Being a Barrow - A Sequel to Barrow's Boy

It's Just the Price I Pay

     Abigail knew limited things about the man sitting across from her at the dinner table.

     She knew he had been at the club that night, in the perfect position to step into the empty spot on the dance floor. She knew that he had been kind then and pleasant on the telephone after. He worked as a lawyer, she had learned, though she could not say what he specialized in. He had little interest in the books she read but allowed her to ramble on in paragraphs about them anyway. And she knew that his name was Paul.

     Paul Randolph had somehow, amidst the monotonous life his job seemed to provide, charmed his way to their London dinner table that night. He had been perfectly respectable with Abi's father, courteous with her mother, and agreeable with Edward. There was nothing for any of them to complain about. Nothing at all.

     "Abigail tells me that you work in the legal field," Abi's father offered, watching Paul prod at the slice of meat on his face. Paul looked up at him and nodded, placing his fork on the plate, a soft clink emitting as the cutlery touched the porcelain. 

      "I do. I'm a barrister."

     "I see," Abi's father replied. Edward spoke up next.

      "Is there a certain field that you work in?" 

     Paul hummed in confirmation, glancing down only to pick up his wine glass before turning back to Edward to respond.

     "I work in medical malpractice, mostly."

     He took a sip. Abi looked over his head and out the window, the sun shining bright into her eyes as it continued to set. Funny, there was a philosopher that had come up in one of her classes who believed you could never truly know if the sun would rise the next morning. She couldn't recall his name now. Would he want her to make more of this setting sun than she was? Should she be trying to catch it? Bring it back to herself before it was gone, possibly forever? Or, should the sun never return, should one just embrace the moon and hope that it lasts instead?

     "How intriguing," Edward replied to the man. He raised his fork to his mouth as if about to take a bite, then paused, looking at Paul. "How long have you been practicing?"

     "Five years. Or just nearly."

    Edward, who had taken that bite while Paul responded, paused in his chewing, looking at the table with a narrow eye. After a moment, he chewed two more times, swallowed, and then looked at the man.

      "Five years? Why, that must make you how old?"

      "Twenty-seven," Paul answered easily. "I started at Durham when I was 19. Studied three years there before graduating."

     Edward put his fork down on the table, now taking his turn to look out the window. Abi could only tell that he was looking there and not at Paul based on how the light of the sun changed on his eyepatch, now hitting it in a way that allowed her to see the seams of it.

     The table grew quiet for a little while after that, everyone turning their attention to their meal until, finally, Abi's mother decided to play the gracious hostess.

     "You know, Mister Randolph," she began. On cue, he turned to look at her. "It's always nice for us to know that Abigail has someone looking out for her in London while she's here for her schooling."

     Paul hummed around the food in his mouth, chewing for a moment before he answered. In those seconds, the sound of silverware hitting china filled Abi's ears, its cacophony splitting through her head.

     "Yes, of course," Paul replied. "Remind me what it is that you study, Miss Bennett?"

     "Education," Abi replied simply. "I'm studying to be a teacher."