Coming Home to Greenleigh

Chapter 12

***A note about the video: it may seem incongruous, but it's really not. It's about missed chances, fate, unfortunate accidents. Who knows why we end up where we are and with the people we're with? We think we "belong" in one place or another, but who decides? Maybe WE decide, here and now. Maybe we're not trapped in a construct, not of our own making. And so...I love this video, and it fits Elisabeth very well in this chapter (and in the next few!). Let's see if she decides, for once, to be her own person.***

When she had spoken to Angela about the scheduled meeting with Bob and Christine, she had met with violent resistance.

"Absolutely not," Angela had gasped. "No. No. I'm not ready."

"I know it's hard," Elisabeth had begun, but Angela cut her off.

"I feel ridiculous," she exclaimed. "I know I came to you--well, Sarah made me--she said that I should--and I was--I was--but no!" she finished, choking on her sentence.

Elisabeth tried again, but Angela cut her off once more. "I don't understand!" she wailed. "Why do I need a different lawyer? Why can't you just talk to him for me?"

Beth explained, but Angela was still upset. "Bob can hire someone else," she sniffled. "I don't understand why he had to go talk to Lawson & Lawson. He doesn't even like lawyers."

"Or you can both ask Christine Roberts to mediate," Elisabeth said. "You won't have to accept anything you don't like. It's a way to cut down on the friction between both sides, and to keep it out of the courtroom."

"A kinder, gentler divorce?" Angela's voice was bitter.

"Yes," Elisabeth replied. She was doing her best to sound upbeat, but she was feeling rather despondent herself. She wished she could go to bat for Angela, and she was upset that her pathetic financial state was a source of anguish for someone who was already in so much pain. She doubted that Bob Stewart was such a bad guy, and she suspected that there was room to patch things up between the two.

Shawn was right; she couldn't exactly face him in a courtroom, could she. That would be bizarre and awkward. But she was angry, humiliated, frustrated--and desperate. She needed to do something. Anything. She couldn't hide. Anymore.

She'd called Ricky Junior and he'd connected her to Christine. That part of it would work. She was almost tempted to give herself a pat on the back for clever thinking. She wasn't a particularly good chess player, but she wasn't too bad at thinking on her feet. She thought that maybe she could continue to counsel Angela without actually representing her, and that way she might be able to help prevent this family from unraveling. And maybe Shawn would be able to bow out as well. She didn't think he really wanted to add a divorce case to his workload.

But this wasn't workable indefinitely. In the future, there would be more Angela Stewarts, more Bob Stewarts. She couldn't keep bailing on clients. And God forbid, if people figured out what was going on, that would be an easy way to disrupt things--if Elisabeth Burnham is representing you, then just hire Shawn Waterstone! She'll get kicked off the case! End of story!

She'd arranged to see Angela after the meeting with Bob, Christine, and Shawn. She was able to coax her out for coffee at Pierre's, but she knew this was going to be a difficult meeting.

Fine snowflakes were falling on and off; the forecast said the storm might shift a bit and head toward the sea, in which case they wouldn't get nearly the dump of snow that they had thought. Elisabeth splurged recklessly on a coffee and a croissant, and sat at a table next to a window, watching the flakes dance and flutter before they skittered away across the sidewalk outside. Ms. Tattoo had her head buried in another Russian novel, as was her habit, and merely grunted when Elisabeth deposited her change into the tip jar.