Butterfly

By Dionne Peart

Sydney Lincoln’s future was mapped out for her even before she left the womb. Swept along by the ambitions of her traditional Caribbean parents, Sydney ends up with a legal career she never planned to have. The thought of one more deathbed deposition spurs her to make a change from her small Washington, D.C. law firm to a position with the U.S. Attorney’s Office. Change brings challenge for Sydney who must also confront the realities of her friendship with Loren, a successful interior designer whose carefree lifestyle leads Sydney to question who she really is. An ordinary day turns into a nightmare for Sydney when she is thrown into a situation that threatens to derail her career. Forced to confront the truth, Sydney must choose between loyalty and self – a decision that could change her life forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dionne Peart
• Release date: May 9, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311302076

Dionne Peart

Born in England to Jamaican parents, Dionne grew up in Canada and later moved to the U.S. where she attended law school, and currently serves as chief legal counsel for a local government agency. Dionne writes fiction that features Caribbean characters or that is set in the Caribbean. Her debut novel, Somerset Grove, was inspired by the many stories of the Caribbean people she grew up with while living in Winnipeg. The Jamaica Gleaner describes Somerset Grove as “an authentic novel that oozes with existentialism and the vicissitudes that fate throws our way.” The Jamaica Observer recognized her work as “part of an emerging genre of writing by Jamaicans in this society,” and BET.com featured Somerset Grove on their “You Gotta Have it” list for January 2015. When she isn’t writing, Dionne loves to read stories that explore another time, place and culture. Dionne currently resides in Washington, D.C. and is working on her next novel.

Book preview

Acknowledgements

I want to thank all of you who helped turn this book

from an idea into something real:

Michelle Chester, my editor who keeps pushing me to do more; my coach Kevin Suber who convinced me I could do more; Eugene Radcliff and others who told me the truth about the first draft; my cousin Andrea Peart who keeps my eyes on the target; all the lawyers who’ve reinvented themselves; my reviewers - Paula Bryan, Lakeesha Ransom, Asha Smith, Kandy Branch, Spiwe Pierce, Ingrid Baynes, Angela White Smith, Colleen Edwards and Don Shearer; the team that keeps me sane so I can focus on the writing—Neil, Steve, Marcus, Krista, Janine and Trey; my publicist Dawn Hardy; and everyone else who deserves to be recognized.

The Butterfly Effect

There is a phenomenon known as the butterfly effect, in which a seemingly minor change at one point in time can result in a much larger, unforeseen effect later on. Theoretically, a gentle flap of a butterfly’s wings on a warm, sunny day can cause a hurricane of monumental proportions weeks later. It’s hard to imagine that such a thing could be true; that something so small, so inconsequential, could have such an enormous impact on the lives of others much greater than it. But, I know that it is true, because it happened to me. I was that butterfly.

Caterpillar

Metamorphosis, the Greek word for transformation or change, is the process by which a butterfly develops. The caterpillar stage, one of the most familiar to people, is a time of rapid change and growth. The caterpillar takes in a lot of food during this phase, and the changes become quite noticeable if you’re paying attention. It develops legs and its colors become more vibrant as it prepares to become the creature it is meant to be.

Chapter 1

I remember being awed by her beauty. Not in a romantic way, but I was taken by her. She was not just physically beautiful. True, she had that flawless, dark caramel-colored skin that required hardly any makeup and a thick curtain of jet black hair that fell way past her shoulder blades when she wore it straight (which was often). And yes, she was that right kind of tall that made ordinary girls like me jealous and made the boys take notice—not in that you should be playing basketball or long jumping kind of way, but in that you should be a model way. She was more than that though. She had that radiant kind of inner beauty that made it hard to dislike her despite all that God had blessed her with instead of you. It was the way she treated you like her best friend, looping her arm through yours as she laughed while you walked down the street together, even if she’d only met you five minutes earlier. The way her eyes danced at the sight of something as simple as a red velvet cupcake let you know that she wasn’t really pretentious, even though she could be. The stylish way she dressed, in colors and fabrics described as camel and subdued yellow and the way she always seemed to be effortlessly polished, yet down-to-earth, let you know that she was not just that ordinary pretty.

