Free ( 2011) Cry For Justice by Ralph Zeta

see a delicate hand stirring what looked like a tall glass of iced tea, lime wedge sitting on the rim. The hostess pulled out my chair, left a menu, and announced that our server, Kevin, would be by shortly to take my drink order. Then she promptly excused herself, but not before flashing me a smile brimming with possibilities.
    Amy considered me with some apprehension, her eyes quickly sizing me up. I hadn’t worn anything resembling business attire: just a light blue button-down long-sleeve shirt that I hadn’t bothered to tuck inside my blue jeans, and a pair of very casual leather loafers and no socks which is to say, my standard casual evening wear.
    “Ms. Kelly?” I said.
    “Mr. Justice?” She stood and offered her hand.
    “Please, sit,” I said. She sat, and I took the seat across from her. “Call me Jason.”
    She was maybe five four and slender, and she had overdressed for the occasion. She wore a basic black little dress, pearls, small diamond studs, and a small black purse. Her sandy blond hair was pulled back, and her short bangs fell over her alabaster forehead to make her look younger than she was. Under her bangs, wide blue eyes stared at me with a certain degree of nervous anticipation. She blinked quite a lot, which made me focus on the eyes more than I otherwise would.
    “Very well,” she said with a shy smile. “Jason it is, then.”
    And then I saw it: there, in the eyes. They spoke of sadness, unresolved issues that cut deep, a melancholy she could not hide. Even though she looked to be in her late twenties, the lines under those expressive eyes gave her a bit of a weathered look. I instantly felt for this woman my softer side bubbling up.
    “Please, call me Amy.” Her voice was soft and low, almost a sweet murmur.
    Our waiter came, was appropriately cheery, and left with my order for a Cabo Wabo margarita. Then we were finally alone.
    She broke the ice first. “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Mr. Justice.”
    “Jason, please, remember?” I smiled at her. I could see that she was a bit tense, so I decided to ease her into the conversation. “You and Nora known each other long?”
    She shook her head. “Not really. We’ve spoken on the phone mostly. She had been keeping me informed of my mother’s condition for the last couple of years. My mom and I didn’t communicate all that much. You know what I mean?”
    She let that hang in there as though begging me to inquire further. I didn’t. I had learned the hard way always to let potential clients explain their situation in their own words and their own time. Our drinks arrived, and we ordered dinner. Cesar salad for Amy and fresh grilled Wahoo for me. I took a sip of my drink. Perfect.
    “I really don’t know if you can help me,” she said. “Maybe I’m just wasting your time.”
    “Maybe you’re right,” I said as I took another long swig of margarita. “Maybe there isn’t anything anyone can do. But for the argument’s sake, why don’t we assume it’s not an impossible situation, and we start with you going over what happened.”
    “Very well.” She let out a deep sigh. “First of all, I want you to know that I am a recovering drug and alcohol addict,” she announced firmly, almost defiantly. “That’s one of the reasons my mom and I grew apart. She married this man, this bastard that screwed her up even more. He convinced my mom to cut me off from everything, even from her life. And she let him.” Her voice grew a little louder, and her eyes flashed.
    “She kicked me out. Told me I was a loser. A junkie. All of this while her jerk husband watched, big smirk on his stupid face. She told me not to come back until I was clean.”
    “I’m sorry,” was all I could mange in the moment.
    She looked straight into my eyes and said, “I’ve been clean now for the better part of two years. I even went back to college, Jason. UCLA. I have only four more classes left to graduate. Somehow, I don’t know