In Practice

(To read from the beginning, click here)

The beep of the phone brought her back to the reality of her Monday morning in New Jersey. If she wanted to keep her job, she needed to actually get some work done.
“Yes?” said Katie into the speakerphone.
“Katie, it’s Shirley.”
Katie rolled her eyes. Of course it was Shirley. Who else would be paging her in an office from no more than thirty feet away?
The office was small. Katie liked to think of it as cozy - small for law firms seemed to have a negative connotation. But there was no getting around the fact that it lacked the “wow” factor of a Center City law office in one of the highrises downtown. There were no glass paneled conference rooms, in fact, there wasn’t a conference room at all. Set on the first floor of a traditional brick building, the office that had so impressed and awed her during her interview had no atrium open to a skylight, no separate floor for reception and no sweeping panoramic views. There were just three offices: one for Jim, one for Katie and one that a part-time attorney from North Jersey used from time to time. The reception area consisted of a small desk space with partitions for privacy set back from the waiting area. Simple and professional, and not overwhelming. Katie liked it, though she often wished that Shirley was a little more removed from the main office space. She felt like she was constantly being monitored.
“Jim wants to see you in his office,” Shirley said.
“Okay,” Katie replied.
“Bring a pen.” Shirley added.
Katie made a face at the phone. This day was definitely not starting off as she planned. She grabbed a pen off of her desk, along with a legal pad of yellow paper and walked towards the door. Striding across the hallway, she knocked briefly on Jim’s door and went in without waiting for an answer.
“You needed to see me?” she asked.
Before he could answer, two faces peered around the backs of overstuffed leather chairs: a sweet looking elderly couple with somber expressions.
“Katie,” Jim said, “Let me introduce you to the Hershbergers.”
(To read from the beginning, click here)

John Hershberger appeared to be in his seventies. He was a slight man with thin gray hair and wire-rimmed glasses. He was dressed plainly in a cheap cotton dress shirt which had seen better days and worn navy pants. His wife, Rachel, was taller than he was, but just barely. She, too, was dressed rather plainly in a ginger and green checked dress and white orthopedic shoes, her hair pulled back into a tight bun. She clutched a large cheap black handbag with both hands.

They both stared at Katie intently, not saying a word.

“Um, how do you do?” asked Katie, walking over with her hand extended. “It’s nice to meet you.”

John and Rachel just nodded and turned back around in their seats without shaking hands.

Katie looked at Jim quizzically, her head cocked to one side. He smiled a small, tight smile.

“John and Rachel are here to see us about an estate,” said Jim.

”Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” Katie offered the Hershbergers, who were still staring at Jim. It was awkward, but then the first meeting for an estate administration was always a little touchy: you never quite knew how the clients would react to discussing the loss. Sometimes the clients were relieved, other times, distraught, sometimes clearly gripped by avarice. You had to be prepared for almost anything. Katie started to pull up a chair.

“No, no,” said Jim quickly, rising up from his chair. “Don’t sit down. We’re going for a walk.”

“A walk?” Katie asked, puzzled. Jim didn’t walk anywhere unless he was on a golf course, and that was only when the carts were all rented.
John and Rachel slowly got up out of the big leather chairs, with Rachel clutching John’s arm for support.

“We’re going across the street,” answered Jim.