, and he is not going to be able to get the money." She looked up at Monica with tear-stained cheeks. "Will you let me make payments to you?" Monica patted her hand and smiled.

"Tell you what, Laura. You just concentrate on your daughter right now, okay?" the young woman's eyes widened, as did her mouth.

"What are you saying?" she breathed, her dark eyes filled with hope, and disbelief.

"I'm saying, concentrate on you and little Maria." The small woman gasped, and grabbed Monica in a tight, crus.h.i.+ng hug. Monica smiled, surprised, and hugged the sobbing woman back.

"Oh, thank you, thank you! I pray for you." Monica slowly pulled away and smiled down at her.