In the Stars Page 6

  Bill grunts and takes a sip of the coffee on his desk. He makes a face and spits his mouthful back into the mug. “Ugh, cold.” He shakes his head sadly at the cup and then refocuses on me. “Having you in our firm would be, theoretically, a great asset, especially where you come from a background in corporate law. It might help us get a better perspective when working on our various cases.”

  I really don’t want to work here, but, a job is a job. I smile professionally and keep my shoulders back. “Absolutely. And even though I do not have an extensive background in environmental law, I pick things up quickly and will be a great contribution to your team in no time.”

  “Right, right.” He flips through the papers and makes another short note. Then he clears his throat, leans back in his chair and places his hands on his protruding belly. “I do have one concern, however,” he adds and my stomach sinks. A concern? I just know it’s going to be Carter Clinton. Being fired is never a good thing. “Why did you leave Carter Clinton? Was that by choice?”

  I know that legally I don’t have to state if I was fired or not, but I feel ridiculous either way. If I tell him I was fired, I’ll look bad. If I say I chose to leave, I’ll look bad. Who wants an employee who leaves a perfectly good job for no reason?

  “I felt that Carter Clinton had different goals than I did,” I say after a heavy pause. “Articling was a wonderful experience but essentially that type of law wasn’t what I wanted to practice for the rest of my life.”

  Bill’s eyes are narrowed as he evaluates my words. “Corporate burnout?”

  I am not a flake, I want to scream. “I wasn’t burned out, but I felt that perhaps I had missed the calling I felt during law school. It seems like everyone is so idealistic in law school and then we get out into the real world and it all becomes about money. After I finished articling, I simply came to an understanding that I wanted to do more, make more of a difference in the world, similar to what environmental lawyers do.” Blatant brown nosing attempt. I hope it deflects these questions for the time being.

  “So you are an idealist.”

  “Aren’t we all, to a degree? I would probably say I am an idealist, but with a pragmatic side.”

  This interview is going nowhere fast, but at least I haven’t crashed and burned. Stay positive. All I need is one job, one measly job to give me some distance from Carter Clinton on my resume. Bill writes more in his binder and I resist the urge to stand up and peer over his shoulder to see what he’s noting down.

  “We deal with a high stress environment in this place,” Bill states. “Everyone, from our receptionist to the paralegals, knows that we have to work hard to pay the bills. We don’t earn the large salaries with cash bonuses that some firms do. We work long hours and don’t see a great measure of reward. We are also expected to know a lot of law. Even the receptionist has probably forgotten more law than most people in other firms will know in a lifetime.”

  He scratches his chin and appraises me. “Charlotte, you seem like a nice girl, and I think on paper you would be a wonderful asset. However, and I hope you don’t mind me telling you this, I phoned Carter Clinton yesterday in preparation for this interview. They wouldn’t tell me details, but they did say that you had been let go in a bit of a messy situation. I understand that corporate law is not for everyone, but if you can’t handle that, I don’t think you can handle this, as both are extremely high stress environments.”

  I can’t believe it. My mouth has fallen open and I gape at him in bewilderment. I was supposed to be the one lowering myself to work for them. They can’t be turning me down! I graduated with distinction! I was voted ‘Most Likely To Run The World’ by my graduating class.

  “Wait, um, well, I can definitely, definitely handle this.” I don’t know what I’m saying, don’t have a clue where this will lead, but I feel desperate. They can’t reject me!

  “Look, okay, Carter Clinton fired me, but it was all a misunderstanding. I can work seventy hour weeks. I stay late, come in early, I never make mistakes. I will be the best employee you have. You have to believe me. What happened at Carter Clinton was politics and I swear to you, it had nothing to do with my work ethic or what I can or cannot handle.”

  Bill listens to my impassioned plea with a troubled expression. His lips are pursed and his arms are folded across his ample chest. “Charlotte, I do apologize. I don’t doubt that you are a wonderful lawyer, but I am afraid that this is not the right fit for you.”

  They blacklisted me. I can’t believe Carter Clinton made me out to be such a dud.

  I am led back through the office and to reception in a state of shock. Bill shakes my hand, thanks me for my interest in Jameson and Jameson and watches me exit. Maybe he’s worried I’ll throw a brick through the window or something. I stumble away, astonished and betrayed. Even a dinky law firm with worn out furniture, a bunch of washed up lawyers and a crummy location doesn’t want me.

  I take out my phone. I could call my mom, but I am too near tears to talk to her. If I start bawling on the phone she will freak out and insist I come home for dinner tonight. I don’t want to deal with family at the moment. I could call Heather, but she won’t understand. She succeeds at everything she does, and that will definitely not help. I am already dialing Josh’s number before I finish the thought. Josh will know what to do.

  It rings once and then I hear Josh’s clear voice. “Josh Mahoney speaking.”

  “Josh, I bombed it.” I launch into my tale and he listens without speaking. I tell him about how Bill Jameson had called Carter Clinton, how he knew before I entered that I had been fired, how he made me feel pathetic and unstable. My voice quavers as I finish. “That’s it. The end. No job for me.”

