Water's Edge (3 page)

“What did McGraw say when you told him you already suspected that?”

“I didn’t get a chance. It came up after he cut me loose. If I’d interrupted him at that point, it would have seemed like a last-ditch effort to save my job.”

Personnel decisions by the partners, no matter how capricious or arbitrary, rarely affected bottom-line profit. There was always a fresh pool of top-notch legal talent anxious for the opportunity to work at a place like Barnes, McGraw, and Crowther. Tom felt degraded that his status had changed from “Future Partner” to “Former Associate,” a description forever synonymous with failure. As he and Mark worked, Tom struggled to push his disappointment and hurt feelings aside.

“Let me know when you’re ready to leave,” Mark said when they finished. He closed his laptop. “I’ll help you carry your stuff to your car.”

______

All Tom’s personal belongings fit neatly into four boxes. He’d decided to leave quietly. At 5:30 p.m. there was a knock on the door and Mark entered.

“I knew you’d try to sneak out. I’m not going to let that happen.”

“I can handle it,” Tom said. “It will only take a couple of trips.”

“Don’t argue.”

On their way to the elevator they passed the cubicle where Allyson Faschille, the administrative assistant who’d taken the last phone call from John Crane, worked. She glanced up.

“Bye, Tom. I’ll miss you. Best of luck. Congratulations, Mark. I’ll miss you too.”

Tom turned to Mark. “Congratulations?”

“I’ll fill you in once we’re on the elevator.”

The elevator door opened, and they stepped inside.

“Did you accept the job with the firm in Sandy Springs?”

“No.”

“But Allyson said she would miss you too.”

Mark stared straight ahead. “I had a meeting with McGraw after you and I went over your cases. I’m moving upstairs into Brett’s office. Allyson and I won’t be working together.”

Tom’s jaw dropped open. “They made you a partner?”

“Yeah,” Mark replied with an apologetic look on his face. “It’s as much a shock to me as it is to you.”

“Did he tell you why?”

“If you mean why me and not you, the answer is no. He mentioned I was doing a good job, then gave me a big stack of paperwork to read and sign. It was over in less than five minutes.”

The elevator reached the ground floor. Tom stumbled into the foyer.

“I wanted you to hear the news from me,” Mark said. “If I had the authority, I’d tell you to take that stuff back to your office.”

The two men walked in silence to the parking deck and put the boxes in the trunk of Tom’s car. It was an awkward moment.

“That’s great news for you and Megan,” Tom said, hoping his face didn’t reveal the struggle inside. “You need the security that comes with a partnership more than I do.”

Mark smiled. “Man, you should have heard her scream when I called and told her the news. She’s probably online looking for houses right now.”

Tom tried to smile, too, but suspected it looked a bit crooked.

“Give me a call as soon as you’re back in town so we can grab lunch,” Mark said. “And keep me in the loop on your job search. Now that I’m a partner I can write a killer letter of recommendation for you.”

“Thanks,” Tom managed. “I’ll do that.”

Tom sat in the driver’s seat of his car for a few seconds and wondered if he would have been as gracious as Mark if their situations had been reversed. He watched the excited new partner disappear through the door leading to the office tower. Tom drove out of the parking deck. There were a lot of emotional potholes on the road to unemployment. So far, Tom felt like he’d hit every one.

______

Tom could get home in less than thirty minutes unless he had to stop off for Chinese, Mexican, Japanese, Indian, Jamaican, or one of the other types of ethnic food craved by Clarice. Tom’s girlfriend grew up shuttled between divorced parents, neither of whom cooked. To her, take-home was the same as home cooked.

There were four apartments in the two-story building where Tom lived. It was an older structure with high ceilings, crown molding, chair rails, and dark wood floors. His apartment was on the ground level. He parked in a reserved spot off the street beside a high privacy fence that sealed in a tiny backyard. The smell of the food on the car seat made his stomach growl.

As soon as he opened the door, Tom was greeted by the throaty bark of a large, mostly brown dog that Clarice insisted would easily win the ugliest dog in Atlanta contest. Tom acquired the furry animal when a girlfriend prior to Clarice dragged him to the local humane society one Saturday morning.

