But the likelihood of one just mutely hanging out in her living room?
Infinitesimal.
I stumble back up the stairs to the open air, and even though it’s sweltering outside, I feel immediate comfort at being out in the open. If I got stuck down there, my chances of being found would be limited.
There’s so much, too much, in the way of unwanted surprises and strange incidents, and it unnerves me—all of it. My mother’s behavior has gotten increasingly erratic, or I’ve been so far removed from it that it’s evoking old memories. This trip has been a minefield, and explosives keep detonating.
Not ready to go back inside the house and feeling suddenly restless, I start kicking gravel as I head down the driveway toward the highway.
In the middle of the rolling acres of farmland and cornfields, there’s peace and quiet.
If only my childhood home felt that way.
This visit back isn’t what I expected. I came home for answers and have developed more questions. I deserve to know what happened that night in the barn, why my mother is acting strange about her health and personal problems, and if there’s some kind of medical diagnosis to soften the blow. And suddenly, a chill runs down my spine, my stroll no longer relaxing.
I have a decision to make when I reach the open road. Keep walking or turn around. I don’t want to go back to my mother, because she’s not her anymore. It’s a painful realization, and it hits me like a ton of bricks.
I’m spooked when a vibration comes from my pocket before I realize it’s my cell.
I expect it to be Adrienne, but the number is unknown, and I frown. I don’t want to give up my secrecy, and only my best friend has this number.
It continues to buzz, and I’m torn with indecision. I don’t have voice mail set up for obvious reasons, so I have to either answer the call or burn with curiosity. I remind myself I can always hang up if it’s a crank call.
“Don’t hang up,” the female voice pleads when I answer. “This is Leslie.”
Shit.
My paralegal, or should I say former paralegal, got ahold of this number.
Since I haven’t given my identity up, I’m about to disconnect, but Leslie quickly tells me she and Adrienne had a chat, and Adrienne gave her my number to call me.
Why in the hell would she do that? I fume to myself.
For once, I don’t know how to act or what to say. I’m ashamed about my exit from work and afraid to learn Leslie’s opinion of me now, but I’m also worried I can’t trust her. Even though she was one of my closest confidantes, I can’t be too careful. Mainly because I used to count Tanner in that category, and he turned out to be a conniving douchebag.
For all I know, Leslie might be helping Tanner to oust me from the firm. She could be gathering information for him, and if she tells the partners I’m not at rehab, I’d be out on my ass in a heartbeat, which would be precisely what he wants.
Leslie must sense my indecisiveness. Without waiting for a greeting, she starts babbling. “I cannot believe what happened to you, and not only that, I can’t believe that someone would want to hurt you. He’s a master manipulator, and I had to tell you.”
“Who?” I play dumb.
“Tanner,” she whispers. “They reassigned me to his desk.”
“Are you in the office?”
“Not right now,” she says. “But did you know they gave him the Marcona case?”
“Really?” I act surprised.
“But when Tanner met with Nico, Nico hated him and wanted to fire him on the spot. Tanner told Nico you botched his case, which is part of the reason you were asked to take a leave of absence. He actually said your drinking problem became severe enough to land you in rehab because you can’t display mental acuity with clients.”
“And Nico bought it?”
“Not at first. He demanded a meeting with the partners. Obviously, Tanner begged Nico not to breathe a word of his confession, since he wasn’t supposed to share such personal information regarding you.”
“So much for that NDA,” I mumble. Great. Now Nico knows I was forced out and sent with my tail between my legs to rehab. “Thanks for letting me know.”
“Another thing, Sib. Tanner thought I was at lunch, and I heard him raking you over the coals to the partners. He said you’re a costly liability that needs to be cut loose.” Leslie takes a deep breath. “I heard the partners and Tanner discussing a bar complaint being filed against you.”
I try not to scream and pull my hair out. “Nico filed a complaint?”
“No. Worse.” She exhales a long breath. “His wife, Christine, did.”
“For what?” I squawk.
“Unprofessional conduct. Sleeping with her husband, who was your client.”
I silently instruct myself to take a few deep breaths so I don’t scream or burst into sobs, and Leslie patiently waits for me to regain control.
Maybe my mother and I aren’t so different when it comes to persistent rumors.
“Thanks for letting me know, Leslie. I really appreciate it.” This is the proverbial icing on the cake. Clenching my hands into fists, I’m lost in a whirlwind of emotions—shock, anger, and disappointment. At some point, I need to call Chuck and tell him where I am and what I’m doing, but I fear he’ll tell Holden and revoke our agreement regarding my ninety-day license suspension and replace it with a harsher punishment. Not that I don’t deserve it, but I’m not ready to face him or further consequences. I still have to figure out what to do with my mother.
“Of course.” Leslie sighs. “I want you to know I have your back. This isn’t what I wanted.”
“Thanks.”
“But Sibley?”
“Uh-huh?”
“I love you to pieces,” she says, “but I need you to get off your roller coaster and refocus. You’re a lush. A