If she’d lived in New York City you could easily see her strolling through Central Park in one of her fabulous wool coats and shiny, pointy-toed boots walking a small terrier dog—who always wore Burberry—on her way to meet a friend for a macchiato or something, not just regular old coffee. And she could do this because she wasn’t chained to some cold-looking desk at a tiresome job with a boss from hell like I was. No, she had an exciting career and worked in a converted row house with a brick interior wall, sleek modern furniture, and equally fabulous colleagues who always left the office before sunset, even in the winter.

Even her name was beautiful. Loren sounded like the name of an Essence-type girl who vacationed in London or Tuscany. My name was plain and didn’t evoke worldly images. I didn’t vacation; I took leave and went home to visit my family in Minneapolis for Christmas and Thanksgiving. My parents named me Sydney partly because they were certain that I was going to be a boy—all of Dad’s brothers had boys—and partly because my dad wanted to name me after a famous Jamaican. By the time he figured out Sidney Poitier was actually Bahamian, it was too late; the birth certificate had arrived and the name had already stuck.

I wasn’t jealous of Loren in that loathing or hate you kind of way. I wanted to be like her, and I spent as much time around her as I could in the hope that some of that fabulousness would trickle down into my life, but of course it didn’t. Not really. I was on the outside of it. Our lives were so intertwined and yet so different. What I admired most about Loren since the moment I met her was her ability to transform herself. It was amazing to me how she was able to pull off the image that she’d always been well off. I knew better. Her mother and father had, at times, worked two and three jobs each and crazy hours so they could afford to move from their tiny apartment on the north side of Minneapolis to the south suburbs where my family lived. And when Loren was old enough, she too worked nights and weekends in department store stockrooms so she could afford all the designer clothes she wore to high school.

Loren worked on her English until it had become perfectly clipped. Sometimes she sounded almost British. When we were in high school, she could tell you everything you ever wanted to know about places like London or Madrid even though she never visited either city until after college. She worked hard on her image and no one ever questioned her authenticity.

For some reason though, she shared everything with me. It might have been because I accidentally learned about her family’s financial situation after stopping by her house one day. I overheard her father talking about the rent being overdue on the house Loren had told everyone they owned. I never revealed her secret. Perhaps we were so close because she didn’t want me to expose her. But I’d like to think it was because she just trusted me implicitly.

When Loren informed everyone she was moving to Washington, D.C. to start a design firm, I declared it too and followed her out here. I didn’t really consider myself creative though, so I settled for being a junior attorney in a small firm doing civil litigation work while Loren built a bustling business decorating homes for the flood of people who came in each year to work on Capitol Hill. It was a good move for me; a good time to move after what my family had gone through that summer with the loss of my cousin Lennox, who had been the son my parents never had and the brother I’d always wanted.

Loren quickly became part of the who’s who crowd in D.C. She was kind and took me to happy hours at all the new and happening spots along places like the U Street corridor. Her new friends tolerated me well enough, even though none of them would call me on their own to hang out, but Loren always paid attention to me and made sure I was included. She was a social butterfly and I was her shadow.

I remember all of this. I also remember the day that everything changed and I was no longer who I was and Loren was no longer who she was and our worlds would never be the same.

Chapter 2

THE MOTION for summary judgment still lay in a pile on the floor where it had landed after Paul stormed out of the room. Jay’s chest was heaving and I could tell his eyes were tearing up, but he looked determined not to cry. I didn’t know what to say to him. I couldn’t believe that Paul had actually just thrown the motion at Jay and hit him in the stomach with it. I felt the sting of the assault too, but I’d told Jay not to present it to Paul yet. Jay had brushed off my concern, rationalizing that he could flesh out the arguments more during the prep meeting. He was wrong. Paul flew into one of his trademark tirades, only this one was worse.

I examined my freshly manicured nails and scratched at my cuticles. My plans to go out weren’t looking too good now. The motion would have to be redrafted and more case law research would need to be done, which meant it would be another late night. I probably wouldn’t even be able to go home and feed my cat at a decent hour, never mind getting dinner for myself. This was not the way I wanted to start my week.