  “Charley,” Josh begins. His voice is soothing and slow, the way a person would speak to a frantic puppy. “That would be completely humiliating for anybody, yet you handled it well. Be proud of yourself for sticking to your guns. You told the truth, you did it with dignity. Who cares if they don’t want you? You are better than a tiny law firm who can’t even pay their bills. I heard from a friend that Jameson and Jameson is on the verge of bankruptcy.”

  “That doesn’t make me feel any better,” I sniffle. “All it proves is even a company two minutes away from going under doesn’t want me.”

  “Listen,” Josh continues. “I’ll call around, get in touch with some contacts. I know a few people at the Calgary Justice Services over in the court house. If I explain the situation, I bet they would get you in for an interview. Wouldn’t you like to work with underprivileged children and foster homes and whatnot?”

  “Yeah, but why would they want me? Nobody else does.” I don’t think anything will help me feel better right now, but at least my self-pity feels miserably good.

  “I gotta go, Charley, I have a ton of work to do, but I’ll try to touch base with a few people right after we get back from Victoria. Okay? Just keep your chin up. A lot of people love you, you know. Things will work out.”

  We say goodbye and I shove the phone back into my pocket. Josh’s reassuring words echo in my head. It’ll be fine. So I failed the interview, so what? I am still going to reconnect with the love of my life in a week and tomorrow I have that cleaning job with Heather’s realtor friend. Finally a chance to earn some money and stop feeling like a welfare case.

  I can handle it. One day at a time.

  Not until just before dawn do people sleep best;

  not until people get old do they become wise.

  —Chinese Proverb

  Chapter Ten

  Law school was hard work. Articling was a nightmare. And yet now I understand why I slaved over the books for seven years straight and why I would do it again in a heartbeat if I had to. Manual labor makes my back ache and my fingers smell like latex gloves. Not to mention that this house is even bigger than the city-sized monstrosity
that Drew’s parents own. Who knew there were houses this big in Calgary?

  When I got to the address in Pump Hill, I met the realtor who showed me the cleaning supplies, handed me a list of tasks to get done and said, “In case this wasn’t clear on the phone, you are paid by the job, not the hour.” I should have walked right then and there. Because it’s four and a half hours in and I’m only part way through the list.

  1. Vacuum every room twice.

  2. Disinfect carpet in master bedroom (which makes me wonder . . . is this where the person died? This is an estate sale after all. Terrifying.)

  3. Clean bathroom; scrub tile, showers and toilets.

  4. Add salt to the indoor pool filters (which I do by going down into a super creepy crawlspace in the basement and squeezing between the furnace and the sauna heater. At least there were no cobwebs. I draw the line at fighting spiders.)

  5. Deep clean kitchen. Self-clean the oven, disinfect each cupboard, and scour the fridge and freezer.

  6. Wash the windows. No streaks.

  And that’s as far as I’ve gotten. I haven’t had the heart to look at the remainder of the tasks. It is much too depressing.

  Drew had better be worth it, the sane part of my brain growls, while the stupid in love part begins tittering like a schoolgirl at the mere thought of him. I hate being a Gemini. Gemini’s are the twins in Greek mythology and I often feel like my rational self is at odds with my illogical, superstitious side.

  My cell phone buzzes, interrupting my thoughts. I climb down from the step ladder I am using to wash the high parts of the windows and reach into my back pocket. It’s my mom, caller ID proclaims.

  “Hey Momma,” I say, squatting on the floor to ease my aching back.

  “What are you up to today?”

  “I’m actually working. I got a job cleaning a house that a private realtor is trying to sell. I’ve been here most of the day.”

  “So you haven’t found a real job yet? No interviews?”

  I squeeze the phone between my shoulder and ear and pull my hands out of the rubber gloves, one finger at a time while I talk. “No, I had an interview the other day, but things went downhill when they asked about why I left Carter Clinton. My horoscope warned me about this, though. It said that I would soon face a crossroads and if I wasn’t careful I would end up on the wrong path.”

  My hands are finally free of the gloves and I rub my eyes. At the other end of the line, my mother sighs. “Sweetie, when are you going to get over this? You are probably the only intellectual in the country who believes in astrology. I don’t understand how you can be so knowledgeable and yet rely on something that has no verifiable scientific basis.”

  My mom is a doctor at the Rockyview General Hospital and has always been adamant that hard work is everything. There is no such thing as luck, except that which you create for yourself based on your intellect, your work ethic and your determination.

  “Just because there is no proof that it’s real doesn’t mean it isn’t,” I say, echoing a familiar argument we have at every family gathering. “I can’t see your brain, but it doesn’t mean you don’t have one.”

  To her credit, my mother chuckles. “You remind me so much of my mother. Your Grammy Krause was a cantankerous, superstitious old German who instilled in you and your brother way too much of her outdated belief system. Did I ever tell you that she thought that rainwater found on tombstones would cure freckles? She rubbed grave water all over your body when you were three years old in an attempt to get rid of your freckles. I came home from work and found her right in the middle of it. You were standing in the bathtub and she had this grody old jar full of water from a tombstone.”

