"Yep! I have some that are sweet and a couple of egg, cheese, and bacon muffins."
"Damn, you have perfect timing." Rupert rubbed his stubbled jaw and shook his head. "Margery was struggling this morning, so I just had a piece of toast for breakfast."
Sandra paused in his doorway, her heart clenching with sympathy. "Morning sickness still hitting her?"
The worry lines around Rupert's eyes deepened as he nodded. "Yes, but her doctor says she should be getting over it soon."
"Well, get the pastries while they're warm," Sandra encouraged, hoping the small gesture might brighten his day. Remembering what he said the other day, she asked, “How was golf with Mr. Blackwood? Did you get a chance to look at any houses?”
Rupert’s eyes lit as he smiled. “Sure did. Man, he does beautiful work on those custom homes.”
“I hear they’re expensive!” Portia said.
Tom nodded while chewing on a pastry. “Yeah. I looked at some of his, but when we moved to The Dunes, we bought a house that was several years old. The owners wanted a quick sale, so we got a deal. It wasn’t a Blackwood home, though.”
Rubert sighed. “Yeah… his prices meet the quality of his work. But he said we might be able to get a smaller house, built in one of The Dunes’ older neighborhoods. Not on the beach. If we do that, we should be able to afford it.” He licked the powdered sugar off his lips. “Although the attorney who golfed with us is someone Harrison knew. He told me that there were ways to increase my income on the side. He said his company used several attorneys part-time.” He shrugged. “Who knows, it might be a way to get a beachside house.”
Portia cocked her hip and lifted her brow. “Yeah, and with a new baby, just when will you have time for that?”
Sandra chuckled, wished him luck, then headed back to her cramped office, dropping her bags with a grateful sigh. The familiar chaos of legal files, documents, and a plethora of sticky notes welcomed her back.
Portia appeared in the doorway, notepad in hand. "You've got a full morning. You have a nine o'clock appointment with the Hendersons." She glanced up, her expression growing serious. "They're the older couple who have a problem with a fence company."
Sandra nodded. She'd already reviewed their contract and felt she could assist them with their civil case.
"Then Jenny Thompson is coming in. She's still having problems with her landlord and needs advice. After that, you have a late morning appointment with the Garcias."
"Okay, thanks, Portia. Just let me know when the Hendersons get here."
Twenty minutes later, Harold and Doris Henderson sat across from Sandra's desk, their weathered hands clasped tightly together. Harold's flannel shirt hung loose on his thin frame, while Doris clutched a manila folder to her chest like armor.
"We trusted them," Doris whispered, her voice trembling. "Forty-three years we've lived in that house, and we never had a problem with anybody."
Harold's jaw worked silently before he found his voice. "The fence company came highly recommended. Said they'd build us a six-foot privacy fence for five thousand dollars." His laugh was bitter. "Privacy fence, my ass. Thing's barely four feet tall and looks like a drunk kindergartner built it."
Sandra opened the contract they'd provided, re-scanning the specifications. "According to this, you're absolutely right. The contract clearly states six feet in height, cedar boards, and four-by-four posts, all with professional installation."
"They're saying we misunderstood," Doris said, her faded blue eyes filling with tears. "That man had the nerve to tell me I was confused because of my age. I may be seventy-six, but I can still read just fine."
Sandra's pen clicked against her notepad. "Have you documented the discrepancies with photographs?"
Harold nodded grimly. "My grandson took pictures with his phone, then printed them out. The fence posts are crooked, the height's wrong, and there's a gap you could drive a truck through."
"They want another three thousand tofixit," Doris added, her voice growing stronger with indignation. "Three thousand more dollars for work they should've done right the first time."
Sandra made detailed notes, her mind already formulating their legal strategy. "We're going to demand they complete the work according to the contract specifications at no additional cost. If they refuse, we'll pursue legal action for breach of contract and potentially fraud."
The relief that washed over the elderly couple's faces warmed Sandra's chest. This was why she'd chosen Legal Aid… to be the voice for those who couldn't afford to fight back.
Jenny Thompson arrived thirty minutes late, with her five-year-old daughter, Julie, clinging to her leg like a koala. Dark circles shadowed Jenny's eyes, and her uniform from the diner bore fresh stains from the morning rush.
"I'm so sorry," Jenny breathed, settling Julie in a corner chair with a coloring book. "My babysitter canceled at the last minute, and I couldn't find anyone else."
"It's perfectly fine," Sandra assured her, pulling out a small container of crayons she kept for these situations. "Julie, would you like some crayons to go with your book?"
The little girl's face brightened, and she nodded shyly.
Jenny's shoulders sagged with exhaustion. "Mr. Kowalski is at it again. The heat went out in March, when it was still cold. The stove went out three days ago, and he's refusing to fix it. The whole stove and oven! Says it's not his responsibility because we're month-to-month tenants. That’s on top of the washer that doesn’t work, either. I’ve been schlepping our clothes to the laundry mat after work for the past month. It’s the only place I can afford, but I need the appliances to work.”