I got out of my chair and bent down to pick up the motion papers.

Leave it. Jay’s voice sounded defeated and defiant all at once.

I looked at him, then down at my hand, unsure of what to do. I can start outlining the first draft of edits and have it to you maybe by 8:30 tonight?

I said leave it. It’s fine. Jay didn’t look at me. He stared out the window at the twilight settling in over the city.

Okay. You wanna just start in the morning? I could be here by 7:30. We could have something better by lunchtime tomorrow. We’ll have the rest of the day to file it anyway.

Jay was silent for a moment as if he was pondering the idea. He finally looked over at me and shook his head. No. Just go home. Don’t worry about it.

I couldn’t read the look on his face, but I was concerned. Jay never just shut down, and this wasn’t the first time that Paul had yelled at him, but it was the first time Paul actually threw something at him. Paul Montello had a reputation for blowing his fuse. During my first week at Montello & Osborne, Paul stopped right in the middle of deposing a witness and invited opposing counsel to step outside and go off the record if he had a problem. I’d been shocked, but Jay barely looked up from his computer when I went to his office to tell him about it. You’ll get used to it, Jay had said. He’d put up with it for nine years waiting to become a partner in that firm. I told myself I could do it too, all the while eyeing that bottle of Maalox sitting on Jay’s desk. Now, I wasn’t so sure.

It got more awkward, me just sitting there and Jay just looking out the window, so I gathered up my notes and left the conference room. I grabbed my coat and purse from my desk and hurried out the office as I reached for my cell phone. The two missed calls made me smile. I tapped the number to return the call. She picked up on the third ring.

Sydney, where are you? Loren asked excitedly. I could tell from the background noise that she was still out. Good.

Just leaving work. You would not believe the day I had.

Well forget about it and hurry up. We’ve moved over to the U Street corridor. Hurry up, she said again before hanging up.

I probably should stay anyway and get some more work done, I thought. I should, but I won’t. I’d brought my lunch all week; one night out won’t put too much of a dent in my savings to buy a house. I decided I didn’t care and shoved the phone in my purse before heading to the metro. Twenty minutes later and I was standing inside the restroom of this new spot Loren had found, trying to figure out what to do with my hair. I wish I’d gone to the salon on the weekend like I had planned, but as usual I’d had to go to work and ended up canceling my appointment. I pulled the pomade out of my purse and tried to smooth down my edges. My hair was just above my shoulders—not long enough to be considered long and not short enough to be considered fun and flirty.

After about five minutes I managed to make my in between hairstyle look halfway decent so I moved on to applying lip gloss before re-examining myself in the mirror. I could stand to lose five or ten pounds. I’d always been just this side of too skinny before moving to D.C., but somehow I’d made up for it and then some. Now I was just on the other side of average, trying to lose that extra five pounds that I always hear people complaining about. My mother used to praise me whenever I appeared to put on a little weight but just before I’d moved to D.C., Mom had looked at my growing curves and said, That’s enough now, dear.

I sucked in my stomach. I’d get by with it tonight. When I finally exited the restroom, I was greeted by the hostile stare of the two women who’d been waiting to get in.

Over here! Loren waved excitedly from the other side of the dance floor. I weaved my way over to the bar and stood in front of her. Took you long enough. We already ate, Loren announced, gesturing towards the people that were also sitting along the bar. India, another designer, was seated beside her. She was a tall Japanese girl with long hair and red highlights wearing a cream-colored wool dress and brown boots that stopped just below her knees. She was winter chic. Of course she had to have an exotic name like India, I thought. Not that she was born with it—Loren told me how she had changed her name a few years ago. But, it was who she was now. Beside her was a guy that looked like he should be on somebody’s football field. On the other side of Loren was Rob, a guy that looked like John Legend, who of course also happened to be a budding musician. I was the fifth wheel again and told Loren so.

You are not. We are all just hanging out. Here, she said and handed me a menu. You must be starving. Sit down and order something. My treat, Loren instructed.

