"...
reached an acceptable compromise."
Greg
Dawson knew something was wrong when he flinched at the word. It was nothing, a meaningless phrase, used
countless times, in equally meaningless discussions. So, why should it cause him to recoil? He didn't have to search very far for an
answer.
Sara.
Disliking
the implications, he used it now deliberately.
"A compromise, yes."
He
tested his reactions and found, to his relief, that there were none. Well, practically none. Why should it matter?
Intrigued,
he pondered over the answer, delegating one part of his brain to deal with the
conversation going on around him while the other tussled with the problem.
Compromise.
Sara
had never known how to compromise. What
would she think of the deal-making going on now?
He
didn't have to wonder. Sara would have
walked out. Sara would have told them
what she thought of their game-playing in no uncertain terms. Sara would have ...
He
scowled at the direction his thoughts were taking. It didn't matter what Sara would have
done. She wasn't part of his life. Not any longer.
"Greg,
what're your feelings about the subject?" the senior partner, Alister
Harper, asked.
"Uh
... I agree. Compromise is the only
answer."
The
others smiled. He'd made the correct
noises at the correct time with the correct amount of deference in his tone. He hadn't even had to think about it. So why was he thinking about not thinking
about it? The absurdity of the
question would have amused him at any other time. But not today.
Again,
he wondered why today should be different.
"...
glad we could get together and get this hammered out." The other partner,
Cyril Cameron, stood.
Everyone
else stood, and after a beat of silence, Greg stood as well, realizing the
meeting must have ended.
He
controlled the urge to ask what had been "hammered out." It must have been all right, for his boss was
smiling widely. Greg smiled too, knowing
it was expected of him.
He
couldn't shake the mood later that evening.
He'd turned down a party with friends, pleading tiredness. That wasn't exactly a lie, he decided. He was tired.
Weary was more like it, weary of pretending that what he did made a
difference.
When
had trial work ceased to be challenging and become simply a trial of
endurance? When had he stopped caring
about his job? When had he stopped caring
about everything?
The
answer wasn't hard to find: he'd stopped
caring a year ago, the same day the divorce papers had arrived.
Greg
avoided the carolers who strolled the streets, singing of Christmas joy and
good will toward men.
He
let himself in to the rented apartment.
As he had every evening for the last month, except those he spent with
his son, Danny, he switched on the television and flopped onto the sofa. He stared unseeingly at the screen.
When
the phone shrilled, he was tempted to ignore it. Habit had him reaching for it.
"Greg,
it's me. Sara."
"What's
wrong?" Sara never called unless
something was wrong with Danny.
He
listened, not sure he'd heard correctly.
"He what?"
"Danny
put the female rabbit inside the cage with the male at school."
Greg
suppressed a chuckle. "What does
the school want us to do? Adopt some
rabbits?"
"Greg,
this is serious. Lately, Danny's been in
one scrape after another. It isn't like
him. His teacher said he could be
suspended if we don't do something."
His
grin faded at the worry in Sara's voice.
Sara wasn't the kind of woman to overreact. "I'll be there in an hour."
"Thanks."
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