she sighed and looked around. “You never get used to the smell of the hospital. It’s this weird, kind of antiseptic smell. I’ve been in so many, I thought I wouldn’t notice it anymore.”
“I used to have to go with my dad all the time. He would get drunk and fall down the stairs or hit his head somewhere and cut it open.”
“I didn’t know my dad. They never talked again after they hooked up after a dance.”
“Just one dance?”
“Just one. My mom was kind of a slut in the eighties.”
I grinned. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-nine. You?”
“Thirty-six.”
“Whoa.”
“That old, really?”
“No,” she said. “It’s not that. You’re just so young to be so successful.”
“Although I bet I was the type of lawyer your torts professor warned you about. The kind that gives us a bad name and that you should never be like no matter how much you’re starving.”
“How’d you know?”
“Because they told me that, too. It made me want to be that lawyer more. I didn’t intend to slave away in a law library and just be content that I was part of some grand profession. I wanted to be rich. I thought law was a good way to do that. But there were a million different ways I could’ve done it without law school.”
“Seems to have worked out for you.”
“A nearly forty-year-old guy, once divorced, whose best friends, who are also his business partners, are slowly drifting away from him, and his ex-wife is marrying his polar opposite?”
“No, someone who has the admiration of everyone working for him. You should hear the associates and clerks talk about you. How awesome you are in court, how insurance defense lawyers are scared of you, how much money you get for our clients.”
“Yeah,” I said, then took a bite of the enchilada. “There is that.” The enchilada was cold and rubbery. “This reminds me of elementary school food.”
“No, elementary school food was better.”
“I know a place. Let’s go check in with Rebecca and go there.”
“Sure, why not. I have nothing planned but watching Vampire Diaries tonight.”
We tried to check on Joel, but they wouldn’t let us into the room. I texted Rebecca that I was leaving.
I knew of a restaurant by the University of Utah. It primarily made its money as a bar catering to students, but a few people knew about the great food. We parked in the lot behind the pharmacy next door and hiked up a hill to get to the joint.
Inside was dark, but not smoky like it had been a decade ago. Smoking in public places had been banned in Utah, with an exception carved out for a few bars that functioned only as bars and not as restaurants. We sat at a table in the center.
“Can I order for you?” I said.
“Sure.”
“Two of Dom’s pizzas,” I said to the waitress. “And two beers.”
“Actually, I don’t drink. Just a Coke, please,” she said to the waitress.
The drinks came, and we took a few sips. Olivia seemed distracted. Her eyes would search the restaurant, then rest somewhere, and she would stare at that spot for a long time.
“What are you thinking about?” I finally asked.
“Just my mom. Sometimes I get home and she’s okay, and sometimes, she’s having an episode. I never know which it will be.”
“Can’t be easy for either of you.”
“It has its moments. I think it’s just hard because I still remember what she was like before the episodes starting getting worse. Until I was ten, she was just like any other mom. Then the episodes started happening and I knew something was wrong. The medication helps, though. An antipsychotic that’s kind of new. Without it I never would’ve been able to leave her long enough to go to law school. But it kind of levels her out. She used to paint, and once she started the medication, she couldn’t do it anymore. She had a little studio and just completely abandoned it.”
“I’ve heard of things like that. I had a friend I used to share an apartment with. Really
“I used to have to go with my dad all the time. He would get drunk and fall down the stairs or hit his head somewhere and cut it open.”
“I didn’t know my dad. They never talked again after they hooked up after a dance.”
“Just one dance?”
“Just one. My mom was kind of a slut in the eighties.”
I grinned. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-nine. You?”
“Thirty-six.”
“Whoa.”
“That old, really?”
“No,” she said. “It’s not that. You’re just so young to be so successful.”
“Although I bet I was the type of lawyer your torts professor warned you about. The kind that gives us a bad name and that you should never be like no matter how much you’re starving.”
“How’d you know?”
“Because they told me that, too. It made me want to be that lawyer more. I didn’t intend to slave away in a law library and just be content that I was part of some grand profession. I wanted to be rich. I thought law was a good way to do that. But there were a million different ways I could’ve done it without law school.”
“Seems to have worked out for you.”
“A nearly forty-year-old guy, once divorced, whose best friends, who are also his business partners, are slowly drifting away from him, and his ex-wife is marrying his polar opposite?”
“No, someone who has the admiration of everyone working for him. You should hear the associates and clerks talk about you. How awesome you are in court, how insurance defense lawyers are scared of you, how much money you get for our clients.”
“Yeah,” I said, then took a bite of the enchilada. “There is that.” The enchilada was cold and rubbery. “This reminds me of elementary school food.”
“No, elementary school food was better.”
“I know a place. Let’s go check in with Rebecca and go there.”
“Sure, why not. I have nothing planned but watching Vampire Diaries tonight.”
We tried to check on Joel, but they wouldn’t let us into the room. I texted Rebecca that I was leaving.
I knew of a restaurant by the University of Utah. It primarily made its money as a bar catering to students, but a few people knew about the great food. We parked in the lot behind the pharmacy next door and hiked up a hill to get to the joint.
Inside was dark, but not smoky like it had been a decade ago. Smoking in public places had been banned in Utah, with an exception carved out for a few bars that functioned only as bars and not as restaurants. We sat at a table in the center.
“Can I order for you?” I said.
“Sure.”
“Two of Dom’s pizzas,” I said to the waitress. “And two beers.”
“Actually, I don’t drink. Just a Coke, please,” she said to the waitress.
The drinks came, and we took a few sips. Olivia seemed distracted. Her eyes would search the restaurant, then rest somewhere, and she would stare at that spot for a long time.
“What are you thinking about?” I finally asked.
“Just my mom. Sometimes I get home and she’s okay, and sometimes, she’s having an episode. I never know which it will be.”
“Can’t be easy for either of you.”
“It has its moments. I think it’s just hard because I still remember what she was like before the episodes starting getting worse. Until I was ten, she was just like any other mom. Then the episodes started happening and I knew something was wrong. The medication helps, though. An antipsychotic that’s kind of new. Without it I never would’ve been able to leave her long enough to go to law school. But it kind of levels her out. She used to paint, and once she started the medication, she couldn’t do it anymore. She had a little studio and just completely abandoned it.”
“I’ve heard of things like that. I had a friend I used to share an apartment with. Really
Similar Books
