Wheels In Motion Ch. 02

*** This series was awarded the Most Literary/Genre Transcending award in the 2020 Reader's Choice Awards. Thank you to all my readers and all who voted. ***

Hello friend, and welcome to Chapter Two of my series, Wheels In Motion.

If you haven't read Chapter One yet, that's going to be a problem for you here. Fortunately, you have the power to go fix that right now! Go ahead, I'll be here waiting when you get back. Done? Okay, carry on!

Special thanks to my editor, AwkwardMD, and my beta-readers Salandar and ArmyGal33. This chapter would be a lesser work without their help.

I hope you enjoy. Leave me a comment if you care to.

~~ George Washington Hospital, Washington DC, March ~~

Anytime I got called out to meet a client at George Washington University Hospital, it always tugged my emotions in two directions. On the one hand, being summoned to the hospital meant there was a woman in trouble, one who had likely been beaten by her partner or had an abusive husband she needed help getting away from. Most of my work as an attorney for Lampedo Women's Legal Services was child support cases, divorces for indigent women, or for women whose husbands had done a really excellent job of cutting them off from their jointly-held finances before starting a divorce. Sometimes I handled restraining orders or victim advocacy with the district attorney. Most of that work could be done out of our office on Seventeenth Street or at the city courthouse. The fact that I was going to GW meant some woman's partner had probably hurt her, which made me feel horrible, but helping women in these situations was one of the reasons I signed up for this gig.

On the other hand, chances were good I'd get to see my friend Liz, which always brightened my day.

I never knew her exact schedule; it changed every single week, but given the number of hours she worked she was literally more likely to be in the E.R. than not. I could never get my head around how much she worked. Since I'd come to LWLS, I'd started working more hours per week than I had on Capitol Hill, but that was nothing like what medical residents went through. It seemed designed to break a person, but Liz almost never lacked for a smile.

At the front desk I was told my client had already been admitted upstairs, so I went up to her room to introduce myself. I listened to her story and discussed her options with her. Same story, different day. Her husband had come home drunk and ended up taking out his frustrations on her.

Unfortunately, she seemed to still be in the denial stage, blaming herself for her black eye and her dislocated shoulder rather than the man who had given her both. She didn't want to see the pattern of abuse, and wasn't interested in a restraining order or trying to get away. Yet. It usually took a few incidents before they got ready to pull the trigger. Sometimes they never got to that point before the chance to make that decision was taken from them.

I ended up leaving my card with her and urging her to get help in the form of counseling and, failing that, left a pamphlet with the address for several women's shelters.

I took the elevator to the main floor and walked into the E.R. The evening receptionist recognized me and buzzed me through the door from the waiting area after I flashed her my hospital ID. Down the hallway at the nurse's station, I ran into another familiar face.

"Hey Kat! How's it going?"

Kathryn Hayden spun around in her chair and smiled. "Addison, hey! Don't take this the wrong way, but we should meet up outside of work. Anytime I see you it means it's bad news for some woman."

"I was just thinking about something like that myself. I try to think that anytime I'm here, some woman is getting the help she needs rather than someone's been beat up."

"That's a much better way of thinking about it," she agreed with me.

"Is Liz around?"

"I think she's in O.R. Two. We had a GSW come in about a half-hour ago. She's in there with Dr. Salvatore."

"I swear, you medical folk use more acronyms than we lawyers use Latin. What's a GSW?"

Kat made a face. "Gunshot wound."

"Oh..." I said in a small voice. "Maybe you should just tell her I came by."

"Well, hang on a second." She picked up the phone and made a call. "Hey Gina, is Dr. Charles still in Two? ... Okay, thanks." She hung up, turned back to me, and pointed over my shoulder. "She's just getting out now actually. Go down that hall there, take the second left. There's a locker room. You'll either catch her going in, or you can wait for her to come out if you miss her."

"Thanks, Kat. Oh, by the way, I'm still trying to run into your wife! I keep hearing she's the best litigator in the organization. I want to see her in action sometime, I'm always looking for trial tips."

"I'll tell her you said so. Catch you later."

I followed Kat's directions, made the second left, and froze as I rounded the corner. Liz was sitting in her wheelchair outside two big, swinging doors labeled 'O.R. Two', slumped over motionless, facing the wall with a thousand-yard stare. She had a huge splotch of blood on her shoulder, and both the legs of her scrub pants and her sneakers were drenched in scarlet.