I looked around for an empty seat, but there wasn’t one. Nobody in Loren’s group moved. Finally, the John Legend look-a-like got up. You can have my seat. I’m tired of sitting anyway.

I sat down and quickly scoured the menu. The burger and fries were calling to me, but when the bartender asked me what I wanted, I ordered the scallops instead. Music filled the room as I scarfed down my snack. Loren jumped off her chair and bounced over to the dance floor followed by the rest of her group, which meant I was in charge of watching the purses and coats again. Loren and India tossed their hair and swung their hips while everyone watched. Just walking on the dance floor, the two of them gathered a lot of attention. My looks were pretty, but practical. No one had ever accused me of being exotic and my looks had never opened doors for me like they did for Loren. Pleasant was how a guy had once described me, which wasn’t so bad, I guess. But, I wanted to be more than that.

As I watched Loren and company moving around the dance floor I thought about joining them, but didn’t want to be in that awkward position of deciding which pairing I was going to intrude upon, so instead I focused on trying to get the bartender’s attention.

You gotta be more aggressive if you’re going to get a drink.

I turned my head to the side. Are you talking to me?

He smiled and I found myself smiling back. He was at least six feet tall and athletic, with dreadlocks that hung just passed his shoulders in a ponytail, five o’clock shadow, and smooth brown skin. He was average looking, but he exuded so much confidence that you knew no one could tell him he shouldn’t be on a men’s magazine cover.

You’re never going to get his attention that way. Look at the crowd you’re competing with. Watch me. He leaned over the bar and coolly waved his arm in the air until the bartender acknowledged him.

Grey Goose and cranberry for me, he said. You? He looked over and waited. I smiled and ordered a glass of Reisling.

A sweet wine drinker, huh?

I mentally kicked myself for not ordering Pinot Noir or a dirty martini. I shrugged and smiled again.

I like a Riesling myself every now and then. He turned and leaned comfortably against the bar, so I slid around in my seat so that I was facing in his direction. Those your friends? He nodded to Loren and her crew.

Not really. I just know the tall girl. We’ve been friends for years.

Seems they’ve abandoned you. He smiled and swirled the liquid in his glass. I stared at his hands and thought how beautiful they were. I wondered if he played piano. Maybe he was a jazz musician.

That’s okay. I’m good here, I said as I tried not to giggle like a 12-year-old.

I’m Marcel, by the way, he said, extending his hand toward me. I reached out and shook it.

Sydney, I said.

Sydney, he repeated thoughtfully. I used to have a crush on a girl named Sydney when I was in junior high. That was until she borrowed my Thriller album and refused to return it. There’s no room for forgiveness after something like that.

You’re funny. I giggled and looked over at Loren who gave me a discreet nod. I smiled back and played with the swoop of my bangs.

So what do you do, Marcel?

I work for the U.S. Attorney’s Office. In the homicide division.

No wonder you’re drinking, I said.

Marcel laughed and rolled his eyes in mock offense. What about you, Miss Comedienne?

I work for a small firm doing product liability defense.

And you want to make fun of me? I bet that’s real exciting. What kind of cases? Someone claiming the manufacturer didn’t warn them that they couldn’t fly while wearing a Superman costume? Employee claiming no one told him he shouldn’t clean a moving saw blade after smoking weed on his lunch break?

Not that bad. I laughed. But yeah, it gets to you after awhile. Especially those billable hours.

I’ll bet, Marcel said, finishing off his drink. Well, I have to head out, but it was really good meeting you, Sydney. He pulled out a business card and handed it to me. If you think you’d be interested in working at the U.S. Attorney’s Office give me a call. Homicide is not all we do. And with that he was gone.

Loren walked over and slid onto the stool beside me. He was nice looking. Did you get his number?

I showed her his card.

She smiled and bumped me affectionately with her shoulder. Please tell me you’re going to call him.

I’m thinking about it, I said, tilting my head to the side.

What’s to think about? You haven’t dated anyone since you moved here.

He didn’t really say anything about going out. He said to call him about a job if I was interested.

That’s what they all say. He was interested. I could tell. Worst case scenario, you get a better job and you get to look at him all day.

