Free The Remedy for Love: A Novel by Bill Roorbach

soft enough under the sauce, damn.
    “I don’t know,” she said.
    “You miss the tomato thing?”
    “Oh, no, this? This is good. This is very good.” Then she seemed to pay attention to what she was tasting. “Fuck
me,
mister, it’s really good.” She took another bite, chewed thoughtfully.
    The Côtes du Rhône handled the peppers and the rank and randy cheese pretty darn well, he thought. He saw his puzzle outlined on the table, the sky above Lichtenstein Castle on some specific day in the 1950s, a specific day with its specific clouds captured forever and cut to pieces. Alison, too, liked his pizza. He’d gotten good at it for her.
    “Mister!” Danielle said, biting into the next piece. She seemed to mean it in the positive, bit again, repeated the other compliment: “Fuck
me
.” She slugged her wine. “This is major,” she said after a while. “Majorly major.”
    “Oh, well,” he said, his real smile, access of warmth.
    From her that hot glower, that sudden, withering glance.
    They fell into eating, most of both pizzas, most of the bottle of wine (Eric going easy), not another word between them.

Eleven
    “WHAT KIND OF lawyer are you?” Danielle asked.
    “Oh, small-town,” he said. They had repaired to the fire. Sat, that is, in front of the old Glenwood in the oaken chairs with the crisp-sounding cushions, the empty bottle of wine balanced between them on a log she’d upturned. “Wills, estates, divorces, deeds, property disputes, property tax, petty lawsuits, petty crime, vandalism, auto theft, occasional felony this or that, a lot of drunk driving, more than you’d think. Drug cases galore. Add the odd assault case. And domestic abuse lately—the police have finally got their radar up about it.”
    “And you defend the abusers?”
    “It has never yet come to that. What I do is make a plan with the abuser to get help, to quit drinking, to quit substances in general, to sit in therapy, to take anger-management class, to enter family therapy with the partner if she’s willing—and generally she is—all that kind of thing, which you bring before the judge and D.A.”
    “Who are both friends of yours, of course.”
    “In a manner of speaking, yes, friends of mine. And we try to come to a solution that benefits the miscreant, the family, the community.”
    “You sound like a public-service announcement. Do you get guys coming back? Like these unloved kids who have to repeat fourth grade till they’re sixteen and can finally fucking quit?”
    “No. No, no. I won’t take them for a second offense. There’s an office for that in Augusta—that’s all state court, state prison, I mean by the time they fuck up that badly.”
    “Unless they have money.”
    “Sadly, yes.” A public-service announcement! He tried to loosen up, failed: “The level of education does seem to play a role. Both in money terms and in terms of violence.”
    “Like the mother-in-law answers the door and says, ‘Oh, there was some shouting, but they’ve made up now.’ And meanwhile the poor wife is back there with a broken nose and a hairy hand over her mouth.”
    “Something to tell me?”
    “So that’s where all the cash comes from? You taking care of the good old boys?”
    “ ‘All the cash,’ ha. And good old boys? I’m not exactly, like, Foghorn Leghorn.”
    “All this high-nose wine and cheese. Follow the cash. And don’t look at me like you think I won’t know who Foghorn Leghorn is.”
    “Listen, Danielle. I buy very little fancy anything, believe me. The cheese and the wine, that was for a special occasion. And I hope you’re enjoying it. The money isn’t really anywhere. The money in a small practice is only in keeping busy, lots of little matters constantly. Which I’ve had almost none lately.”
    “And you had to go to law school for this?”
    “Vermont Law. A great, obscure program. I was interested in environmental law, and that was the place. Still am interested in environmental