The Winner's Game(64)
Where is Dell? He should be here by now.
I can’t do this parenting thing on my own…
Chapter 23
Dell
I ALWAYS THOUGHT it would be rewarding to be a lawyer. Not financially rewarding but emotionally, in a help-your-fellow-man sort of way. Before law school I had this grand vision in my head that I was going to become a public defender. Representing the downtrodden in our legal system sounded noble, I suppose. I wanted to help people in difficult circumstances; I wanted to make sure every average Joe had equal access to quality legal advice; I wanted to make sure nobody slipped through the cracks. In my vision of the future, I’d end each day with a smile on my face because I felt so good about what I was doing, even if the pay wasn’t all that great.
After my first year of law school, however, I met Emily. We got married before the start of my third year, and suddenly everything changed. My old vision of helping others was traded for a new one, wherein I was a successful provider for my beautiful bride. Emily told me to follow my heart, but instead I sold out and followed the cash; when a giant computer-chip maker in Portland’s silicon forest handed me an offer to join their legal team, I couldn’t—or didn’t—say no.
In the nineteen-plus years since then, I’ve never even sniffed a courtroom, except that one time when I got selected for jury duty, but that doesn’t count.
In retrospect, I should have stuck to my guns. After all, money isn’t everything—a fact I’ve learned particularly well since Ann’s health problems started, seeing as her medical bills have sucked away all of our savings.
Even if I didn’t go into public defense, I could have at least chosen a field where I had a little more flexibility with my hours. As it stands now, I am expected to work until the work is done…and the work is never done.
All of which explains why I’m sitting at my desk at six o’clock on a Friday night, when I should already be with my family in Cannon Beach.
“Big plans this weekend, Dell?” asks my boss as he swings by my office.
“Not really. Just…lots of work.”
“Well, things should slow down a bit once we reach quarter-end.”
How many times have I heard that? Enough to know it’s not true. I nod anyway.
“Say, how are things going with your daughter? I haven’t heard much lately on that front.”
“She’s hanging in there.”
He points at me with his finger, like it’s a pistol, then makes a clicking sound with his mouth. “Well, you hang in there too. And hey, I know you’re a little behind on the Samsung contract for next week, but don’t stay here too late tonight. Get home and spend some time with your family before they’re all in bed. There’s always Sunday for catch-up, right?”
Sunday? “Of course. Have a good weekend.”
After he leaves, I stare blankly at my computer screen until it starts getting blurry. Then I dig into the contract again, hoping I can make enough headway on it now so I don’t have to spend my entire weekend on it.
At eight thirty, I’m nowhere close to being done.
At nine thirty, still sitting at my office desk, I know it’s hopeless.
I’ve thought of calling Emily several times, but I didn’t want to talk to her unless I had good news. I know if I call to tell her I can’t make it this weekend, she’s going to assume that I don’t want to be there with her.
Then again…do I?
What am I thinking? Of course I do. I just don’t want to be there when she’s in one of her moods where she picks apart every little thing I say, which is pretty much all the time lately.
She’s probably already furious that I haven’t shown up or called.
I stare at the phone next to my computer for several minutes, trying to sort out exactly how I’m going to tell her. Finally, I decide there is no good way—she’s going to flip, no matter what I say—so I pick it up and dial the house.
After four rings she answers. “Hello?”
Before I respond, I hear what sounds like another click on the line. “Did someone else pick up?”
“I think it’s just me, Dell.” I can already hear the judgment in her voice. “Why are you calling this phone instead of my cell?”
“I don’t know, I just did.” I pause to collect myself. “So how are things?”
“Fine. Where are you?”
“Still in Portland.”
“Why? What time will you be here?”
“Emily, I…I don’t think I’m coming this weekend.”
She doesn’t speak for the longest time. When she does, her voice is teetering. “You don’t call me all week, and when you do, it’s to tell me you aren’t coming? Why?”