“I don’t know.” Climbing off the bed, I straighten and bring the phone to my ear. “This is Dr. Martín.”
“Emery, this is Shandra.” I glance over at Luca, who is watching me, surely trying to figure out why my entire body suddenly feels rigid.
“Oh. Hi, Shandra,” I say, and mouth the wordsmy boss’s assistanthis way. “How are you?”
“I’m well, thank you. I’m calling because Leonard has asked for you to come in as soon as possible,” she says. “He is aware that you are out of town but says it’s quite urgent.”
“I just got back in town,” I tell her, “so I could come in tomorrow morning—”
“Actually, if you’re back, he’d like you to come in now.”
“Now?” I look at Luca again, certain that all the color has drained from my face. He doesn’t look so hot, either.
“Now,” she confirms, her voice stony.
“Of course. I’ll be right there,” I say. “Thank you, Shandra.”
Ending the call, I reach up to rub my face.
“What’s happening?” he asks.
“I’m not sure.” My eyes move to our bags on the bed. “Can I unpack when I’m back? I don’t know why, but they need me to come in right now.”
Standing, Luca brushes back a strand of my hair. “Is this look of dread because of work, or worry about my reaction?”
“Definitely the first one, but maybe a little of both.”
“I don’t expect you to completely change who you are, Em,” he says. “Just to include me in it more. Go. I can take care of all this. Do whatever you need to do. I’ll be here.”
“Okay. Hopefully it’s nothing major and I’ll be back soon.”
Nodding, he kisses my forehead. “Just keep me updated.”
I stretch to kiss him for real before reluctantly heading toward the bedroom door.
“Em,” he says, and I look back. “I love you.”
Tears prick at my eyes. I will never get over hearing him say that. “I love you, too,” I say, and walk out the door.
39LUCA
There’s something weirdly familiar about waiting for Emery to get home. I finish unpacking and move both our bags back to the closet. I work in the yard for a little bit and play with Honey and stare at my phone, waiting for anything from my wife.
The silence is unsettling.
It feels familiar again, when I walk through the house, looking for ways to keep busy, Honey’s nails ticking softly on the wood floors behind me. The dishwasher needs to be unloaded so I start there before working my way through the rest of the kitchen. Em has an office, but the built-in desk in the kitchen is apparently mine. I realize I haven’t even gone through it yet, so I pull out the chair, waiting for a sense of familiarity to rise.
But it doesn’t. I open the drawers and begin sifting through the contents. Past Luca clearly wasn’t a junk drawer kind of guy, and the various items are neatly organized in clear plastic containers: pens, batteries, charging cords, Post-it notes. Nothing exciting.
The bottom drawer is a filing cabinet, with folder tabs neatly labeled and sorted by year, month, and project name. Crash and I seem to be doing okay, with all invoices paid within thirty days and a lot more recurring customers than I would have imagined. No wonder Crash is staying so busy. I itch to get back to work.
My fingers pause on a single unlabeled manila folder all the way in the back. Pulling it out, I open it on the desk in front of me. It takes me a beat to process what I’m seeing.
Brown, Pitt, and Yoon Family Law
Family law?I scan the page, my eyes skimming over and then flying back to the heading under the letterhead:
Re: Engagement Letter—Divorce Representation