“Hello? Hello?” Then: “Meghann. I recognize your cell phone number.”
“I’m going to sue whoever invented Caller ID. It’s ruined the time-honored tradition of hanging up on someone.”
“It’s eight thirty at night. Why are you calling me?” Harriet asked.
“My left eyelid is flapping like a flag on the Fourth of July. I need a prescription for a muscle relaxer.”
“We talked about a delayed reaction, remember?”
“Yeah. Post-traumatic stress. I thought you meant I’d get depressed; not that my eyelid would try to fly off my face. And … my hands are shaking. It would not be a good week to start quilting.”
“Where are you?”
Meghann considered lying, but Harriet had ears like a bloodhound; she could probably hear the bar noises. “Outside of the Athenian.”
“Of course. I’ll be in my office in thirty minutes.”
“You don’t have to do that. If you could just call in a prescription—”
“My office. Thirty minutes. If you aren’t there, I’ll come looking for you. And nothing scares off drunk college boys like an angry shrink named Harriet. Understood?”
Honestly, Meghann was relieved. Harriet might be a pain in the ass, but at least she was someone to talk to. “I’ll be there.”
Meghann hung up the phone and put it back in her purse. It took her less than fifteen minutes to get to Harriet’s office. The doorman let her in and, after a short question-and-answer routine, pointed to the elevator. She rode up to the fourth floor and stood outside the glass-doored office.
At precisely 9:00, Harriet showed up, looking rushed and poorly put together. Her normally smoothed black hair had been drawn back in a thin headband and her face shone pink without makeup. “If you make a crack about the headband, I’ll charge you double.”
“Me? Be judgmental? You must be joking.”
Harriet smiled at that. They’d often discussed avid judgmentalism as one of Meghann’s many flaws. “I had to choose between being on time and looking decent.”
“Clearly, you’re on time.”
“Get inside.” Harriet unlocked the door and pushed it open.
Even now, late at night, the office smelled of fresh flowers and worn leather. The familiarity of it immediately put Meghann at ease. She walked through the reception area and went into Harriet’s large corner office, going over to stand in front of the window. Below her, the city was a grid of moving cars and stoplights.
Harriet took her usual seat. “So, you think a prescription will help you.”
Meghann slowly turned around. Her eyelid was thumping like a metronome. “Either that or a Seeing Eye dog. If the other one starts, I’ll be blind.”
“Sit down, Meghann.”
“Do I have to?”
“Well, no. I could go home and finish watching Friends.”
“You watch Friends? I would have guessed you tuned in to PBS. Maybe the Discovery Channel.”
“Sit.”
Meghann did as she was told. The comfortable chair enfolded her. “I remember when I hated this chair. Now it seems made for me.”
Harriet steepled her fingers and peered at Meghann over her short, clear-polished nails. “It was a week ago today, wasn’t it? When your client’s husband tried to shoot you.”
Meghann’s left foot started to tap. The plush gray carpet swallowed the sound. “Yes. The funny thing is, the publicity has gotten me clients. It seems women want a lawyer who makes a man that crazy.” She tried to smile.
“I told you you needed to deal with it.”
“Yes, you did. Remind me to put a gold star next to your name on the door.”
“Are you sleeping?”
“No. Every time I close my eyes, I see it all again. The gunshot whizzing past my ear … the way he dropped the gun afterward and sank to his knees … May rushing to him, holding him, telling him everything would be all right, that she’d stand behind him … the police taking him away in handcuffs. Today, I relived it in court.” She looked up. “That was lovely, by the way.”
“It’s not your fault. He’s the one to blame.”
“I know that. I also know that I handled their divorce badly. I’ve lost my ability to really feel for people.” She sighed. “I don’t know … if I can do this job anymore. Today I completely screwed a client. My partner has asked me—ordered me, really—to take a vacation.”
“That might not be a bad idea. It wouldn’t hurt you to develop a real life.”
“Will I feel better in London or Rome … alone?”
“Why don’t you call Claire? You could go stay at her resort for a while. Maybe try to relax. Get to know her.”
“That’s a funny thing about visiting relatives. You need an invitation.”
“Are you saying Claire wouldn’t want you to visit?”
“Of course I’m saying that. We can’t talk for more than five minutes without getting into an argument.”
“You could visit your mother.”
“I’d rather contract the West Nile virus.”
“How about Elizabeth?”