Page 2 of No Kind of Hero
She could barely even feel herself doing it, but somehow, she was standing up and her feet were carrying her toward Simon’s corner office.
The senior partner for Estate Planning didn’t raise his salt-and-pepper head at her knock. “Come in and don’t talk,” he said, his fingers continuing to fly over the keys, exactly the way hers should have been.
She almost turned around and left again, but she didn’t. She walked over and sat down in one of the two chairs across from his desk. And then concentrated on not throwing up.
“Right. Go.” Simon swiveled himself away from his monitor and stared at her over the glasses perched halfway down his aquiline nose. Rumor had it that he didn’t need the glasses, that they were for intimidation use only. But then, rumor also had it that he drank the blood of unsatisfactory associates, andthatwasn’t true. Not literally.
“I need a leave,” she said, then put up a hand as if she could recall the words and stuff them back into her mouth.
He didn’t say anything for long seconds, just stared at her, his nearly black eyes boring into hers. Finally, he said, “No no no no no.” Simon never used one word when five would do. “You don’t need a leave. You also don’t need to cut your throat. Youneedto make partner next year. You’re my star. Go back out there and shine.”
“I can’t. Ever since I lost the case . . .”
“Who cares that you lost the case? I’ll tell you. Your client cares. Nobody else cares. Everybody else has forgotten already. You did your job. The firm got paid. You didn’t lose it on preparation. You didn’t lose it on presentation. You lost it on interpretation. Judges are crazy. What is this for you, Year One? Year Two?”
“No. Year Six.”
“Right. Year Six. My point. This isn’t your first rodeo. We don’t have a meltdown when we lose. We shake hands with our opponent, chalk it up, and move on toward that partnership. Now go away and get busy.”
“I can’t. I need a leave.”
“Ah. This would be when I’m supposed to counsel you to consult Human Resources if you’re experiencing stress. Or your family physician. Consider yourself counseled, and go back to work.”
She was nodding, telling herself to stand up, but what came out of her mouth was, “I can’t. I’m empty. I need a leave.”
Another black stare. “How many days of accrued vacation do you have?”
“Eighteen-point-five.”
He didn’t ask her how she knew or if she was sure. He knew she knew.
“Oh, wait,” she said. “Oh. I should have said I need to take vacation. Urgently, because I, uh . . . for health reasons.” Whyhadn’tshe said that? Where was her judgment? It was like it had flown away over the Pacific. Just . . . gone.
“No,” Simon said.
“I need to. I do.”
“No. You also don’t need to stick a sign on your back saying, ‘Tightly wound.’Anothersign.”
She flinched. The note had been there in her last performance review, along with “Exceptional diligence,” “Outstanding attention to detail,” and “Superior writing ability.” She said, “But I . . .”
Simon waved her down. “Who cares. You’re tightly wound, I’m tightly wound. We’re all tightly wound. If it wasn’t for coffee, I wouldn’t be functional. And your mother is very, very . . .” He made come-to-me motions with one lean hand.
“Uh . . . Interfering? Overinvolved?”
A shake of the head. “Work with me.” The hand again. “Very, very . . .”
“S-sick? My mother is very sick?”
He nodded like an owner whose dog had just performed the trick where she held the treat on her nose. “And you need to take . . .”
“ . . . some time off to be with her?”
“But the Family and Medical Leave Act isn’t necessary because . . .”
“Because I don’t have to care for her. I just need to spend some vacation time with her, because we don’t know how long she has.”
Simon nodded twice. The dog had held the treat on her nose a good long time now. “And we hope you won’t need to ask for any FMLA time, unless she’s . . .”
