Page 124 of Dial L for Lawyer
"Serena." His thumb strokes my palm. "I'd do anything for you."
The pancakes arrive, drowning in butter and syrup. A plate piled high with bacon gets set in between us. We eat quietly. No champagne. No victory lap. Just two people in a crappy diner, figuring out what's next.
"Thank you for this," I say finally.
"Shitty pancakes?"
"No. For not telling me what to think. What to feel. For just..." I wave vaguely. "Accepting my mess and sitting in it with me."
He grins. "I love your mess. The angry parts, the sad parts, the parts that politely eat bad pancakes."
"These are good pancakes."
"They're average at best."
"Shut up and put more syrup on them." But I'm smiling. "When can you arrange this Maya thing?"
"This afternoon."
"That fast?"
"Always." He raises his Irish coffee. "To answers."
"To syrup," I counter.
"To not having a plan," he adds.
We clink mugs, and I realize this is what victory feels like. Choosing what comes next. Having someone who'll help me get there.
Even if it means visiting my backstabbing protégé in a holding cell.
"OK," I say. "Let's do it. Let's go see Maya."
"After pancakes," he clarifies.
"Obviously. I'm not confronting her on an empty stomach. I have standards."
CHAPTER 30
Serena
The county jail smells like bleach trying to cover up despair. Everything looks exhausted—the floors, the walls, even the guard who leads me through security. Fluorescent lights buzz overhead like angry wasps.
"Fifteen minutes," she says. "That's all you get."
"That's all I need."
Maya's in an interview room that's either too hot or I'm sweating from nerves. Orange jumpsuit hanging loose on her frame. No makeup. Her usually perfect hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. Chipped nails. Shadows under her eyes like bruises.
She looks younger. Defeated. Real.
"Your lawyer pulled strings," she says without looking up. "Must be nice."
"Maya—"
"Don't." She finally meets my eyes. "Just... don't do the sympathetic mentor thing. I can't handle it."
I sit across from her at the metal table. The chair scrapes against concrete. "OK. Then you talk."
