Free Sick of Shadows by Sharyn McCrumb Page A

who majored in sociology?”
    “No.”
    “I didn’t think so. Mostly they major in history orpolitical science. Still, it seems like an interesting sort of career. Do you get many good cases practicing in a small town?”
    “Mostly we do deeds and wills, things like that.”
    “I think criminal law would be more interesting. You know, cases where you could really make a difference—like murder cases!”
    Simmons smiled. He heard that speech at every social function he attended. People were always pushing cups of warm punch at him and telling him how much more interesting they thought it would be to practice criminal law in Atlanta. He usually just stood there smiling and nodding, because it took too much effort to explain that rich murder defendants hired famous and experienced attorneys—he was neither—and poor ones got court-appointed lawyers who needed the work and got paid peanuts for their efforts. Deeds and wills weren’t exactly pulse-quickening, but it was a comfortable life, with plenty of time for tennis, and an occasional out-of-the-ordinary case for the social anecdote.
    “Are you interested in law?” he asked politely.
    Elizabeth frowned. “I don’t know. I majored in sociology, but I haven’t decided what I’m going to do yet. I took a course in criminology in my junior year, but it wasn’t what I expected. Mostly statistics.”
    Eileen reappeared just then, with Mildred in tow. “This will only take a few minutes, I promise. Then you can put the groceries away. I just need you to sign something.”
    “Sign?” echoed Simmons, struggling to his feet. He had the uneasy feeling that the interview was getting away from him.
    “Here it is,” said Eileen, handing him a piece of stationery covered with round, childishly precise handwriting. “I’ve asked Mildred to witness it so that it will be legal until you can get the other one drawn up. And Elizabeth, you can be the other witness.”
    Simmons frowned. “Well, really, Miss Chandler, I don’t thnk it would be proper—”
    “They don’t have to read what I’ve written, do they?”
    The procedural question sidetracked him. “What?No. They are only attesting to the fact that your signature on the document is genuine, but—”
    “Okay then. Watch, everybody!” Eileen held her pen aloft as a magician might wave his wand before performing the next trick. When they dutifully turned to look at her, she bent and signed her name at the bottom of the pink page, carefully dotting the
i
in Eileen with a small circle.
    Oh, God, thought Simmons, an
i
circler. I haven’t seen that since ninth grade. I’ll bet this will is a real beauty; she probably included her stamp collection! He consoled his professional sensitivity by reminding himself that he would be getting twenty-five dollars an hour for drafting the document.
    “Okay,” he said. “Now that you’ve signed it, they need to sign it. You can cover up the text with a piece of paper if you like. Some people do that.” He handed her a sheet of paper. “That’s right, cover up everything except where you want them to sign at the bottom. But I really do recommend that you wait for an official draft. Really!”
    Eileen shook her head. “No. I want to do this as—as sort of a gesture that I’m really getting married. Like a preliminary ceremony.” That ought to satisfy him, she thought. And it ought to make Michael realize about the money. How real it is; how close it is to being ours. He couldn’t change his mind after that. Not that he’d want to, of course, because he really loved her. He said so over and over.
    “Oh, please don’t worry, Mr. Simmons,” she said. “It’s only for a few days—until the other one is ready. It will be all right. I mean, nothing’s going to happen to me.”
    Simmons looked shocked. “Certainly not!” he said hastily. “That goes without saying. But you must understand that it is a bit irregular. The litigation possibilities in the