After cleaning up my inbox, I went to my drafts and opened the email to Clyde Johnson at Raymond & Johnson Law.
Mr. Johnson,
If the offer is still available, I'm interested in the position offered me previously with your law firm.
For the last several years, I've added commercial law, marketing strategies, streamlining office practices, and management to my resume. These have been paramount in saving my father’s law firm and with your consideration, I'm certain it would add to profiting Raymond & Johnson Law as well. Resume attached.
Thank you,
Scott Elliot
With three more read-throughs and a deep cleansing breath, I hit send and prayed he remembered me.
I did it; I sent the email. A combination of nerves and excitement rushed through my veins. I stood up and stretched, my shoulder still stiff from the pumpkin incident. After it got popped back in place, the nausea and pain mostly vanished. My eye, however, had quite the shiner.
The office Dad and I shared was filing cabinets, law books, and florescent lighting. Family photos covered every inch of his desk. The room felt stuffy and dusty, regardless of how I organized it.
I wouldn’t be sad to trade it all for a big corner office with a view.
The front door dinged. Did I forget to lock it?
It was Saturday morning and there was no one at the reception desk since we were closed. I reached behind me and put on my suit jacket, ignoring my protesting shoulder. I stretched the sleeves, trying to lengthen it. Yep. Still too short. The other one was at the cleaners with pumpkin guts and may never recover. I had to find garbage bags to cover my car seats before I could even drive home last night.
“I knew I would find you working today,” my father’s voice called from the hallway.
He walked in wearing a Hawaiian button-up shirt and an enormous smile. “We both know your salary doesn’t cover this extra time. Now that things are slowing down, you might want some hobbies . . . or a girlfriend.” My father’s steps slowed as he took in my puffy left eye. “Or maybe you have picked up a hobby?”
“Hey, Dad.” I closed the distance between us and gave him a one-armed hug. I pointed toward my eye. “This was a one-time occurrence. No need to worry about further injury.”
He nodded.
This was good. I needed to talk to Dad about switching jobs. I had a plan all laid out for him to follow. It would be simple.
Everything would work out.
My dad scanned me, looking for further injury. “Your mother was wondering if you would come for dinner next Sunday.” His lips turned down. “Looks like you’re gonna have a real shiner.”
“I’m blaming James for it.”
Dad winced, probably wondering what disaster James had gotten me into this time.
“You could’ve just texted about dinner,” I offered. It was easier to avoid a text.
“Yes, but I thought I might get a different response if I guilted you in person.” He bumped my shoulder good-naturedly. Dad went over to the plant in the corner and tested the soil for water. I suggested plastic plants, but Dad was happy to water the few plants that survived this long. The fact that Mom had given them to him was evident in his care for them. He loved pleasing her.
My family was persistent. I would give them that. I loved them, I did. But, I also felt unsettled there as well. Everyone else seemed content with the life they were handed. Everyone but me.
I wanted something different. Not hand-me-downs and leftover casserole lunches.
My dad owned a law firm but was still more of afamily man than a true lawyer. Growing up, there was a constant stream of strangers at the dinner table, and my parents seemed to adopt every charity case they came across. They gave to everyone, but it wasn’t like they had excess. If they kept some of that for themselves, I might not have to be here saving their company. I rubbed the back of my neck.
I loved them, I did, and I knew they loved me. I just didn’t always feel like I meshed.
“I don’t know . . .” I said, running a hand through my hair. “I thought I might catch up on some reading, those financial journals don’t read themselves.” The excuse sounded boring even to my ears. I thought about Mary and her comment on my boring reading material.
“Come on. The boss lady would love it and you know what they say,Happy wife . . .”
“Happy life,” I completed my dad’s familiar saying.
