Next Year
It is the same drugs, including
amphetamines, ice and alcohol, with the same problems of abuse, sexual and
physical and the usual dispute about children and property, with the only difference being the outlook from the office and the sound of the rolling waves, a reminder
that this really has been a sea change.
Sighing Samantha picks up another file. She
does not know if she can stand to read more misery. How much misery can one
really take in? At least she does not have to lead the live of the people she
reads about.
Normally Samantha does not mind going to
work. She does not love her work, but tolerates it and does not see herself as a career woman. It is a job that pays
the bills, and of course it provides enough income for the occasional holiday.
Samantha knows she has it better than most, she at least has options, options
of finding another job in another town. But then, deep down she realizes nothing
will change. The job will be the same no matter what town she is in.
Max’s words, as he had kissed her that
morning, echo in her ears. “It’s only temporary babe, remember that.”
But was it really temporary? The last time
they had said it was only temporary she had ended up working for over two years
at the small country firm. And
here she was again, having to take a job, a job she would rather not do. Sure,
there were others who loved doing this type of work. There were some who
probably would not want to do anything else. A shiver ran down her spine as she
thought of some of the opponents she had left behind. What would this town be
like?
A glance at the clock reminded her she had
five more hours before she could call it a day. Five long hours of sitting and
reading through files and trying to make a plan of how to best move each matter
forward. It was amazing how much detail people insisted they share about their private
life.
By the time five o’clock came around
Samantha was ready to resign, but she knew she could not. Max needed her to see
this job through for a just a little longer. He had promised that next year
they would try have a baby. By next year Max thought he would have recovered
enough for them to survive on just one income. Next year, would next year
really come wondered Samantha? Again she had heard the promise before. Was it
four years ago Max had first used the next year line? Maybe, it didn’t matter.
She loved him and she would do anything for him, even continue her work as a
family lawyer.
