Page 66 of Tides That Bind

I put my ego aside. “I need your help.”

“Sayplease.”

“Caroline—”

“Fine, fine,” she cuts in. “But you do know you aren’t a member of the Bar until you’ve been sworn in.”

I’ll admit, I’ve been so focused on just passing the Bar, I haven’t given a single thought about what comes after.

“Where can I do that?”

“You’ll probably need a week or two to make an appointment with the county clerk,” Caroline tells me. “In the meantime, procedural courtesy is to notify the other party in writing before filing a complaint.”

I recall my conversation with Silas. “I complained enough already.”

Caroline snorts. “Welcome to the legal world—put everything that doesn’t incriminate you or your client in writing. Have it be addressed from Harper. But in the meantime, you’ve got some work to do. Get a pen.”

I don’t have a pen or paper, but I do have one of Lucas's crayons and the cardboard top to the game Clue.

And write, I do—all of Caroline’s instructions, her reading suggestions. I toss the box beside the stack of state law code books and grab my keys, returning an hour later with pens, notepads, highlighters, post its, a whiteboard, and a Slurpee because I could use the energy.

Harper’s car is already in the driveway when I park and I find her standing over the dining room table.

“What’s this?” She holds the box of Clue up.

I plop the plastic bag and white board on the table. “The Cliff’s Notes forHow to File a Lawsuit for Dummies,” I joke, but she doesn’t look too amused. I reach into the bag, pulling out note pads and tap the yellow, lined paper. “Can’t be a lawyer without a legal pad. They teach you that in law school, I just forgot.”

Harper looks only a hair more amused.

“Caroline called, and I needed to pick her brain. I didn’t have anything in my immediate vicinity to write on.”

Harper steps back from the table as I sit down. “Does she know your plan?”

“She does.”

“What does she think?”

I know my sister istryingto be supportive, but that doesn’t mean she necessarily thinks it’s a good idea. I redirect. “I need to see a copy of Nate’s most recent contract. Do you have it?”

“I think so.” She disappears and returns a few minutes later with a folder. “This one?”

Taking the paper from her, I curse under my breath at the size of the font and peek at the last page, checking the date. “Yeah, this should be it. Thanks.”

With the paper in front of me, I grab the legal pad, using it to cover the majority of text. Slowly, word by word and line by line, I read the document, looking for the wordsownershiporproperty.

I find it minutes later on the third page.

“There was a cop who had a dog,” I sing. “And BINGO.” I reach into the plastic bag for the highlighters. I toss them to her. “Open these for me.”

“What is it?”

I take the yellow marker and stick it in my teeth, pulling it free from the cap.

“Our case.”

It only takes me an hour and a half to realize I’m either not cut out for a desk job, or a dining room chair really isn’t suited for more than a three-course meal. My back is stiff as shit.

I know what will fix it, but yet I won’t give my aching body what it craves. I can’t. Instead of surfing in the ocean, I’ll be swimming in the dry waters of purgatory.

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