Page 35 of Already At Risk
“I know,” I managed to say, reassuring her.
She didn’t need to prove anything to me.
But I couldn’t blame her for wanting to. It actually was, a little bit, her role to prove things to me. Prove why she should keep full custody of her daughter. Prove why she didn’t deserve to have any bit of time with her taken away. Prove she was a good mother. All so I could turn around and prove it to a judge.
But every time she made comments like this, I wanted to tell her to stop. Which, I knew, was a problem. Because it was skirting around the role I was technically supposed to be playing.
The corners of her lips tipped up. “Thanks for understanding.”
“Thanks for the dinner,” I replied and then followed her to the living room to see Chloe perched on the couch, waiting.
“Chloe, if I’d known we were going to watchPercy Jackson, I would have brought some blue candy for dessert,” I said and then glanced at the root beer float in my hand. “Well, seconddessert.”
Chloe’s head jerked up, her gaze shining knowingly. “You know about that?”
“Sure do, kiddo.” I sat on the other end of the couch.
Her jaw dropped, eyes darting to Natalie as though she didn’t know what to believe. And then she suggested to me, “Next time?”
I nodded, even though I should really know better than to promise anything to a nine-year-old who I shouldn’t be spending more time with than was necessary for my job.
“Next time.”
Chloe passed out on the couch halfway through the second episode of the night, and Natalie looked like she was about to do the same.
I should go.
Now.
We shouldn’t repeat last night.
I shouldn’t end up in her bedroom.
Or anywhere closer to her than I already was on this couch, her warmth pressing into my side as she sat between Chloe and me.
But when I stood to take the dishes to the kitchen and make a smooth exit, Natalie somehow resurrected herself, bouncing to her feet, too, grabbing the plates out of my hands.
“You don’t have to do this. I got it,” she said and then whisked in and out of the kitchen within what seemed like seconds. “I’m just going to get Chloe up to bed, and then I’ll be right back. If there’s anything we need to discuss about the case, we can. You can add some…billable hours to tonight or whatever it’s called.”
I pursed my lips but didn’t say anything, not wanting to interrupt as Natalie bent down over Chloe’s sleeping form.
It wasn’t that I didn’t want to stay. It was more that I didn’t want Natalie to feel like I was here because I wanted to make money off her. Yes, I wanted her to be happy as a client, but I didn’t come over tonight because I was trying to look good on behalf of the firm.
Although that was really the story I should stick to. A professional story, one with intentions that had nothing to do with anything other than being good at myjob—the very one that was on the line. The very one where I’d been clinging to the possibility of a promotion for months, hoping for some good news I might be able to share with my family, proof that I might be able to succeed in the way my dad always had, the way I’d beendeterminedto.
So I stood and waited.
After a bit of encouragement, Natalie got Chloe upstairs, and about ten minutes later, she wandered back down, wrapping a cardigan around her body like a shield.
“Natalie, we don’thaveto talk about the case,” I offered against my better judgment.
“We should, though,” she said pragmatically. “You’re here. I’m here.” She cocked her head to the side as she sank back down onto the couch. “Unless you need to leave? I’d totally understand.”
I shook my head. She was right. Her schedule was tight, and we should take every available opportunity to prepare.
Natalie grabbed a basket from the side of the couch that housed a bunch of yarn and needles or hooks—whatever you called them. Then she plucked out what appeared to be a half-finished stuffed animal, orange and fluffy-looking, putting it in her lap.
“Is that…your cat?”
