Much of that was my fault. Even though we were both grown women now, I was seven years older and still felt the need to look out for her. It didn’t help that our personalities were as different as night and day. She found my OCD tendencies stifling and oppressive; I found her free-spiritedness chaotic and undisciplined.
Regardless, I’d be out of her hair soon enough. I’d decided to cut my stay short and leave a day earlier than planned. There was no reason to linger. I’d accomplished everything I’d set out to do, and she was clearly doing fine without my constant meddling. I’d told Paul that I’d help out today though, and I would.
He was already at the office when I arrived. His door was open, but he was on a call, so I just poked my head in to let him know I was there, waved, and went to pick up where I’d left off the night before.
When I walked into the conference room, I felt that odd chiver again. Instantly on alert, I looked under the table, in the cupboards, and behind every door.
I found nothing. I was alone. The files were still in neatly stacked piles ... except for one, which was slightly askew and had a piece of paper sticking out of it.
I recognized it instantly. It was the file I’d created on Miriam’s case. The paper sticking out was a contact summary sheet. It had my information, Miriam’s, and that of the judge who had issued the restraining and protection from abuse orders as well as Caleb’s last known address.
I tucked the paper back inside, aligning the edges with the other contents, placating my need for neatness while contemplating the cause. I knew I hadn’t left a page sticking out like that; it would have bothered me until I fixed it.
Perhaps Paul had been looking at it. I had no idea how long he’d stayed the night before, and he’d come in before me this morning.
While I waited for Paul to finish so we could hit some of those to-dos, I made myself useful by carrying the closed case files back into the storage room and putting them back into cabinets. As I put each one into its proper place, I added an entry into a spreadsheet with case IDs, cross-referenced by names, dates, and type—divorce, estate, custody, et cetera—so each one could be found quickly and with minimal effort.
I had to pass Stella’s former workspace to get from the conference room to the storage area and wondered again how she’d scored such a great position. I could admit, I was a little envious. It was a nice office, much nicer than the modular cubicle I had in Boston, with dark wood and windows that overlooked the park.
Plus, Paul was great to work with. I liked my job, but I think I’d like it a lot more if I could come into the office everyday knowing he’d be there.
What I didn’t like was the fact that Stella’s overpowering perfume continued to linger. I didn’t remember it being quite as bad the day before, but perhaps I’d just been too excited about hitting those files for it to fully register. I opened the window to air the place out and began to breathe easier almost immediately.
Paul came by before too long. He wasn’t dressed in a suit like he usually was, probably because it was the weekend. I had to say, he looked every bit as handsome in jeans and a button-down as he did in Brooks Brothers. Maybe even more so. He had his sleeves rolled up, showcasing muscular forearms covered in just the perfect amount of dark hair.
I showed him what I’d been doing and explained about the spreadsheet. He told me I was amazing—his words—and while I responded with a polite thank-you, I was squealing like a tween with a backstage pass at a boy-band concert on the inside.
We went back to the conference room, and on my suggestion, we prioritized his current open cases in order of importance.
We were just about to open the first one when he said, “So, what did you think of Mama C’s?”
Chapter Twelve: Paulie
“We never actually got there,” Allison said, disappointment lacing her voice.
“Why not?”
She explained about an author group meeting or something. Still, it seemed like a pretty shitty thing for her sister to bail on her at the last minute like that.
“She said we could go tonight, but ...”
“But ...” I prompted.
“But I’ve decided to leave a day earlier than planned.”
I had known she was going back to Boston soon, yet my mind and body railed violently against the idea.
“Why?”
She offered a small, sad smile. “It’s time.”
“You’re leaving tonight?”
She nodded. “Probably around dinnertime. I prefer to drive at night when there’s less traffic.”
I did a quick calculation. “That’s what, about a five-hour drive from here to Boston?”
“Four hours and fifty-four minutes, barring any delays.”
“That’s not too bad.”
“No,” she agreed, “not bad at all.”
We didn’t talk any more about her leaving, but it remained on my mind. As each hour passed—far too quickly for my liking—my admiration for her grew.
We were down to the last case file, and I knew I was running out of time. “Would you mind getting started on this? I have something I have to do.”
She didn’t hesitate. “Of course.”
“I won’t be gone more than an hour. Don’t leave before I get back, okay?”
“Okay.”
I excused myself and had my phone to my ear as I left the building. “Ma, I need a favor ...”
I RETURNED TO THE OFFICE with several bags in hand, ready to put my plan into motion.
“Perfect timing. I just finished.” Allison looked at the bags. “What do you have there?”
“A surprise. Give me a hand, will you?”
I extracted a linen tablecloth from one of the bags, and Allison, though bemused, helped me spread it over the now-clear conference table. I
