Page 20 of Pen Pal

“Don’t worry about that,” the social worker commented, typing in a P.O. box number for the shelter. “They won’t know the difference.”

She clicked the save button and opened a browser on CareerHunt, a local job search website. “Let’s see, there’s a few lawyer postings in Ashwood and several in the next town over in Lockwood.”

“I’ll apply to them all,” I nodded, steering the laptop toward me. I began typing a cover letter for all the postings, and I read over the descriptions before sending off my applications.

“Good! You should hear back from them soon. Keep an eye on your email,” the social worker exclaimed. She stood, shuffled her papers together, grabbed her laptop, and headed out. “Have a good day, Amara, I’ll see you at our next appointment.”

She closed my bedroom door, and I was left alone again.

A million thoughts rushed through my head as I collapsed on the couch, staring at the ceiling. Will anyone hire a lawyer barely out of university with only five cases under her belt? Will I have to work a minimum wage job and save for years just to afford to be someone’s roommate or basement dweller? I had no savings to fall back on, and Mark always kept his money in his bank account. I had nothing.

Even the clothes on my back were borrowed, cast-offs from the lost and found in the shelter. The food in my fridge came from the food bank, my toiletries donations. I felt a new kind of despair crash over me. All these years, and all I had to show for it were possessions that could fit in a child’s school bag.

Tears flowed from my eyes, and I winced at the pain crying caused me now. My concussion wasn’t fully healed yet, and it was always a reminder of what Mark did to me.

I closed my eyes, hoping sleep would take me, as it was my only escape from my depressing reality. Only when I finally felt myself drift off did I hear thepingof my phone.

I groaned, grabbing it and opening my bleary eyes to browse notifications. All the sleep left me immediately when I realized it was an email fromCareerHunt.

“Congratulations! You were accepted by Lockwood Law for an interview…”

I couldn’t believe it. By the end of the week, I could have a job.

Things were finally starting to look up.

~*~

“Mrs. Amara Branson? Right this way, please.”

I looked up from the magazine I was reading in Lockwood Law’s waiting area, immediately dropping it back on the pile on the coffee table. I stood and followed the woman into her office, looking around and taking everything in.

From what I could tell, Lockwood Law was a woman-owned business with only women as lawyers. There was one lawyer for every area; federal, civil, and defense. I wondered why they had a job opening since every role seemed filled.

The woman gestured to the chair opposite her desk, and I sat, admiring her multiple degrees plastered on the wall. She sat behind her mahogany desk on a comfy leather chair and held my resume.

“Hello, Mrs. Branson, I’m Marta Gonzales, the defense lawyer and owner of this place. So, Mrs. Branson, I see a large gap between your last employer and now. Why did you stop working so soon after your graduation?”

Wow, get right to the point, why don’t you. “My ex-husband preferred I stayed home and be his little housewife,” I began. “But I found that that life isn’t for me. I’m ready to go back to work.”

Marta nodded, seeming satisfied with that answer as she skimmed over my resume. “Dunn & Dunn had great things to say about you. The cases you took were all defense cases. Did you want to be a defense lawyer?”

“I’ll take whatever position you can offer me,” I blurted out. “But yes, defense is where I’m most experienced.”

“Good,” Marta smiled. “We need a second defense lawyer. Our caseload has nearly doubled, so we must hire new lawyers.”

“I can do that.”

“I did a background check on you. You have no priors, and you seem well put together to me. Out of all the applicants I received, you’re the most qualified. The other two are law students, but I need someone who’s already passed the bar and is ready to work,” Marta asserted. “Can Icount on you?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I replied.

“Good! You can start now if you’re ready. I know just which case to start you out with.”

I smiled as she handed me a file as thick as my thigh, and my eyes widened.

“He’s one of our regulars. His name’s Lorenzo Ricci, and he’s been in prison since he was a teenager. He first got in for killing his sister’s coach, and then he caught some assault charges before he murdered a fellow inmate a few months ago. He’s difficult to work with, and he fired many lawyers before, including me,” she scoffs. “But his last lawyer retired, so his case now falls to you. He just got put back in with the other high-risk offenders, so you can visit him.”

I didn’t blink as I stared at her.

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