"Liz!" I ran over and skidded to a stop in front of her. "Liz, are you okay?! Are you hurt?!"

"Hmmm?" She shook her head and looked up, taking a second to focus on my face. "Oh, hey! What's up?"

"Forget about me! Are you okay?"

She answered just before panic overcame me. "What? Oh..." She looked down at the crimson mess on her scrubs. "No, th-this isn't mine." She shook her head again, and this time, when she looked at me again, she seemed more present. "Sorry, it's fine. This is from a patient. I need to change actually. Come on, we can talk in the locker room."

"But--" I started, but she'd already grabbed her wheels, given herself a push and was gliding across the hall to a door labeled 'Staff Lockers - Women'. She pushed the handicapped button to swing the door open and I followed her into the locker room. She rolled up to a big plastic bin labeled 'biohazard' and started stripping off her clothes and throwing them in the bin.

"Liz, what happened?!" I asked.

"Gunshot victim. Had to do an emergency thoracotomy, and his aorta popped... kinda all over me. I had a face shield and gown, but it was like getting hit with a hose." She leaned down, pulled off both her sneakers and socks and dumped them in the bin.

"Oh. Is he going to be okay?" I asked.

She didn't look up. "No, he's dead. He died about four minutes ago."

"Oh Liz, I'm so sorry. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she said, flatly.

"Uh huh, sure... You're fine. Can't look me in the eye. You're half-naked and it doesn't seem to bother you, and your underwear has blood on it by the way." I pointed at the shoulder strap of her sports bra. She looked down at where I'd gestured.

"God dammit! This was one of my most comfortable bras! Fuck!" She whipped it off and slammed it in the bin. "Hand me those wipes!" she said, pointing to a Clorox wipes dispenser on the counter next to me. She snatched them out of my hand and started angrily wiping one over her naked shoulder.

I averted my eyes until she had grabbed another top from a stack of scrubs on the counter and yanked it over her head. She kept up a litany of curse words under her breath. Some of them seemed to be in another language. She jerked fresh scrubs up her legs, then started trying to work them up under her butt, making sounds of frustration.

"Liz... Liz..."

She ignored me, seemingly having detached herself from the present again.

"Liz!" I yelled at her.

She stopped trying to get her pants in place and looked up at me. "What?!" she snapped.

I knelt down next to her chair. "Liz, I'm sorry your patient died." I leaned forward and hugged her, pulling her head onto my shoulder. She was stiff at first, then lifted the arm I didn't have trapped against me and wrapped it around me, pulling us tightly together. After a minute she drew in a deep shuddering breath, then let me go.

"Thanks. Sorry I popped my cork," she said, as she righted herself in her chair. "I just get so mad. I lost people when I was in Afghanistan. I mean, most of the time I wasn't sure what the fuck we were fighting for there, but at least we called it a war. It just seems so... stupid, people shooting each other in the middle of a city where people are just trying to live their lives. I never even find out what the reason is most of the time. But what could be worth it? Drugs? Some stupid robbery? A fucking argument?" She jerked her thumb towards the O.R. across the hallway. "That guy probably wasn't even twenty-five years old, and now he's dead. For what?! It's even worse when it's a woman, because eight times out of ten it was her boyfriend or husband who shot her. It's just so goddamn dumb!"

"I know. I'm sorry," I said.

She finished getting her pants in place then rolled over to a locker. She opened it, pulled out an extra pair of shoes and socks, leaned over in her chair and started pulling them on.

"When you were swearing a minute ago, I didn't recognize a lot of the words."

For a moment, her eyes became distant, and the edge of her lip curled up slightly. "There was an old lady at the market outside our base who took a liking to me. Taught me how to swear in Pashto."

"Well it certainly sounded impressive."

"Right? It's just as satisfying as swearing in English, and I can get away with it in the E.R., but snarl 'fuck' one time in front of Dr. Chandra?" She winced. "By the way, never, ever say 'fuck' in front of Dr. Chandra."

"Noted," I laughed.

She clipped her badge onto her new top threw her stethoscope over her neck. She gave her upper body a visible shake to gather herself, then rolled towards the door.

"Do you have time for coffee?" I asked, as I followed her out into the hall.

"No, we're stacked and packed tonight. I gotta get back to it."

"Okay. When's your next free night?"

"Tuesday, I think."

