I WAIT JUSTbeyond the security checkpoint at the New Orleans Airport and watch the sea of travelers flowing through the concourse. I can tell a plane has just disembarked, because people are compressed together and swarming toward the exit like a school of fish. I spot Jessica immediately. She must have gone to the Seattle airport straight from a meeting; she’s wearing a tailored black dress, and her hair is pulled back in a sophisticated twist. She looks chic and professional—like a woman who knows how to get things done. And she does, I think. She’s the most efficient woman I know. She’s pulling her rolling carry-on bag with one hand and checking her phone with the other.
I step toward her as she passes the checkpoint, but she’s so focused on her phone that she nearly bumps into me. She jumps when I speak to her.
“Hi, babe.”
She looks up, her dark eyes wide. “Zack!”
I can’t tell for a moment if she’s pleased to see me or not. We give each other a quick hug and a peck on the lips.
“What are you doing here?” she asks.
“I came to pick you up,” I say. “I thought I’d surprise you.”
“You did. I was just calling an Uber.”
I reach for her bag. She surrenders the handle to me. “How was your flight?” I ask.
“Good. Uneventful. I finished a couple of reports on the way.” She shifts her large purse to her other shoulder. “How are your cases going?”
“They’re coming along. The pro bono case has hit a bit of a snag, though.”
“You can pass that off to Greg or someone, though, if it drags past your work for the firm, right?”
I shake my head. “I want to see it through.”
Her attitude toward my pro bono work has always bothered me. I occasionally take on cases involving disadvantaged young people who’ve been arrested on nonviolent charges. I usually talk the DA into reducing or dropping the charges, or letting the kid work out some kind of repayment plan. Jessica acts as if the work doesn’t matter as much as my other cases because I do it for free. I feel like it’s even more important because a kid’s future is on the line. In the interests of keeping the peace, I change the subject. “So you’re here until Wednesday, right?”
She nods. “This is my ‘say good-bye, pack everything up, last time I actually live in New Orleans’ trip.”
“Maybe this visit will make you want to reconsider that,” I say.
She looks away. “My replacement here has all but been hired. I’m meeting with the candidate Monday to talk with him about the position and weigh in on whether or not I think he can do the job.”
“So you still have a chance to keep it,” I press.
Her lips flatten, the way they do when she’s not pleased. “I’m loving everything about the regional position. And my family is so happy and excited that we’re going to be living near them.” She steps onto the escalator that leads down to the airport exit. “I know you understand the importance of family.”
Why do I feel like she’s playing a trump card? I follow her, propping the carry-on bag on the stair behind us. “I hoped you’d keep an open mind through the weekend.”
She gives me what I think of as her professional smile. “I think it’s very open-minded of me to agree to spend time with Lily and Quinn tomorrow. What’s the plan?”
“I thought we’d go to the aquarium.”
“For the morning or the afternoon?”
“Midmorning to midafternoon.”
She sighs. “Okay.”
Hey,I’m not asking you to watch a public execution, I nearly say, but don’t.
We step off the escalator. “As I mentioned on the phone, a therapist friend of Quinn’s thinks it’s important that we all spend time together so that you can get to know them and they can get to know you.”
She nods. “For when they visit. How often do you think that’ll happen?”
Hell. She’s pretending to be a good sport, but she’s completely locked in on living in Seattle. “Probably once or twice a year. Then I’ll try to get back here three or four times a year. I’d like to see the kids every two months or so.”
She looks like she swallowed something sour. “That’s a lot of back-and-forth. And we’ll be paying for everyone’s airfare?”