I shrugged and raised my eyebrows. I guess, I said.

Do it, she said then grabbed my hand. Now let’s go dance.

# # #

Our floor was deathly quiet when I got off the elevator. I peeked into Jay’s office, but his lights weren’t on, even though he usually got to the office before anyone else. It looked pretty much the same as it did yesterday, though a little cleaner. All the papers that had been scattered about on his desk and credenza were now either stacked in neat piles or in the recycling bin. I walked down to my tiny office and turned on my space heater to take the chill out of the air. I checked my email then started marking up the brief while I waited for Jay to come in. My eyes ached with fatigue. Maybe I shouldn’t have gone out last night. What had I been thinking?

The morning flew by pretty quickly and before I knew it, it was 11:30. Surprisingly, Jay was still not in and neither was Paul, thank goodness. The energy in the suite was low; the few people in the office were not really speaking and other than the soft whir of the copy machine, there really wasn’t any other sound. My rumbling stomach reminded me that it was almost lunch and I’d skipped breakfast to get an early start at work. I grabbed my coat and purse and was walking out the door when the lights in the outer office flickered on.

"Did anybody show up for work this morning?"

I dropped my purse and coat and sat back down at my desk. Paul’s noisy footsteps eventually brought him to my door, cell phone glued to his ear. You’re here. Good. Meet me in my office in five, he said, barely looking at me. He sped down the hallway barking at whoever was on the other end of the phone call. I sighed as my stomach rumbled again while I grabbed the brief and a notepad.

Paul had switched to the desk phone and had his back to the door. I stood in the doorway until he swiveled around and waved me into one of the leather club chairs in front of his desk. I sat down and waited as he finished his conversation. After about 10 minutes he finally got off the phone.

Jay’s no longer with the firm, he announced. Where are you with that brief?

My mouth fell open a little bit as I digested his words. No wonder his office was so clean. I was surprised and disappointed Jay hadn’t said anything to me. He’d been my mentor ever since I’d arrived at the firm six months ago.

Well?

Paul’s irritated voice snapped me out of my fog.

I, uh, I started making some edits this morning—

Paul’s fingers beckoned impatiently for the brief. I handed it to him. I’m not finished, I said.

He began scanning through the document. Move the failure to warn argument to the end. I told Jay that was weak. He flipped back and forth through the motion and then wrote some comments on the first page. It’s not bad. Make those changes and get it filed.

Okay, I said, trying to decipher Paul’s handwriting.

When you’re done with that I need you to go through Jay’s files and give me the status on his cases. You’re going to have to do the motion to exclude the expert testimony in the Johnson case that’s due on Thursday and you’ll need to cover those depositions in the conduit cases on Thursday too.

Conduits? I’m not familiar with that case, I said, quickly taking notes.

Well get familiar with it. There are two engineers scheduled for this week. The chief of engineering is on the calendar for Friday. I’ll take that one. He looked at me for a few seconds. Are you waiting for something?

No. I quickly got up. Thank you, I added as I walked toward the door. Paul had already turned his back to me and was on the phone asking his assistant to push back his lunch meeting.

Lunch. I hoped I still had a Lean Cuisine in the break room. It was going to be a long day.

# # #

By mid-afternoon I had finally filed the brief and moved on to sorting through Jay’s files. I came across a deposition notice for the next day and swallowed hard. I vaguely remembered Jay mentioning this case before. This was the deathbed deposition for that worker with lung cancer. I always avoided these whenever possible. The sweet smell of death looming always made my stomach sick. I walked over to Paul’s office and waited in the doorway while he talked on the phone. He waved me in again and took the notice from my hand.

We’re not settling for that amount of money. Nope. I’d rather go to trial. He handed the notice back to me as he hung up. It’ll be hard to get a decent flight at this time of day. You’ll probably have to drive to Scranton, Pennsylvania to get to that deposition on time tomorrow morning, he said. And when you get back, we’ll need to talk about you bringing in some business. With Jay gone, we’ll need another breadwinner, so to speak. You’ve been practicing for what, five or six years? I nodded.