While Tom waited at the shelter, he stood in front of a cage that contained a brownish-black animal with long legs, floppy ears, square jaw, furry tail, and black tongue that protruded slightly from the right side of its mouth. The dog looked at Tom with bloodshot eyes that would have shamed a drunk.

“What is it?” he asked a middle-aged woman serving as a volunteer.

“It’s your dog,” she responded brightly. “See the way he’s looking at you? He’s been neutered and had all his shots.”

Tom shook his head. “Neutering him was a good idea. Puppies that look like that wouldn’t be good for the canine gene pool. Is he housebroken?”

“Probably, although we can’t guarantee that sort of thing. Dogs respond well to routine. Do you see the nose and ears?”

“They’re hard to ignore.”

“Based on those features, I suspect he has a significant percentage of bloodhound. The black tongue and furry tail most likely come from a chow. The brindle coat doesn’t go with the solid-brown head, so that part is a mystery. I’ll bring him out so you can get a closer look.”

“No thanks.”

“At least let him lick your hand.” The woman reached for the latch on the cage. “Dogs in this area are scheduled to be euthanized on Monday.”

Tom muttered while the woman opened the door of the cage. The dog ambled over and sniffed Tom’s hand, then leaned against his leg. Tom reluctantly rubbed the top of the mutt’s head, causing the animal to emit a low moan of pleasure.

“I already have a cat,” Tom said to the volunteer.

“Cats are great pets, but a dog like this will be devoted to you forever and ask for nothing except love in return.”

Tom’s girlfriend returned with a frisky golden retriever on a leash.

“What’s that?” she asked when she saw Tom and the ugly dog.

“Ask her.” Tom pointed to the volunteer. “She can tell you all about him while I fill out the adoption paperwork.”

The first time Tom brought the dog home, the beast put his nose to the floor and began crisscrossing the living room like a four-legged vacuum cleaner. Whiskers, Tom’s calico cat, retreated to the top of the sofa with intense suspicion. As he watched the dog’s antics, Tom considered naming him Vacuum, but a more suitable name immediately came to mind.

“Rover,” he said with a satisfied nod of his head. “If a dog ever deserved that name, you’re it.”

Rover turned out to be thoroughly housebroken, never jumped on the furniture, ignored Whiskers, and didn’t chew Tom’s shoes. However, for all his good qualities, Rover had one bad one—he couldn’t keep stray drops of drool from leaking out the side of his mouth. Every so often, Tom had to do a quick run through the apartment with a damp mop to remove the residue.

The girlfriend and her golden retriever left Tom’s life shortly after Rover entered it. Dragging Tom to the humane society was the best thing she ever did.

______

Rover sniffed the paper bag in Tom’s hand before leading the way into the small kitchen. Whiskers didn’t move from her spot on top of the sofa. Tom placed the food in the oven on low to keep it warm, then changed into exercise clothes for a fast thirty minutes on the treadmill. Rover lay in the corner of the spare bedroom with his head on his paws and a look on his face that questioned Tom’s sanity for running in place.

When he saw the lights of Clarice’s car flash through the windows of the kitchen, Tom took the food out of the oven and lit a candle in the middle of the tiny round table where he and Clarice ate their meals. The front door opened. Rover woofed but didn’t leave Tom’s side.

“Yum. I can smell dinner out here!” she called out.

Clarice walked into the kitchen and kicked off her shoes. Whiskers followed and brushed against her leg. Tall and shapely, with blond hair and blue eyes, Clarice Charbonneau had attracted Tom’s attention at a pro-am golf tournament twelve months earlier. For the past eight months they’d not dated anyone else.

“Magellan was in a horrible mood today,” she continued. “Three people were royally chewed out during the planning session. I kept my mouth shut, but it made me wonder why I put up with the stress he stirs up every time he comes into town. If he was based here instead of L.A., it would be unbearable.” Clarice paused. “Oh, I went with the magenta next to the yellow and held my breath during the meeting. Magellan didn’t comment on it one way or the other. Alice thought it was pretty.”

Clarice continued talking while she washed her hands in the kitchen sink, then took a bottle of wine from a small wooden rack. She poured two glasses and held one out to Tom, who took it from her.

“Here’s to your future,” she said, looking him in the eyes. “Barnes, McGraw, and Crowther lost a brilliant young lawyer today. Their loss will be someone else’s gain.” They clinked glasses and took a sip of wine.

