Free All the Waters of the Earth (Giving You ... #3) by Leslie McAdam

eyebrows knitted together. “Why would you think that?”
    “All of the product samples.”
    “Clients bring me gifts all the time.”  He looked at me, perplexed, a finger raised, head cocked, and I stared back at him.
    So he was a lawyer? Why ? That wasn’t artistic. I thought that he used his art skills for designing ads. But a lawyer? That didn’t make sense, given his artistic personality.
    I felt the need to justify myself.  “It’s rude to ask someone what they do for a living.”
    “Are you serious?” he asked, incredulous.
    I nodded.
    “I asked you—” he started, then shaking his head like he couldn’t believe me, he grabbed my hand and pulled me out of the seat. “We’re using a conference room,” he said brusquely to Neveah. Well. No manners. He whisked me into a nearby room and shut the door. I leaned up against the table, not understanding why he was acting this way and needing space I’d not wanted over the weekend.  He stood by the door.
    “What are you doing here, Lucy? Why do you need to see a lawyer?”
    “My ex is trying to take away Roberto. He filed papers to modify child custody and child support.”
    He looked angry. “Fuck. Who are you seeing?”
    “Amelia.”
    He nodded, satisfied, but I could almost see his brain working as he kept talking. “She’s excellent. But listen. There are ethical rules about attorneys seeing clients. Fuck. If I don’t work on your case . . . Fuck.” He seemed to be talking to himself. “It shouldn’t matter. But that will matter.  No.  I can’t.  We can’t.  Christ.  Listen. You can’t tell anyone anything about me or us. You can’t . . . I don’t share. I don’t . . . My private life is my business.” His voice got harsher. “No you and me, no art class, no weekend, no nothing, you hear me?”
    What was up with him? After we had such a perfect weekend, why was he being such an ass?
    All of the emotions that Carlos normally brought up in me now transferred to Jake.  Abandonment, loss, aloneness, not being wanted.  Another man ditching me after he’d fucked me.  I thought I’d healed that scar.
    But no.  My wound was gaping open and bleeding out.  I’d been rejected again.
    No wonder I didn’t do relationships.  I’d been so worried about hurting Roberto.  It turned out that I was the one to get hurt. I started, in a whisper-shriek, “Jake, what is wrong with you?” but was interrupted by a knock on the door. It opened and my attorney walked in wearing a professional, black skirt suit. Amelia, a dark haired, curvy beauty with brains, helped me a few years ago when Carlos stopped paying child support. After two strongly-worded letters sent by her on letterhead, Carlos paid all of the arrears, with interest, plus her fee.  I adored her.
    “Lucy, how are you?” she asked warmly, shaking my hand, but she looked crestfallen when she saw how upset I was. “What’s wrong?”  Then she noticed Jake and looked back at me, confused. “I didn’t know you knew each other.”
    “He’s, uh,” I started.
    “We’re neighbors,” he interrupted. “Until I get my remodel done.”
    “Oh,” said Amelia brightly.  “How lovely.”
    “I’ll let you be,” said Jake, and he hustled out, leaving me rejected, alone, and with my lawyer.
    Amelia sat down at the table and I tried to arrange my thoughts so that I was thinking about the court proceeding, but I was really wondering why on earth Jake acted so badly. She pulled out a file.
    “I reviewed the petition that you emailed last week, and it looks like Mr. Castro is seeking to have greater custody of Roberto. The proportion of time that he is requesting is such that given your incomes, he would not have to pay any child support.”
    “I just can’t believe this,” I whispered, indignant. To hear it out loud from another person made it seem real. Before, just reading the words, made it seem like it was a story, not my real life. A novel.  Someone else’s story.
    And