Look Closely - Laura Caldwell [53]
“You weren’t asked to write an essay about what it would mean to be partner?” Paige’s face tightened, her eyes narrowed.
I took a moment to think and draw out Paige’s confusion. “Oh, that thing,” I said at last.
Paige recovered her composure. “Well, have you done it yet?”
“Weeks ago,” I lied.
“Really?”
“You should get yours to Werner soon. I heard they’re taking timeliness into account.”
Paige’s mouth formed a small O before it was taken over by a distrustful frown. Paige was always concerned that I was getting inside information from my father. “I better get going on that then,” Paige said.
“Yes. You better.” I was too tired to spar anymore, so I glanced down at the documents on my desk. Luckily, she took the hint and left.
I forced myself to ignore my sagging eyelids and continued to plod through the work on my desk. At twelve forty-five, I pulled out the McKnight file again, and began to get ready for the lunch meeting.
“Oh, hi, Mr. Sutter,” I heard Amy say. My stomach lurched.
“Call me Will,” my father said, as he always did.
“I’ll try,” she said.
My father stepped into my office, and for a second, the sight of his silver hair, his kind eyes and his warm smile made me forget the last few days and everything I’d learned.
“Welcome back,” he said. The smooth tones of his voice filled the office, carrying to all parts of the room. The perfect voice for a trial lawyer. He wore an olive suit with a creamy shirt and lightly patterned tie. His cuff links matched his tie clip, his brown loafers buffed to a high shine. He always dressed to perfection, even on weekends.
“Hi, Dad,” I said, nervous.
He walked to my desk and held out his right hand. I grasped it with my left, and we squeezed. It was the greeting we had developed when I started working at the firm. We decided it wouldn’t be professional for us to hug in the office, and so the handclasp was our secret sign of affection. I held on a little longer than usual, not wanting to break the bond.
“Anything wrong?” He looked down at our still-gripped hands.
I let mine drop. “No. Of course not.”
“Congrats on the arbitration award.” He sat on one of the chairs in front of my desk.
Finally, someone who understood. “Thanks.”
“Tell me about it.”
This was our usual custom—rehashing a dep, a trial, a mediation. Picking over the testimony, deciding what could have been done differently, what other choices there were to make. My father agreed that Gary’s testimony had hurt, but nothing I could have done would have changed it. He liked my trial strategy, and gave me the names of some recent law-review articles that discussed intellectual property in the Internet world.
This bantering of ours, this legal give-and-take, comforted me. I let myself get lost in it. I pretended that this was any other day.
Too soon, our talk slowed.
“Well,” my father said, “I better get going. I’ve got a settlement conference in half an hour.” He moved forward in his seat.
“Dad,” I said, a little too loudly apparently, because he turned his head to the side ever so slightly, as if he’d heard a sound outside. It was a mild gesture to anyone unfamiliar with him, but I knew it as a look of wariness.
He sat back in the chair and nodded, an invitation to continue.
“I need to know something.” My eyes were down toward my desk, not meeting his. I forced myself to look up and saw him staring at my hands. I was uncurling a paper clip and twisting it around my finger. I dropped the clip and folded my hands together.
“Dad…” Again I faltered, unsure what to ask him first. “Why didn’t you ever—” How hard it was to form a single coherent question from all those battling in my head.
My father gave me another nod.
“I need for you to tell me—”
“Time for the meeting,” Amy said, sticking her head in the door. “Everyone is already in the conference room.”
I exhaled. “I’ll be right there.”
Amy left, and my father leaned forward in his seat. “What is it?”
I shook my head. This wasn’t the time or the