Requiem for a Realtor by Ralph McInerny

smiled. In a well-ordered world Tuttle would have been disbarred long ago. The fact that Stanley Collins had gone to such a man seemed to corroborate his parents’ estimate of his intelligence. Nonetheless, it was irksome that Stanley had not come to him to discuss his discontents.
    *   *   *
    It was the following week that David Jameson had called for an appointment. Maud was suggesting a date some months in the future, but Amos passing through the outer office happened to overhear. When he glanced at the name Maud had jotted down, he indicated that he would take the phone.
    â€œDr. Jameson? Amos Cadbury. How might I help you?”
    He arranged to see Jameson the following morning. There was a woman with him.
    â€œIs this Mrs. Jameson?”
    This simple question threw both Jameson and his companion into consternation. She began to identify herself, speaking to Maud, and Jameson himself said that that was why they had come to him. Now Amos was himself confused and not a little curious. He got them settled into chairs and sat looking receptively at them. Maud had withdrawn.
    â€œMrs. Collins has come to me and told me a number of things and I offered to accompany her here. It has to do with her husband’s inheritance.”
    â€œI see.”
    â€œShe is a patient of mine.”
    Amos nodded. Mrs. Collins simpered. Something about their togetherness caused Amos unease. Why would a dentist bring a patient to a lawyer to discuss her husband’s inheritance? The reason eventually emerged. Mrs. Collins was afraid that her husband was contemplating divorce.
    â€œWhere does that put me?”
    â€œI don’t understand.”
    â€œStanley always made a big thing of the money awaiting him. Sometimes I think it kept us together.” She said this without embarrassment. “If he should divorce me…”
    â€œHis inheritance is not due to come to him for some time.”
    â€œShe would be cut off?” Jameson asked.
    â€œShe could hardly be cut off from what is not yet in possession of her husband.”
    â€œI wouldn’t get a dime,” Mrs. Collins cried. “I knew it.”
    â€œNow Phyllis.” Jameson turned to Amos. “There must be some way in which she can lay claim to some portion of the money that was in effect promised her from the time she married.”
    â€œYou are not a lawyer, Dr. Jameson, or you would not imagine such an imperative.”
    He spelled it out. Take a couple who divorced. Some years later, one or the other came into a sum of money. That money could hardly be regarded as part of any settlement since at the time of divorce, ex hypothesi, it did not belong to the person in question. He explained this again, in several ways, but the lay mind is ill equipped to understand that the law does not obey what the lay mind regards as common sense.
    â€œHave you no advice at all?”
    Amos hesitated, then launched into the deep. “Reconcile with your husband, Mrs. Collins. Chase thoughts of divorce from his mind. In a few years…”
    She burst into angry tears. With an effort and after several unsuccessful attempts, Jameson got her to her feet and led her to the door.
    â€œThank you for seeing us, Mr. Cadbury,” he said.
    â€œThanks for nothing,” cried Phyllis Collins.
    When they were gone, Maud looked in, but Amos waved her wearily away. He turned in his chair and looked out at the skyline of Fox River. Mark Twain told the story of how his family had been ruined by pinning their hopes constantly on some land in Tennessee that would eventually come their way. Had Frederick Collins unwittingly done the same to his son? And to his ill-tempered little wife toward whom David Jameson exhibited such considerate tenderness?
    The following week Stanley Collins was run down by a car. Amos considered it a professional obligation to attend the wake and funeral. An obligation to old Frederick Collins, whose own joint