They went to the capitol. When Michael first called Mairin and said they had to go on Thursday, she said, "Oh, no, Michael, not Thursday! I have moved heaven and earth for a special appointment for a client here at rehab. All the arrangements are made. His wife is bringing him. . . ."

"Mairin," Michael interrupted, "this won’t wait. Law is like this. We have to go." His intensity was overwhelming.

Mairin went to the capitol. She got another caseworker to look in on the appointment with rehab. She had a long talk with the man’s wife. "I’m sorry, Mrs. Brush," she said. "I’ll talk to you as soon as I get back."

The motion was granted, and they were back where they started. The board couldn’t file. They discussed strategy halfway home in the car. Then they’d all had enough. The conversation became general. Michael had wound down a bit. He had even loosened his necktie. "Well, he said, "I have two social workers here. I want to hear about you for a change."

"Why?" asked Mairin.

"Why? My wife's studying social work right now. I guess I’m kind of curious as to why people want to become social workers, what the course is like, that kind of thing.’

"I hated social work training," said Sandra. "How does your wife like it?"

Michael took a deep breath, "I don’t know how she likes it. We’ve been separated for almost two years."

Mairin and Sandra were quiet for a minute. Sandra broke the silence. "How do you feel about that?"

Mairin laughed. "And there you see the essence of social work. ‘How do you feel about that?’ That's what social work is all about."

Michael laughed.

"You haven’t answered my question," said Sandra. "You can tell me if you don’t want to answer it. That’s okay, too."

"No," said Michael slowly, "I’ll tell you. It’s as good an introduction as any to a lawyer’s life. I’ve always loved Harriet, or so I thought. But she, at fifty, turned around and said, ‘No, you don’t love me. You never have, really. You love law, and you love working with your clients. I’m tired of being alone with you. I’m going to be alone with myself instead. I’m going to school." He drove for a couple of miles in silence. "But I haven’t told you how I feel about that. I feel awful. How could she feel that I didn’t love her? Sure, I work hard, I get involved in my cases, but she’s been the only woman in my life. I haven’t played around. I loved to go home at night. The house was bright, lively, Harriet would be fixing supper...

"Which you missed a number of times, no doubt," said Sandra.

"Though never without calling," said Michael.

"Maybe," began Mairin, "maybe she got tired of being the giver."

"That’s an interesting way to look at it."

"I’m assuming that she’s attracted to social work because she a giver," said Mairin. "In a nutshell, if you’re a giver, you want to give, you need to give, even. So that’s what you do."

"Not always," said Sandra drily. "I’m doing social work because it’s something a blind person can do. I can interview, talk things over. It’s listening, it’s verbal. There are other things I might rather do, but they require sight."

"But you’re good at your job," said Mairin.

"I think so," said Sandra. "And there is a certain intellectual challenge in figuring out how people tick."

"You really think you can figure that out?" The tone of Michael’s voice was a little less moody.

"Not always," said Mairin. ‘That’s why it’s not a science. There are different theories of behavior. I find that if one doesn’t explain a client to me perhaps another one will."

"And yet you want to be a lawyer," said Michael.

"Got tired of giving, I guess," said Mairin.

"You think of law as taking, do you?" asked Michael. He found Mairin interesting. She was bright and cheerful, pretty, and she had had a lot of spirit.

"I don’t think I ever drew that conclusion," said Mairin. "I don’t really know anything about law."

"As I told you, this case is a good introduction."

"Let’s not talk anymore about law or this case," said Sandra. "I’ll call you tomorrow, Michael, about whether or not I went to go ahead with a suit. We’re all intelligent people here. Let’s talk about international affairs or something."

And the rest of the trip passed with a very sophisticated discussion of foreign policy.
 
 

That evening Mairin told Harry about the day, while sunk into the blue chair, in an old pair of jeans, no shoes, and no make-up. "We’ve managed to block the board’s attempt to file an application for disability, for the moment anyway. But the board could turn around and fire her today on general principles. Michael wants to file a civil rights action against the board. You know, take the offensive, so to speak."

