The next day was the staff party at the agency. Mairin was relaxing, woolgathering, listening to the combo, when she felt a hand on her shoulder. It was Bea Warncke, trying to introduce her to Harry.

"I hear you’ve just had your first law school exams," Harry said.

"Oh, yes," said Mairin. "All of a sudden my first quarter has ended, and I have a whole week before I go back."

Harry was an older man, somewhat "judicial" in his appearance, but he also reminded Mairin of an old-time politician, which, as a matter of fact, he was. He was of medium height and build with a head of graying hair. He looked at Mairin appraisingly. She was very attractive. So much for the stereotype, he thought. Bea was right. She had told him that Mairin looked tired. Thin, too thin.

"Are you going home over Christmas?" he asked.

"No," said Mairin. "I have to work--here at the agency."

"Where is your home, Mairin?" asked Bea.

"Seattle."

"You left that gorgeous country to come to Ohio?" Harry asked.

Mairin laughed. "It does sound ludicrous sometimes. But I went to undergrad school here and then social work school and. . . here I am"

"You’re staying here over Christmas?" asked Bea.

When Mairin nodded her head, Bea said, "Well, for heaven’s sakes, please come to our house on Christmas. Both our daughters are away this year, and we’d love the company."

"That’s really nice of you," said Mairin, genuinely meaning it.
 
 

Mairin shopped during the evenings of the next week, getting ready for Christmas. Christmas eve she made special Christmas candy to take to the Warnckes. Linda was perched on a stool watching her. "You don’t have any family, huh?"

"Not really," said Mairin. "My mother died when I was in high school. My father remarried when I was in college, and I can’t abide my stepmother. My father sold the house I grew up in and moved to an apartment. It doesn’t feel like home at all."

"Don’t you have a sister?" Linda was licking semi-sweet chocolate off the tips of fingers that had gotten into the dipping mixture.

"Yes," said Mairin. "As far as I know, she’s still at U of Washington in Seattle. We really don’t get along that well ourselves." She looked moody as she dipped the peppermints into the chocolate. "I’m kind of excited about going to the Warnckes. Harry and Bea seem like such traditional parents. A real family."

"He’s a judge?"

"Yes, Common Pleas. Maybe I can find out how the legal system really works."

"Do you really want to know?" Linda was teasing.

"I’m not sure," Mairin said wryly.

When the candies were done and she dropped off to sleep that night, she fell into a dream about contracts class being held at the courthouse amidst clerks dipping peppermints.
 
 

The next morning she awoke feeling excited about Chirstmas Day for the first time in years. Bea had said to come at one. The Warnckes lived in a new apartment building, one of the really nice ones on Lake Erie. Bea served sherry in the living room to begin the festivities.

"How did you decide to go to law school?" Harry asked.

Mairin smiled. "Oh, a number of times over the years, I’ve had to go to court with clients. It’s never been any big deal, no Perry Mason stuff, but it seemed more intelligent than what I was spending my days doing. Somehow I just didn’t want to spend the rest of my life doing social work. Maybe I just burned out.

"There’s a lot of that," said Bea.

"What?" asked Harry.
 
 

"Burnout," said Mairin. "It’s what happens when you deal with people’s problems all day, and nothing you can do really helps very much. It’s frustration, really."

"And you think law doesn’t have that?"

"I really don’t know," said Mairin, "never having practiced law, but I hope that at least the rewards are higher."

"You mean the monetary rewards?"

"Those, too," said Mairin. "If I felt that I could take off to Hawaii once in a while, it would probably make it easier for me to deal with people under stress."

"You’re the one that’s going to be under stress in law," said Harry. He was watching closely for her reaction.

"Me?"

"Yes. Law is a time game. Everything has a deadline. The pressures on the attorney are very real."

Bea broke in, "Come on, honey, you deal with trial lawyers all the time. You see all of that pressure, but some lawyers have office practices."

"Most, actually," said Harry. "But even in an office practice there’s pressure."

Mairin stretched. The big blue chair felt so nice. "Well, I certainly don’t know at this point. I’d guess that if I can handle people pressure I can handle legal pressure. But I don’t know." She grinned. "Let’s see if I make it out of law school before we worry about on-the job."

They talked about law school. Harry knew all the profs and most of the administrators. They talked about law. Mairin knew she was hearing old war stories, but they were new to her, and she enjoyed them. Bea would put in a correction or addition from time to time. At four she told them that they could come help her serve the turkey.

How remarkable, thought Mairin, standing at the stove making gravy, I feel as though I’ve been here before. Pictures of the Warncke girls filled the apartment. Both were married, and one had a little son. As they ate, Mairin asked about the girls--Peggy and Lisa.

"They’re both out of the city," said Bea. "We miss them."

"Bea doesn’t miss them enough," said Harry. "Our phone bills are horrendous."

"You never call them!" Bea said.

"Of course not," he said cheerfully. He turned to Mairin. "Are you close to your family?"

"No, not really," she said. She repeated what she’d said to Linda the night before.

Harry was looking at her. She was an attractive girl, dark curly hair that would need to be cut in about two days. She had on a white blouse and a soft, gathered wool skirt, a nice plaid. He could feel the energy that she had. It was obvious that she was completely alert, aware of everything that was going on. "Why aren’t you married?" he asked.

