The Matchmaker's Gift(77)
“Of course,” Abby answered. “Absolutely. I’ll finish the Henshaw papers and drop them off later.”
“No,” Diane told her. “You don’t understand. You betrayed my trust, Abby. You interfered in a longtime client’s personal relationship without even bothering to tell me about it.”
“Are you firing me?” Abby whispered.
“I haven’t decided yet. You’re talented, Abby. There’s no doubt about that. But you keep getting sidetracked. Suddenly, you think you know better than our clients about what it is they need or want for their lives. Maybe Evelyn Morgan likes it, but I cannot tolerate that kind of behavior.”
“Please, Diane. I should have told you about Evelyn. I’m sorry about that. It was—inexcusable. But you heard yourself how happy she is. She only has good things to say about our work.”
Diane nodded. “Yes, that’s true. Evelyn is happy. But Victor étoile is miserable, and the more I sit here and contemplate why, the more I think you had something to do with it.”
“Please, Diane, if you could—”
Diane held up one hand to silence her. “I don’t want to hear any more today, Abby. Go home. I need time to think. I’ll decide what to do after the engagement party—assuming the party still happens, of course.”
“Is there anything I can say that will change your mind?”
“No. It’s settled. I’ll see you on Saturday.”
It would have been less frightening if Diane had lashed out. If she had cursed or slammed her office door. Abby was used to that side of her boss; it was a side she knew how to manage more easily. But Diane hadn’t so much as raised her voice, and Abby didn’t know what to say next.
“I’m sorry, Diane. I truly am.”
Diane turned her chair and stared out the window. “I never set out to become a divorce lawyer, you know. I had much more lofty dreams about what I would do: civil rights law, immigration policy. But it was made very clear to me early on that if I ever wanted to become a partner, it would have to be in a field that the men I worked for considered suitable for women. ‘Family law’ was the only specialty they thought a woman was capable of handling. It was the only chance they were willing to give me, so I took it, and I got very good at it. I’ve worked my entire life to earn the reputation I have today. When I joined forces with Richard to form this firm, I thought I’d found a real partner—a colleague I could trust. But Richard Gold only looks out for himself, which means I need my associates to look out for me. I can’t risk having someone at this firm who doesn’t respect me enough to be completely honest.”
“But I do respect you! And your work! Please, Diane, please hear me out.”
Diane kept her eyes on the window. “You should go, Abby. I’ll see you on Saturday. In the meantime, enjoy your time off.”
Enjoy my time off? How the hell am I supposed to do that?
* * *
Abby got into the elevator with her head still spinning. When she pushed her way through the glass doors of the lobby, the late July heat was like a slap in the face. It was too oppressive to walk more than a few blocks, so she hailed a taxi and got inside. Without thinking, she gave the driver the address of her grandmother’s apartment.
When the taxi pulled up, Abby’s heart felt heavy. The last time she had been inside the building was the last time she had seen her grandmother alive. She fished into her purse for money to pay the driver and forced herself to get out of the car.
The doorman greeted her with a hug. Paul had to be in his sixties, at least, but to Abby, he never seemed to age. His white mustache was as thick as ever, and the jacket of his uniform still fit to perfection.
“Abby,” Paul said, his voice heavy with emotion. “I’m so glad you came by. We’ve missed seeing your face around here.”
“I’ve missed you, too,” Abby said. “It’s been … hard with her gone.”
Paul nodded sympathetically. “She was one of a kind. Everyone in the building loved her.”
“That’s so sweet of you to say. Do you think you could let me into the apartment? My mom has the extra key, but she’s out of town.”
“Of course! Let me get it—I’ll only be a minute. I’ll take you up myself.”
Ten minutes later, Paul was turning the key into the door of 11G. Whenever they had visited the apartment as children, Hannah liked to say, “The G is for grandma!”
“Thank you, Paul,” Sara told him. “I’m not sure how long—”
He interrupted with a reassuring smile. “Take however long you need,” he said.
The spacious one bedroom was as spotless as ever, but the silence felt unfamiliar and strange. The scent of lemon Lysol hung in the air, erasing the memories of other, cherished smells—roasted chickens, cheese blintzes, and oatmeal cookies, heavy with chocolate and walnuts. Before her trip, Abby’s mother had been by to clean and to begin what would surely be the lengthy process of packing up all of Grandma Sara’s possessions. The evidence of those efforts was all around—the bare bookcases, the empty coat closet, and the neat rows of half-filled cardboard boxes pressed against the living room wall. Abby dug her nails into her palms. She did not have the courage to walk into the bedroom, the place where her grandmother had breathed her last breath.