"That sucks. I was hoping you could go out with me and meet some of my friends Saturday night."

"Well, I'm free Saturday morning. If it's not raining, I'm going to get some miles in if you want to come."

"If it is raining, brunch somewhere instead?"

"How about at my place?" she said, with a smile. "I need to do a ton of laundry."

"Sounds good! Text me Friday night and let me know."

~~ Arlington County Courthouse, Arlington, Virginia ~~

Meeting Liz's friend Megan didn't start off quite as I'd expected. I had a free afternoon on Friday and had heard she was going to try a custody and child support hearing in Arlington. My boss Mary Jane Stamford, the head of litigation for LWLS, suggested we go watch.

We were talking in the hall outside Courtroom D in the Arlington County Courthouse when I heard a girlish voice behind me.

"MJ, what're you doing here?"

"We came to watch the master in action," MJ said past my shoulder.

I turned and found myself face-to-face with a woman in a light grey suit. She could have been in her mid-thirties, but something about the way she carried herself gave the impression of being much younger. She had shaggy black hair like a teenage wanna-be rock star, a silver stud in her nose, and when she laughed at MJ's greeting she showed huge dimples. This giggly woman certainly didn't look like the agency's best litigator. She seemed like she'd be more at home as a cocktail waitress. Or working in a children's toy store.

"Always happy to have an audience!"

MJ turned to me. "Megan, this is Addison Wagner, she joined the DC team two months ago. She's been wanting to meet you, she's--"

"Addison! You're Liz's friend, right? I've heard so much about you, it's great to meet you!" She reached out, grabbed my hand, and shook it furiously. She was smiling so hard, and her dimples got so deep, I could almost see through her head. "I'm so happy Liz made a new friend, you have no idea. She doesn't get out much!" She giggled again, and I started worrying for whomever her client was.

"It's nice to meet you too," I said. "I've just started trying cases myself, so I'm always looking for pointers."

"It's all in the prep work! I'd be happy to talk about trial strategy or anything you want sometime." She half-turned, and the smile lines around her eyes crinkled. "Oh, hey, here's my client. Catch you afterwards, MJ?" She actually skipped away from us, swinging her briefcase, to greet a woman who looked to be just about the hardest forty years old I'd ever seen.

"MJ, I hope you won't be offended, but that... girl... doesn't seem like the shark I've heard about."

"Just wait until the gavel drops." MJ chuckled, and led me into the courtroom.

"All rise!" The bailiff called the court to order as we found seats in the gallery.

The opposing counsel was a slick-looking man in a charcoal grey suit. The proceeding started with some housekeeping and scheduling motions, and then after the preliminaries were out of the way he made a motion to dismiss some of Megan's client's filings.

Megan systematically demolished him. I'd been in court numerous times for one reason or another since passing the bar but I'd never seen a performance like that. She had a counter-claim for every one of his motions with supporting evidentiary documents ready, or precisely cited a precedent supporting her position without even glancing at the papers spread out on the table in front of her. Within minutes the other attorney was so flustered he started raising his voice, which caused the judge to slap him down, which caused him to get even more flustered. The giggly, girlish person I'd met in the hall had been replaced with an almost scarily implacable... shark for lack of a better descriptor.

Her face was utterly professional, her demeanor utterly competent. She just kept going at her opponent, never giving him a moment to gather himself, and countering every issue he raised as if she'd read the contents of his briefcase the night before the hearing. By the end, she'd gotten three of her opponent's motions thrown out and it was clear the judge was likely to rule her way on everything else. As the judge left the court, the soon-to-be ex-husband turned and started furiously whispering in his lawyer's ear while Megan and her client smiled at each other and walked down the aisle and out of the courtroom.

"Well, that went pretty good! Did you see the color his face turned at the end?" Megan said, laughing in the hallway after she'd said goodbye to her client. The giggly girl was back. She looked at her watch. "It's three-thirty. Too early for happy hour, MJ?"

"Not after that performance, Megs. C'mon. I'll buy."

We went to the Four Courts bar one block over from the courthouse, and found a quiet table in the corner.

"So, the new model we've implemented in DC seems to be working pretty well," MJ was telling Megan, "We'll probably start rolling it out to the Virginia and Maryland offices soon."

