Page 88 of No Kind of Hero
But when he stood in the driveway with Gracie in his arms and watched Beth climb into her gray lawyer car, it didn’t feel true. Nothing that hurt this bad could be good. It wasn’t possible.
Beth rolled down the window and said, “Goodbye. I love you. Bye-bye, Gracie-girl.”
He could see the pain in her eyes, but he couldn’t help her. He told his daughter, “Wave bye-bye, Gracie. Say goodbye to Beth.”
It was Friday, it was ten-thirty in the morning, and Beth had been back at work exactly . . . well, it depended if you counted in hours or days. It hadn’t been a full day yet, but let’s see. Noon until eight yesterday, getting caught up. And she’d been here since seven this morning.
So, yeah. Ten and a half hours. And this past hour should count twice.
She was on one side of the conference table in the best conference room at Kentworth, Docherty, the one with the view of Pioneer Square. Felicia Diaz was at the head of the table, and Marjorie Sinclair was sitting opposite Beth, looking at the view andnotlooking after her dogs.
Right now, Marjorie was talking, and one of the pugs—Princess—was barking. Beth wasn’t sure which sound was more annoying.
“What I want to know,” Marjorie was saying in her rasping voice as she stroked the malodorous pug on her lap, “is why the foundation isn’t set up already. I told this girl—” She flapped a hand at Felicia—“exactly what I wanted, step by step. I did half the work for her, and she hasn’t finished. Probably hasn’t even started.”
“The work is continuing,” Felicia said. She was doing a good job of maintaining, but there was a dark flush on her cheeks that wasn’t blusher. “We’ve been researching other successful breed rescue organizations to detail the steps necessary in order to spend your money wisely. If you’re concerned about the time and effort it’s taking, you may want to consider using your foundation to make donations to established organizations. Something like the ASPCA could be one place to start.”
Princess barked louder, and Marjorie said, “Princess, quiet.” Which had no effect at all. The other pug, the inappropriately named Duke, who was asleep near the door with all four fat little legs splayed out under him, let out a mighty snore and followed it up with a release of some of the most noxious gas Beth had ever had the privilege of inhaling. Felicia, who was closest, tried her best for a few seconds, then turned away and took a gulp of water.
Marjorie, not surprisingly, didn’t seem to notice. She said, “The ASPCA? I don’t think so. If my money’s going to rescue a bunch of pit bull halfbreeds who should have been drowned at birth, I might as well give it to my sons. I don’t need you to tell me what to do. I need you to do whatItell you to do. Maybe now that this girl’s here—” She waved a diamond-encrusted hand at Beth—“something will happen. Work ethic, that’s what’s missing. Exactly the same thing as the difference between a breed rescue organization and the ASPCA. The Protestant work ethic built this country, and all the dilution since is killing it.Killingit.”
“If that’s me,” Felicia said, her normally cheerful voice tight, “I’m not diluted. I’m one hundred percent Latina.”
“What I said,” Marjorie said.
Beth stepped in, because Felicia looked ready to lunge. She wasn’t sure whether Felicia would strangle Princess first or get her hands around Marjorie’s scrawny neck, but either way, it was going to be bad. “We’ll be giving you progress reports,” she told Marjorie. “Weekly.”
“As long asyoudo it,” Marjorie said. “I’m not paying some padded bill. Honesty. Hard work. That’s what I’ll pay for. When I spot one of my gardeners leaning on his shovel, I fire him, and I don’t care if he’s sending money home to his family in Mexico. He should have thought about them before he started loafing.”
Beth made a note on her legal pad. Princess had stopped yapping, but Duke was snoring now, and Beth had a headache pounding ominously on one side of her skull. She said, “Will do” and looked at Felicia, telegraphingGo on and take chargeas best she could over the racket in her head.
Felicia said, “I have a draft of your revised will here. Let’s go over that, and if it looks good, we can pull in a couple of witnesses and sign it right now.”
Marjorie read every line, her finger moving along the double-spaced text, her lips moving, and Beth tried hard not to let her hatred show.
Of course she was having trouble. She had a headache, and coming back to work after almost four weeks away would be an adjustment for anybody. She missed the lake, she missed Gracie, and she missed Evan. All of it was an ache in her chest that competed with the pounding in her head.
She wanted to see dragonflies. She wanted to smell cedars. She wanted to hear Gracie’s belly laugh. She wanted to feel Evan’s arms around her. She wanted to go home.
She breathed the pain out, breathed the air in. Portland was green, her condo was halfway paid off already, and she’d be a partner next year. This was her life.
Marjorie looked up at last, shoved the paper back at Felicia, and said, “Fine. Give me the original.”
“I’ll go grab those witnesses,” Beth said, standing up and glad for the break.
“You sit,” Marjorie said. “The other girl can go.”
“Excuse me,” Beth said, “but I’ll go. You see,” she added with a smile that felt pasted on, “Felicia’s a partner, and I’m not. Not yet.”
She didn’t wait to listen to whatever would come next. She left. A minute to grab the nearest two secretaries, and they were back for the signing. The room still stank, Marjorie’s eyes were sharp brown pebbles, and the lines around her mouth spoke of a lifetime of discontent. And when the secretaries were gone, the old lady hauled herself to her feet, picked up her dogs’ leashes, and told Felicia, “That’s one thing you managed to do, anyway. Cut those men out. I’ve never met one yet who could be trusted. Bunch of liars, every last one of ’em.” She glared at Beth, the light glinting off her blue cat’s-eye glasses, and said, “Don’t you forget it. A woman works rings around a man, and then she comes home and he expects her to keep on doing it. Don’t fall for it. Waste of a life. Work hard and keep what you earn. Otherwise, what do you think you’ll end up with? An empty bank account, saggy boobs from those babieshewanted, and a date with a judge when he runs off with that next young thing. The one you used to be.”
Beth couldn’t feel her arms. Couldn’t feel anything but the pain in her head and an empty space everywhere else. “Let me walk you to the elevator,” she said, the words automatic. She forced her feet to move, adjusted her pace to the old woman’s across the office, pushed the button for the elevator, pressed the woman’s wrinkled hand, and felt a rush of absolute loathing.
“Next time,” Marjorie said, “I want you, and that’s it. Mexicans are all right in the yard, as long as you watch ’em. They weren’t made to be lawyers.”
Beth was frozen. Her face, her legs. “That’s not my decision,” she said. “I’m an associate. Felicia’s a partner.”
“Don’t want to rock the boat, eh?” The elevator doors opened to reveal DeAndre Patterson, a partner in Litigation, looking sharp today in a gray suit. DeAndre looked at the two of them, then pushed a button to hold the doors.
