As Luck Would Have It by Mark Goldstein Page B

built-in bookcases that held huge legal volumes, as well as drinking glasses, an ice bucket, even liquor bottles. 
    I was afraid that Mr. Greenbaum would be intimidating, but he was actually very nice and told me he was glad I had come.  He showed me the pictures he pulled off the window sill of his wife and daughter Tiffany , who he said was about my age and in the ninth grade.  I told him that she was pretty, which was less than true actually; she was beautiful.  He seemed completely sincere when he asked how things had been going for me the last few months and then how could he help me.  
    Now that I had reached that point, there were so many things I wanted to ask.  Had he ever met my parents?  Could I move out of my aunt and uncle’s house if I wanted to?  Would I still be able to go to college?  Would Mr. Casslemond have to go to jail?  He patiently answered my questions and explained that any charges against Mr. Casslemond were civil in nature, as opposed to criminal and he clarified the differences for me.  He also explained that C&C Produce had insurance and that in all likelihood a settlement would reached before much longer, and a judge would be assigned to see that the assets were protected by a trust account.  Not to worry, my college expenses would be taken care of as well, he said. 
    Who knows how our emotions work exactly or why, what mechanisms control them, or fail to control them, even when we beg them to, but for whatever reason, I was overwhelmed very suddenly with some crazy mix of grief or heartache or despair over what my life would now forever be and I began to cry uncontrollably, for quite some time actually , babbling unintelligible apologies, the sadness pouring out of me like a broken water pipe unexpectedly flooding the room.  Mr. Greenbaum just put his arm around my shoulder and waited for it to pass saying nothing more than it’s OK, Clifford, it’s OK.
    When it finally ended and I had dried my eyes with the handkerchief he given me, I asked if it would be alright if I visited with Mr. Casslemond and his wife from time to time.  Yes, he thought that would be alright; in fact he had met Mr. Casslemond twice for depositions and was impressed with him; yes, it would be totally fine.  When I got up to leave, he said that I should come for another visit anytime I felt like it, if I had any questions or just wanted to talk; no appointment needed.
    Joseph wanted to see an exhibit at the Art Institute of Chicago, and then we headed to Lake Shore Drive, where we found a hot dog stand and ate our lunch before walking back to the bus station.  We didn’t talk much on the ride home.  Joseph read from a book on 19 th century American art that he had picked up at the museum; I sat next to the window and mainly watched the scenery blur past.  I think he figured out pretty much what had gone down.  He knew all he needed to know just by looking at me, my eyes still a little puffy, my mind drifting.  Thanks for coming along with me.  Oh, I had fun Clifford.  What did you get that book for?  My mom likes books on art.  Won’t she be a little suspicious when you give it to her?  If she asks where I got it, I’ll tell her the truth.  You better make up something or at least tell her this was all your idea.
    We were quiet the rest of the way.  I felt better getting some of that out of my system. When I got home, there was a message from Mr. Casslemond.  I called him later that evening and asked if I could come to their house for a visit the following weekend. 
     
    *****
     
    It may have occurred to you by now that my usual good luck might have decided to take an untimely sabbatical, and with it out of si ght , misfortune may have seized the opportunity to emerge uncontested, resulting in the unpleasant vision of Tim McCarty occupying the office now vacated by Mr. Finnernan.  We will have to wait to see if this is true or not, for luck is unlike any object or physical thing that