"Having dedicated attorneys for each hospital does sound like a good idea in theory, but you're going to need more lawyers than we have now in Virginia. We have more hospitals in Arlington alone than you do in DC," Megan said, following a sip of her Macallan; at least she didn't drink like a teeny-bopper. "Then you throw in Fairfax and Prince William counties, plus we've been talking about expanding services out to Loudon."

"Not to worry. Our fundraising is way ahead of schedule this year with those two angel donors we scored last month. We'll definitely be able to hire up as needed. Speaking of which..." MJ paused to finish her coffee. "I have to get back to the office for an interview with a newly-minted barrister from Georgetown Law. She graduated sixth in her class, and for some reason doesn't want to make mid-six figures starting in New York City, so I need to snap her up quick. Addison, I know you're on call this weekend, so you can be done for the day," she said, smiling at me.

"Thanks, boss. I got the drinks," I said, waving her off when she pulled out her wallet.

"Don't expense it, I'll catch you," MJ teased as she left.

Megan stopped the waiter, ordered a plate of potato skins, and then turned to me. "So, what's the scoop with you and Liz? Dish, girlfriend!"

I blinked. "Uh... scoop? What do you mean."

She smirked at me. "I mean the scoop! Liz says you guys are just friends. True? Not true? She said you're gay."

"Yeah..." I said slowly, "and she's not." I was rather stunned at Megan's abrupt conversational turn and how fast she'd aimed it on me.

"I know, I know, that's what she says. That's what Kat says, too. And if she is, good for her, I never hold anyone's sexuality against them." She smirked again. "I've only known her for a little over a year, since her residency started. But that whole time I've never seen her date a guy. And I've never seen her as animated about anything as she is about you."

"Uh, as far as I know we're just friends. I mean, we had a big misunderstanding the first time we went out. I thought she was asking me on a date, but she just wanted to hang out. We've gotten over that awkwardness and have been friends ever since. Honestly, I think she just doesn't have time to date."

"Huh. Okay, I guess. I just got a vibe when she started telling us about you."

"A vibe? What kind of vibe?"

"Okay, don't tell my wife I told you this story. It embarrasses her, for reasons I don't get, but Kat thought she was straight when she and I met. We got caught in a storm, and one thing led to another, and then..." She trailed off and shrugged. "Then we were dating... and then we were married. I adopted her daughter. Our little family has been the best thing that's ever happened to me."

"Okay, and?"

"And... well..." She shrugged. "I just got the same vibe when Liz started telling us about you that I got from Kat when she and I started dating. That there was this... realization happening."

"No, I'm pretty certain she's straight."

"Okay, if you say it, I believe you." She took a sip of her drink. "So, how are you settling into our LWLS family?"

"...huh?" I blinked dumbly. My head was spinning.

"I said, 'how are...'"

"Fine! Really good, sorry. I really love the work."

Megan grinned at me, and sipped at her scotch again.

~~ DuPont Circle, Washington DC, March ~~

"I'm so pissed," Liz grumbled, as she stared out the window at the rain. "I'm half-tempted to go out anyways."

"Uh huh... and what does your doctor brain say about the wisdom of going for a miles-long wheelchair run when it's pouring and forty-five degrees out?" I was sitting in Liz's wheelchair in her living room, making tentative attempts to pop a wheelie. "I don't see how you make this look so-Whoa!" I yelled as I tipped over backwards. The back of the chair slammed down behind me hard and I somersaulted out of it onto the floor in a tangle of arms and legs.

Liz laughed at me. "That one took me a long time to master. Another vet at Walter Reed taught me the trick. There was an unwritten rule that when a new vet came in with a wheelchair, you had to teach them any chair tricks you'd been taught. Also, I learned on the rubber mat in the gym instead of hardwood floors."

Liz's apartment was very minimalist, not much in the way of clutter or knick-knacks. She lived on the first floor of a six-story condo building, two blocks off of DuPont circle. I'd never been in an apartment quite like it. There wasn't a lot in the way of storage in the kitchen, as all the countertops had no cabinets underneath so she could roll right up to them when she needed to cook or do dishes. The upper cabinets had hydraulic mechanisms that swung the contents out and down with the slightest tug on a bar mounted on the front so she could reach them from her chair with a grabber. I'd asked her how much it had cost to customize the place the first time I was over, but it turned out she'd gotten lucky and bought it from a paraplegic man who had decided to move from DC to Florida and it was already handicapped accessible. She'd only had to redecorate.