A Cure for Night by Justin Peacock

smile on her face. "I usually only get asked that on dates," she said.
    If she was trying to make me uncomfortable it worked. "Does that
mean I'm not allowed to ask?"
    "I never thought about being anything else in terms of becoming a lawyer," Myra said.
    "Okay," I said. "So why'd you become a lawyer?"
    "I went to college at Purchase thinking I was going to be an
actress, realized after one semester that there was a whole other level of crazy
that was required to really try to do that for a living, figured a courtroom was
the next best thing to a stage and that I wouldn't have to audition to get the
part."
    "I guess I've heard worse reasons for becoming a lawyer," I said.
"So why did it have to be working as a PD?"
    "My stepdad had done a nickel at Green Haven," Myra said. "He'd
had a thing with drugs, funded it by breaking into stores after dark. He was
pretty good at it, I'm told, but a needle buddy flipped on a possession with
intent and ratted him out."
    "That's rough," I said. "He okay now?"
    Myra nodded. "This was all before he became my stepdad," she said.
"It's ancient history. Now he thinks prison's the best thing that ever happened
to him. He cleaned himself up, got his life together. Six months after he got
out he met my mom, and they've lived happily ever after, as far I can tell. But
he kept where he came from with him. He goes to prisons now, does counseling
stuff to try to help guys be ready for life on the outside."
    "So you're following in his footsteps."
    "He doesn't see it that way," Myra said. "He never wanted me to do
this. I think he'd be happier if I was doing what you used to do and making a
quarter million a year."
    "That doesn't mean you're not following in his footsteps."
    "I suppose it doesn't, no," Myra said. She picked up a french fry, looked at it for a moment, then put it down.
"Well, I'm not exactly full, but I do feel like I'm about to throw up, so maybe
we should call it a lunch."
    WE WALKED out to Myra's Volvo. "So," Myra asked, lighting a cigarette as we settled into the hot car.
"Any big plans for tonight?"
    "I've got a party I've got to go to."
    "You sound excited."
    "I promised my friend I'd go," I said. "But I never pretended that
I wanted to."
    "Why not?"
    "It's a friend from my old law firm. I guess that's just not my
world anymore. To the extent that it ever was."
    "I bet he'll have really expensive booze," Myra said as she pulled out of the parking lot.
    "You want to come?" I asked impulsively.
    "I don't go to parties where I don't know at least three people," Myra said.
    I wasn't sure what had just happened. I didn't know if I'd just asked Myra out, and I didn't know if she'd just rejected me if I had. Perhaps neither. I'd been dreading going to Paul's party, and would've liked to bring reinforcements with me. I'd also been reacting to our conversation; it was the first time I'd felt Myra opening up to me, and it'd seemed to me like there was a connection, sparked by a mutual recognition in how we'd both gotten to the place that we were. Not that I'd told her my full story, of course, or even come particularly close. In truth, I hadn't really been tempted to; it wasn't something I wanted bleeding into my workplace, to the extent that I could prevent it.
    Whatever I'd intended, it was hard not to be a little stung by how quickly Myra had said no. I understood not wanting to go to a party where you didn't know anybody, but her rejection had been so immediate and definitive that it was hard to sugarcoat it. Perhaps I'd overestimated what she'd actually revealed to me; she'd been very matter-of-fact in talking about her stepfather and the rest of it. Perhaps it was how she always presented herself, a way she could reveal herself without actually giving anything away. Maybe it was nothing more than her first-date patter. Not that a fast-food lunch in a highway food court on the way back from a maximum-security prison constituted a date. Unless, of course, it