Coming Home to Greenleigh

Chapter 2

"I'm supposed to see Elisabeth Burnham this morning--do you know Beth?" The question, simple enough, burned itself into Shawn Waterstone's brain. Said hastily and somewhat indistinctly by Richard Murray, Senior, jelly doughnut stuffed into his mouth and steaming coffee balanced atop a stack of important-looking documents carried gingerly before him, the comment was almost benign. But for Shawn, sitting awkwardly at his new desk, in his new office, walls bare of decor and the secretaries inventing excuses to peep in and admire the new managing partner of Lawson & Lawson, the question had all the resonance of a complicated problem of theology or philosophy.

"Do I know her," he murmured slowly, his eyes fixed on Ricky Senior's pleasant but harried countenance.

"She knew my daughter well--she's a good kid, always liked her. I had an appointment with her this morning but she didn't show--and now she's out front." Ricky Senior munched at the doughnut a bit before continuing. "I've got this brief to get filed by five or this case isn't going to trial and I'm in a lot of hot water. I have a suspicion as to what she wants, and in that case she's better off talking to you anyway. Would you mind--" He backed carefully out the doorway, almost knocking over another curious female face, cursing softly as the coffee slopped over the sides of the cup and onto the documents.

"Tell her I'm sorry," he called down the hall, words muffled by jelly doughnut.

"Right," Shawn muttered. He got up and shut the door viciously in the face of another female employee, glaring at the door as he heard someone collapse into giggles outside.

Elisabeth Burnham. Did he know her? Excellent question, he thought grimly. Did I ever know her?

He paced in front of the desk a few steps, stopped, then went to peer out the window. It was a generous corner office, with a sitting area isolated away from his desk, surrounded by expensive coffee tables and oriental rugs, the very least a managing partner of a venerable old New England firm deserved. It was a sight better than his office in New York, he acknowledged, turning around to admire the handsome mahogany desk and matching credenza. While he had made the cut for partner at his firm in New York, space there was at a premium, and a junior partner in a firm of a hundred and fifty attorneys was not exactly a candidate for a corner office. The pay here was never going to have the possibilities that practicing in New York offered, but of course life here did not cost what it did in New York--the thought entered his mind regretfully as he contemplated the evenings at the opera and the grand art galleries he had left behind. He shook his head. No point in being morose about it. His father needed him home, and he had come.

Somewhere deep inside of him, in the back of his mind and in the depths of his heart, he had wondered about Elisabeth throughout those years in New York, wondered about her life, wondered about her well-being. He had not spoken to her since that warm August evening eight years ago. He hadn't seen her again, even though he had faithfully visited his father every Christmas and for two weeks each summer. He hadn't run in to her around town, hadn't spoken of her to anyone, hadn't heard anything about her. Resented her bitterly, he had. Almost hated her--but something inside still wondered.

And now he would have to see her, to talk to her. He felt a sour taste in his mouth and took a quick swig of the lukewarm coffee on his desk. I should be ready for this, he said ruefully to himself. It's been a long time. And it's all over. She isn't the last woman I've dated, and she's not nearly as clever as some of those others I've known. At least she had not been, he amended.

He picked up a legal pad, shrugged into his suit jacket, and strode toward the door. May as well get it over with.

Shawn nodded pleasantly at the innocent-looking coterie of women gathered around the photocopier across the hall. Some distance away, he heard them break out into stifled giggles. Idiotic, he muttered under his breath. He walked out into the reception area, prepared to greet Elisabeth with icy formality, but no one was there. He checked with the receptionist.