Page 8 of All That Glitters
He laughed again as they stopped walking and turned to watch the moonlight dancing across the waves. “I wouldn’t trade any of our misadventures for anything,” he said, his voice softer now. “They were uniquely us.”
Debbie looked at him for a moment, studying his expression. She wasn’t alone in this trip down memory lane; he had the same nostalgia for the memories they shared. She looped her arm through his.
They stood in comfortable silence for a moment, letting the memories wash over them — the smell of greasy french fries from gas stations, the feel of sandy car seats, the sound of terrible pop music from a crackling tape deck. The shared secrets of a life lived just for themselves, six hours away from their parents and their responsibilities.
“I miss this,” Tony said, his voice suddenly quiet and serious. He wasn’t looking at the ocean anymore; he was looking at her. “Hanging out. It’s not the same without you.”
The playful energy between them shifted, becoming something more fragile and real. The distance between Phoenix and San Diego felt, in that moment, like an uncrossable chasm.
“I miss it too,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “We should do a toast to the Club Fort Kids and our tree house before I head home tomorrow afternoon.”
He nodded. “To our childhoods. And memories and friendships that last.”
A lump had built in her throat. She swallowed hard and nodded.
“It sucks you need to go home so soon,” he said.
“I know.”
He traced his foot in the sand. “You ever think about moving out here?”
Debbie’s heart gave a sudden, sharp lurch. Her breath caught in her throat.Every hour of every day, she wanted to say.
“You could pack up your stuff and move to San Diego,” he continued, a new, hopeful energy in his voice. “We could get a place. Or, you know, find you a roommate or something. It’d be like it used to be. Except, you know, with less illegal ditching of school.”
She took a small breath. “I wish it was that easy,” she said softly.
She could no longer meet his eyes. If she did, even in the soft moonlight, he would see everything. This longing in her heart that ached for quiet moments like this. With the boy who had always been there for her.
“Don’t you miss the simplicity of it all?” she said, leaning lightly into him, her arm still wrapped through his. “The way it was back then before life took over.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I really, really do.”
Chapter three
Courtrooms and Other Health Hazards
Debbie had a good point. Walking on the beach with her that night, it had been easy for Tony to pretend that the simple days weren’t over. But they were. Adulthood, that terrifying concept, was no longer a distant threat on the horizon; it was a head-on collision, and Tony was driving without a seatbelt. The reality was, he was completely un-ready. He had a diploma that said he was educated and a bank account that said he was destitute. He didn’t have a plan, a clue, or a single marketable skill that didn’t involve knowing every line from the movie Caddyshack.
So when Jeff suggested he check out law, it seemed like as good a plan as any. Which basically meant it was a plan. Jeff had even pulled some strings to get them both summer internships at his dad’s firm, Slewinski & Gables. “You should give it a shot, Harding,” Jeff had insisted. “You already have the prerequisites — you love to argue, and you think you’re right, even when you’re wrong.”
And that’s how Tony found himself, one week later, sitting in the suffocating quiet of a downtown courtroom. He wore a borrowed suit that was a size too big in the shoulders and smelled faintly of mothballs. He felt like a kid playing dress-up at a very boring, very serious party. At the plaintiff’s table, he jotted down notes on a legal pad, which consisted mostly of doodles of spaceships.
Next to him, Jeff was doing the same, though his notes probably had more to do with the cute paralegal in the third row. At the podium, Jeff’s dad, the formidable Bob Slewinski, was in his element; a shark in his natural habitat, circling the witness stand.
“And can you identify the driver of the other car?” Bob asked, his voice smooth and commanding, the kind of voice that could convince a jury that the sky was, in fact, green.
In the witness stand, a skinny kid with a weaselly face and a haircut that looked like it had been done with a lawnmower, pointed a bony finger across the room. “Yeah, it’s the old lady over there.”
Tony followed the kid’s finger to the defendant’s table. There sat a woman who looked like someone’s grandmother, with a sweet puff of white hair, rosy cheeks, and a dainty floral dress. She had a handmade needlepoint purse sitting in her lap. She looked more likely to offer you cookies than to cause a wreck. For a moment, Tony felt a pang of sympathy.
“Objection,” the defense attorney said.
“Overruled,” the judge droned from the bench, his eyes half-closed.
“Your honor,” Bob said, turning to the bench. “Let the record show that the plaintiff has identified the defendant as the driver of the other car.” He turned back to the witness. “And can you tell us, in your own words, what happened when you stopped at the light?”
The kid leaned into the microphone, a smug look on his face. “Yeah. That’s when the stupid bitch hit me.”