"Harry!" said Bea, "Cut it out. Harry is not totally twentieth century," Bea said to Mairin. "You have to realize that part of him would be at home with the dinosaurs."

"That’s right," said Harry. "You’re an attractive girl, I can’t imagine you don’t date, and I can imagine even less that nobody ever asked you to get married. You can be both a lawyer and a wife, you know."

Bea was laughing. "That observation is not original with him. It took someone else’s pointing out to him that he could be both a judge and a husband before he’d accept the shoe on the other foot. And the wife is still supposed to do the dishes. Speaking of which. . ." Bea got up to go into the kitchen.

Mairin started to get up to help. Harry reached over to put a hand on her arm. "Did I offend you?"

"No," she shook her head.

"You have a very faraway look on your face."

"Old dreams, I guess," she said. "Let me help Bea."

Dessert was wonderful. Then they sat in the living room again. Bea mourned the loss of a real fireplace, but Mairin felt the gas-operated fireplace had atmosphere enough. They drank liqueur and talked and drank more liqueur. Mairin looked at the pictures of Peggy and Lisa. Of course they’re smiling, she thought. Why wouldn’t they be? These are real parents. They love their children; it’s obvious in everything they say. By the time she went home, it was late evening. She felt a warmth that she rarely had. "It’s the liqueur," she said, falling into bed and deep sleep. Not one dream floated to the surface.
 
 

She saw Bea the next week in the agency cafeteria. "Thanks so much," she said, sitting down with her cup of coffee. "I had such a nice time at your house."

"That was a sweet note you sent," said Bea. "Harry is crazy about you. He wants to find you a job at court. I told him you’re needed right here. What would Mrs. Nudelman do without you?"

They both laughed at the inside joke. "I do appreciate it, Bea. I really felt that I was with family."

"You were. Harry’s ready to adopt you. He really misses the girls. I think he wishes that one of them had gone to law school. He is a neanderthal, though. When they were young, he wouldn’t have believed that women would be lawyers the way they are today. You're their age. Lisa is thirty and Peggy is twenty-six."

"I’m twenty-seven."

"See? And don’t mind if Harry wants to marry you off. I do too, remember?"

They both laughed again. There had been a fellow around the agency the year before that everybody had thought was good-looking, intelligent, etc. He’d asked Mairin out a number of times. All she could say about him was "He’s a creep, but I can’t tell you why." It ultimately turned out that he was married and had two kids.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Mairin’s last week of vacation flew by. Some of the people from the agency had a New Year’s Eve party, and then it was time for school to start again. The routine was familiar now. With the short days of winter, it was easier to spend evenings in class or studying.

All the students were anxious about the practice exams, but it appeared that both Morgan and Hanson were going to take their time grading them. "Which is fine," Mairin said to Mariann. "At least it won’t be a slapdash job." So for the next six weeks nobody worried about the exams.

And then one evening in early March, Hanson walked into contracts class with a stack of bluebooks. Everyone tensed. Hanson seemed to be savoring the tension. Finally he spoke. "Very few of you did well on these. Most of you got 50 or 60 out of one hundred. The highest person was 84. The lowest was 26. I know that this has been an ordeal for you, but believe me, it’s better to have had this exam under your belts when you go for the final in May. That’s why we give practice exams. Law school is different. You’re thinking and writing a whole new way. You may look over these books at the break. Then you can come to see me if you disagree with my comments. I want all the books back after the break."

The class, as one collective body, fixed its mind on 7:20. No one except the person reciting paid any attention to the case being presented. Mairin had a mental picture of a 50 or 60 marked on her bluebook. Who had done well, she wondered. And how had they done well.

At the break there was an unholy scramble for the books. When Mairin finally got hers, she sat down before opening it. 65. Relief. It wasn’t 84, but it wasn’t 50 either. The comments seemed reasonable, such as they were. For all that time supposedly spent in grading, there were very few remarks. The group had done a post-mortem, and Mairin already knew what she had missed. The few remarks just bore that out.

Karen came up to her after class. "How about stopping off for a beer?" she said. "I need to talk."

They went to the bar next door, sat down and ordered drinks. "I’m worried," said Karen. "I got below a 50, and none of the comments made much sense."

"The ones on mine didn’t either," said Mairin. "But I don't think we should give up yet. These are just for practice."

"Sure," said Karen, "we all know that, but didn’t you think you’d really do well?"

Mairin laughed. "Yes and no. Once in awhile I did have a fantasy of coming out ahead, but basically I was worried that law was just going to be too much of a mystery to me."

"I thought I’d do better," said Karen. "For godsakes, I’ve had four years of college, and my major was English. I really thought I could write."

"Me too I majored in English lit. I was amazed to find that it’s supposed to be a preferred major for law. I read that somewhere. You know what bothers me more? The way we’re reacting to this test. Not just us. Everybody in there. Comparing notes, trying to be casual, trying to find out who got the 84. That’ll be around by tomorrow. We’re so competitive. I’m so competitive."

"Honeychild," said Karen, "why do you think you’re in law school?"

That question took Mairin all the way home and into bed.