  I stare at the reflection of myself in the now-shiny window I’ve been scrubbing. I have more freckles than the Milky Way has stars. Looks like the grave water didn’t work out so well. “Okay, so maybe that was a disturbing and epic fail, but some of the things she taught us were legit.”

  My mom is on a roll. “Grammy didn’t kill spiders because it was considered bad luck. So instead, she would put a glass jar over the spider and keep it locked away until either your dad or I got home from work and then we’d have to kill them. There were overturned canning jars all over the house during the summer. You and your brother would decorate them with markers.”

  I vaguely remember those jars but until now I never knew that was the reason behind it. And, no offense to Grammy, but that does seem a little ridiculous. “Maybe she had acute arachnophobia and that’s why she didn’t kill them,” I offer, but my mom ploughs ahead.

  “Every time it rained with the sun shining, she would hide in the basement because of some German folklore that sun showers make poison fall from heaven. I remember when you were born Mother wouldn’t look out the window for six weeks while holding you because she felt that cars driving by would take a bit of luck away from you.”

  She makes my Grammy sound like a crazy person and I feel a hint of shame. This isn’t what I sound like, right? I mean, my superstitions may not be scientific fact, but the evidence behind them is sound. Why else would my life have been so cruddy ever since Drew dumped me? Why else would I have been fired for no real reason?

  “Well, I’m not that extreme,” I mutter, more to myself than to my mother.

  “Let’s change subjects,” my mother says brightly. “No more talk of these silly notions. I have next week off from the hospital and I was hoping you and I could go visit your brother in Lethbridge together. What do you say?”

  Next week I am in Victoria, winning back the love of my life. “I’m actually going out of town with Josh.”

  “Josh?” My mom’s voice perks up about three octaves. “I really like that boy. Where are the two of you headed?”

  I pull the phone away from my ear. She made no attempt to hide her joy. She’s always had a thing for Josh. During his undergrad he had minored in Health Sciences, so he and my mother have plenty to talk about whenever they see each other. Which typically happens every few months when his fridge is empty and I’m going home for family dinners. It seems like he’s hungry every time I tell him my mom’s cooking.

  “We’re going to Victoria,” I confess, deciding on the spot that honesty is the best policy when it comes to my mother. She has a sixth sense whenever my brother or I try to lie. Plus, the truth is better than her jumping to conclusions about me and Josh. “Remember Drew who I dated a few years ago?”

  “Drew, Drew, oh yes, the boy you brought camping with us in Yoho and he couldn’t handle using an outhouse.” She chuckles at the memory. “He plugged his nose and acted quite the little diva before his intestines forced him in there.”

  “Okay, well that’s not the most flattering memory of him,” I admit, “but he was a really great guy overall, and I’m going out to Victoria to see him.”

  “And you’re bringing Josh?”

  “He wanted to come,” I say defensively.

  “So what made you decide to see him again? I didn’t realize you two had stayed in touch.” Her words are innocent but her tone is accusatory. Honestly, mother’s intuition can be a scary thing sometimes.

  I grind my teeth and then blurt it all out. “You’re going to berate me again, but ever since we broke up, my life has been cursed. Everything was so much more promising when we were together, and now if only I can find him again, I know my life will get back on track. It’s destiny.”

  I squeeze my eyes closed and wait for her to explode. There is a long, drawn out pause and then the questions come. As a lawyer, I should be prepared for this, however I am usually the one verbally attacking, not being attacked. I brace myself for the onslaught.

  “You haven’t spoken to him in years?”

  “No.”

  “How do you know where he is?”

  “His mom told me.”


  “And he’s single and wanting you back in his life?”

  “Sort of.”

  “Sort of single or sort of wanting you back?”

  “Single.”

  “How can you be ‘sort of’ single?”

  “He’s engaged. But I am going to stop the wedding, because we are soul mates. We belong together and he and his fiancée do not.” I blink back tears. Do not cry. Do not cry. No argument with my mother was ever won by giving in to my emotional side.

  “Charley, beliefs are fine, as long as people who believe in God or a Supreme Power or whatever still use their brains. But when you start acting impulsively based solely on what you think is fate or your destiny, and you forget to think, then you are in trouble. This is a bad idea.”

  “Thanks for supporting me, Mom.” Time for this conversation to end.

  “I’m not supporting, not even sarcastically. Don’t do it.”

  “I appreciate your point of view, but I gotta go.”

  “Seriously, listen to your mother! Why are you ignoring me? This is good advice.”

  “Love you, Momma. Talk to you when I get back.” I hang up quickly and resume spraying Windex on the front windows with a vengeance. Okay, so she didn’t quite get it. But if my Grammy was on one end of the spectrum when it comes to fate, my mother is the exact opposite. She is too much like Josh . . . but at least Josh is supporting me in this.

  All my life, deep down, I’ve known there had to be more out there, some power outside of our own control. Call it superstition, call it God, call it Providence or karma or whatever. I know it’s real, even though my mom laughs it to scorn. And when this thing with Drew pans out and I show her all her little green eyed, black haired grandbabies, she’ll take it back.