“I could make a living. They’re just habeasing their corpus and whereforing the heretofore to screw with you.”
“That’s . . . a unique argument.”
“And rational. They probably think if they can string this out, keep chipping away at you, maybe they’ll uncover new evidence against you. Or at the very least, they’ll beat you up, bury you in documents and writs and whatever so you’ll offer a financial settlement. Which would prove, to their mind, your guilt. They’re grieving, so they lash out.”
“Maybe you could make a living.”
“I like The Good Wife.”
“Who?”
“It’s a lawyer show. Well, it’s really a character study, and sexy. Anyway, what I’m saying is, it’s good you’re going to meet with your lawyer, that you’re taking steps. You look better today.”
“Than what?”
“Than you did.” Resting her polishing hand on her hip, she angled her head. “You should wear a tie.”
“A tie?”
“Normally I don’t see the point in a man putting a noose around his neck, which ties are, essentially. But you should wear a tie. It’ll make you feel stronger, more in control. More yourself. Plus you have a whole collection upstairs.”
“Anything else?”
“Don’t get a haircut.”
Once more, she simply baffled him. “No haircut because?”
“I like your hair. It’s not lawyerly, but it’s writerly. A little shaping if you absolutely feel it’s necessary, and which I could actually do for you myself but—”
“No, you absolutely couldn’t.”
“I could on the element of skill. Just don’t whack it into the suit-and-tie lawyer look.”
“Wear a tie, but keep the hair.”
“Exactly. And pick up some flowers for Hester. You should be able to find tulips by now, and they’d make her think of spring.”
“Should I start writing this down?”
She smiled as she came around the island. “Not only looking better, but feeling better. You’re getting some sass back that’s not just knee-jerk temper-based.” She brushed at the lapels of his sport coat. “Go pick out a tie. And drive safe.” She boosted up, kissed his cheek.
“Who are you? Really?”
“We’ll get to that. Say hi to your family for me.”
“All right. I’ll see you . . . when I do.”
“I’ll reschedule the massage, note it on your calendar.”
She walked around the island, climbed back on the stool and went back to her polishing.
He picked out a tie. He couldn’t say putting it on made him feel stronger or more in control, but it did—oddly enough—make him feel more complete. With that in mind, he got out his briefcase, put in files, a fresh legal pad, sharpened pencils, a spare pen and, after a moment’s thought, his mini recorder.
He put on a good topcoat, caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror.
“Who are you?” he wondered.
He didn’t look the way he used to, but neither did he look quite the way he’d grown accustomed to. No longer a lawyer, he thought, but not yet proven as a writer. Not guilty, but not yet proven innocent.
Still in limbo, but maybe, maybe finally ready to begin climbing out.
He left Abra’s money on his desk on his way downstairs, then headed straight out with her cleaning music—vintage Springsteen today—rolling after him.
He got into the car, realizing it was the first time he’d been behind the wheel since he’d parked it on arrival three weeks before.
It did feel good, he decided. Taking control, taking steps. He turned on his own radio, let out a surprised laugh when The Boss jammed out at him.
And thinking it was almost like having Abra for company, he drove away from Whiskey Beach.
He didn’t notice the car slide in behind him.
Since the day was relatively mild, Abra opened doors and windows to let the air wash through. She stripped Eli’s bed, spread on fresh sheets, fluffed the duvet. And after a few minutes’ thought, fashioned a fish from a hand towel. After digging through what she thought of as her emergency bag of silliness she came up with a little green plastic pipe for its mouth.
Once the bedroom met her standards, the first load of laundry chugged in the washer, she turned her attention to the office.
She’d have loved to fuss around the desk—in case he’d left any notes or clues about his work in progress. But a deal was a deal. Instead she dusted, vacuumed, restocked his bottled water and Mountain Dew. Wrote the next message Hester had dictated on a Post-it, stuck it to a bottle. After wiping down the leather desk chair, she stood awhile studying his view.
A good one, she thought. Wind and sun had all but vanished