"No, no," said Harry. "This is the time to sit down and talk. They’re both at a Mexican standoff now."

"Harry. . . " Mairin sighed, half-feeling that Harry was right.

"What are you doing next with Mr. Brush?" asked Harry.

"I’ve got to find out how the evaluation went. Talk to Mr. Herman in the shop. Then talk to the factory. I’ll do that tomorrow."
 
 

"How did it go yesterday?" Mairin asked Max Herman. Max was cleaning up odds and ends in the shop at the end of the day, and Mairin was taking a breather between work and law school.

"Very slow," said Max. "I don’t think he could function without his wife here, but we’ll have more time. He’ll be back tomorrow. It’s a tough case, but I think the factory could take him on with some special arrangements." He ‘ll have to be an exception under the wage/hour laws. His wages will be really low."

Mairin laughed. "You and I get sheltered shop wages, too, Max. Maybe we’re both a little retarded."

"You’ll be a lawyer someday, Mairin," said Max. You can make the big money then."

"Probably not," said Mairin seriously. "It’s a crime to make the money some lawyers are making for the small amount of work they’re doing. I just wouldn’t have it in me to charge that kind of money. Maybe I’ve worked here too long." The figure of $10,000 was blinking in her mind’s eye.

"Well, look at all the psychic income we’re getting." Mairin and Max both laughed. It was an old canard in the social service professions that the most important "salary" from the job was psychic--you felt so uplifted about all the good you ware doing that you didn’t really need money.

"I think I’m running at a psychic deficit right now," said Mairin. "If I hear from Mrs. Clark one more time in the next two days, I will be bankrupt. She wants service NOW. With a smile. She wants to come to the low vision clinic immediately. I can’t manage to make her understand that we need an eye report from her doctor first. At least she doesn’t want a washing machine too. That gives me an idea! We could give away a free washing machine as a door prize to the low vision clinic. The one hundredth person to come in will get the machine and maybe a turkey." Max and Mairin were both laughing. "So much for the psychic income,’ said Mairin. I have to go to class."
 
 

‘Okay," said Mairin.

"Harry doesn’t think we should file, does he?"

Mairin was silent for a moment. "I imagine you know the answer to that," she said.

"He wanted me to negotiate, didn’t he?"

"You seem to know him pretty well."

Michael sighed. "Tell him Bob Jeffries is on the other side. That will mean something to him. In general, it’s not considered nice to sue private agencies. However, it is sometimes necessary."

"If you don’t mind, Morgan, the lady hasn’t even had supper yet." Harry had picked up the bedroom extension.

"Hello, your honor. How are you?"

"Fine," said Harry drily.

"Well, eat your dinner, Mair. Talk to you later."

Mairin want back into the kitchen. She picked up the beer and had had a couple of moody sips when Harry walked in and sat down across from her.

"Mad?" he asked, grinning from ear to ear.

"That wasn’t necessary," she said.

"Guess Morgan doesn’t know what it’s like to go to night school and eat dinner at ten at night."

"Harry," said Mairin very calmly, "how old am I?"

"Not old enough for that game, Mairin," said Harry.

"What game?" Mairin asked.

"The game you’re being dealt a hand for," said Harry.

"What?" asked Mairin. Harry, you seem to know some things that I don’t."

"Well, I’m a hell of a lot older," he said. "Look, lady, just don’t get involved." And he got up and went to bed.
 
 

The next morning at breakfast Mairin asked Harry, almost as an afterthought, what it meant to him that Bob Jeffries was on the other side. She knew that she’d mentioned Jeffries to Harry in telling him about the board meeting, but she didn’t remember his saying anything.

"That’s tough for you," Harry said.

"How so?"

"He’s one of the toughest lawyers in this town. He doesn’t like to lose. . . and he almost never does."

"Do you think Michael’s a match for him?"

Harry ate a piece of toast. "They're different. It’s funny, you wouldn’t normally get them in the same courtroom."