“And you taught me everything I know.”
“Yes, I suppose I did.” There was a deep sense of pride in his look. And that one look from her dad made all those eternal months of work—the research, the planning, the long hours of preparing for a case—worth every exhausting hour.
They sat in silence while the carriage rolled up and over the steep hills of the city. The horses’ hooves clattered over the trolley rails while newspaper boys hawked the afternoon edition. A cool gust of October wind rode in from the Pacific and rattled the etched glass windows of the elegant carriage. In the distance, fog bells belched long and loud, and a trolley bell rang as it crossed an intersection where traffic came to an abrupt halt.
She could feel her father’s look, and she turned.
“I wish your mother could see you now,” he said. The pride was still in his eyes, along with the misty look of a distant memory.
She reached out and touched his hand. “I know, Dad. I wish she were here, too.”
He looked away for just a second, one of those quiet imagined moments of “what if “ experienced by those the dead have left behind. She released his hand, and when he turned back, his expression wasn’t as wistful. He fumbled in his coat pocket and handed her an envelope.
“What’s this?”
His face gave nothing away. “Open it and find out.”
She tore open the seal and looked inside. She took out a set of tickets, turned the top one so she could read it, then looked up. “This is a first-class ticket on an ocean liner.”
He nodded.
“Going where?” she thought aloud as she thumbed through the other tickets, then unfolded the itinerary. She whipped her head up. “The South Seas?”
“And vouchers for transportation between islands.” He smiled. “French Oceania—Tahiti, the Cook Islands, and more. A little taste of paradise for a daughter who works too hard.”
“Oh, Dad...” She leaned over and planted a kiss on his white-whiskered cheek. She looked down at the tickets. “Thank you.”
“Are you pleased?”
She gave him an easy smile and grabbed his hand. “Of course.”
“Good.” He began to talk about the islands, about how the South Seas still held a bit of paradise that the modern world hadn’t ruined.
She listened as she stared out the window at the bay and the misty wall of fog sitting just off shore, at the tall narrow rows of candy-colored houses huddled so close together that after traveling past them for a few streets they almost melted together like the colors of a rainbow.
This trip was her father’s dream. Not hers. But then she hadn’t had much time in the last few years to have any dreams.
She looked at the envelope and knew she’d go. Because he had always wanted to go. She frowned for a second, then slid open the envelope again and shuffled through the contents. “Dad? There’s only one ticket here. Where’s yours?”
He cleared his throat, then said, “I can’t get away right now.”
“I’m going alone? But—”
He held up a hand and cut her off in the same efficient way he handled his gavel. “The state supreme court docket is full. We have to hear the Mallard case.”
“So soon?”
He nodded. “It’s due to start the day after tomorrow.”
She closed the flap on the ticket envelope. “Then I’ll wait until you can get away.”
“Oh, no, you don’t. By that time you’ll be into another case and won’t want to get away.”
“But —”
“Don’t even try to argue this, Margaret. You won’t win with me. I’m the one who taught you how to argue a point. And I’m telling you that you will not have another case until after you take some time away.”
“You’re just throwing your weight around.”