“That’s what you think?” Tom asked.

“Of course.” Clarice sniffed. “After the shock wore off, I was furious. The loyalty-and-hard-work thing you tried doesn’t work in the twenty-first century. Law firms are getting to be more and more like big corporations where everyone is as disposable as a plastic water bottle. But don’t worry. You’ll collect a half-dozen job offers within a month and take your pick. Then, someday you’ll get a case with McGraw on the other side and teach him a lesson. Let’s eat.”

Clarice handled chopsticks like an expert. The two slender pieces of wood frustrated Tom, and he defaulted to a fork. They divided the food, with Tom taking two spring rolls. While they ate, Clarice prattled about her day at work and a phone call with her mother, who lived in Sarasota.

“Mom was completely out of line,” Clarice said between bites. “I told her it was none of her business whether Nicholas goes to culinary school in Charleston instead of getting his MBA at Wake Forest. He’s paying his own way, and she can’t order him around like she did when we were kids. And with a name like Charbonneau, any restaurant would be thrilled to hire him. Of course, she didn’t listen. All she wanted to do was vent.”

Tom had met Clarice’s mother on two occasions. Her venting reminded him of a volcanic eruption.

“You don’t think I’m like her, do you?” Clarice asked, stopping to take a sip of wine.

“Not at all.”

“Liar,” Clarice replied with a smile. “But I like it when you tell me what I want to hear.”

“Your mother has unresolved issues.”

“You think so?” Clarice responded, rubbing her temples with the tips of her fingers. “Every time she blows up, it scares me that I’ll end up the same. It took me an hour to calm down after she called.”

“Was that before or after I phoned about losing my job?”

“After, which partly explains how I felt. Like I said, I was already upset.”

“Did you mention my situation to your mother?”

“No, that would have made her talk for another thirty minutes, and I couldn’t risk that with Magellan on the rampage.”

They finished dinner and the bottle of wine. Clarice had been right. The meal and the drinks calmed Tom down. Then they watched a sentimental movie that made Clarice cry. When the movie was over, she yawned.

“I’d better head home,” she said. Clarice shared an apartment with another young woman in a modern complex about ten minutes away. “I have to be up early in the morning for a red-eye meeting at work before Magellan flies back to the West Coast. After that I’m going to Savannah and won’t be back until midday Saturday.”

“Why Savannah?”

“A photo shoot. There’s no need for me to be there, but Magellan wants to make sure the photographer knows how to focus the camera.” Clarice touched Tom’s hand. “We could have a lot of fun.”

“No, I’m going to use this time to close out my father’s practice in Bethel.”

“And you’re leaving tomorrow?”

“The sooner I start, the sooner I’ll finish.” Tom paused. “And I need to get out of the city for a few days to clear my head.”

“How long will you be gone?”

“A couple of weeks at the most. Then I can dive into the job market.”

Tom told her about Mark’s conversation with Nate Becker.

“See, I told you,” Clarice said and nodded when he finished. “There will be a bidding war for your services. But it will be lonely without you.”

“You could stay here and take care of Whiskers and Rover. They’re great company.”

Clarice pulled back. “Whiskers is fine, but I’m not babysitting that dog by myself. Can’t he go with you?”

Rover, who was lying at Tom’s feet, looked up and gave a moan that started as a deep rumble and ended as a high-pitched whine.

“See, that’s all he does when you’re gone,” Clarice said. “Just hearing about you leaving sends him into the pits. When you were in Miami taking depositions last month, he moped around the house the whole time and slobbered twice as much as usual. I couldn’t go barefoot and almost slipped and fell in a nasty wet spot he left in the kitchen.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll take Rover. I just hope Uncle Elias likes him more than you do.”

Clarice stood and stretched. “Hanging out with your uncle and the dog should be interesting. My mother isn’t the only one with issues. Your relatives have their share too.”

“You only met Elias once.”

“Which was enough. I’m glad you’re not like
him
,” Clarice said with emphasis. “While you’re there you can collect the inheritance coming from your father. That should tide you over, and if you need help spending any of it, I’m available.”

Tom swallowed. He’d kept information about his father’s affairs private.

“There isn’t much in his estate,” he said.