Warm Wuinter's Garden by Neil Hetzner Read Free Book Online

been
many times when that irony had left her fighting for breath and
fighting off the feelings of being an imposter in the charged air
of a courtroom.
    To keep her hands from Herlick’s shirt, Nita
once again parsed those feelings. She had gone on her first date at
fourteen. In the nineteen years since then, she had yet to have
what she would call a successful relationship. She had not dated
much in high school, college, or law school. Then, when Nita was in
her mid-twenties, men came and went in her life as fast as
fashions. The weather changed and so did the man. As she passed
into her thirties, the parade had slowed. Recently, she had rarely
been asked to go out and when she had, most times, had said no. No
marriage, no children, an abortion, and more than a dozen hello-I
love you-good-by romances were either very good or very bad
preparation for being a good divorce lawyer. Nita was never quite
sure which it was.
    Dan Herlick continued his obfuscations. When
Nita looked up, she was sure that his face had grown even redder.
His collar looked to be tighter around his neck. She dallied with
the thought that Herlick’s head might be swelling up, like a
balloon, from the heat of whatever fire caused his words to hiss
and steam.
    A high-crested comber of nausea erupted from
the base of Nita’s her spine and rolled up through her organs.
Being as discreet as the following crippling cramp would allow,
Nita slid down in her chair before drawing her knees up as much as
she could under the protection of the tabletop. She felt a second
wave rise up from her belly, swell, then break just at the back of
her throat.
    If it had been a few years before, the pain
would have driven her from the closing. Until the doctors in Boston
had discovered, after much trial and error, that taking Naprosyn
left Nita with periods that were only excruciating rather than
unbearable, she had spent the onslaught of many menstrual cycles
flat in the back seats of friends’ cars or cabs, crying and
whispering “Hurry” on her way to the emergency room of a hospital,
university health services, or, if the pain came during the day,
one of many gynecologists she had seen over the years.
    From her first period until her second year
in law school the pain had been so bad that Nita had discovered
that, from month to month, she never anticipated it. When the first
blade cut deep into the nerve endings of her spine and ran white
hot down her legs, its intensity always took her by surprise. She
had heard how the pain of natural birth hurt so badly that it
wasn’t memorable. Her periods had been the same way. She took each
day as it came, happy and forgetful when the day was without
pain.
    The monthly agony was part of Nita’s
heritage. She was a DES baby. Bett had miscarried three times
before having her. After the third loss, her mother had asked for
help. Her doctor had put her on diethylstilbestrol.
    The professional part of Nita’s mind brought
her gaze back from far beyond the room to look at Herlick and
realize that it was time for her to tell him that her clients were
willing to pay the overnight interest on the mortgage. He had spent
most of an hour saving his clients less than forty dollars on the
pro-rations. If her clients squabbled about the money, she would
pay it. She just wanted the closing to be over so that she could go
out to her car, turn the air conditioning on full blast, recline
the seat back as far as it would go and have the luxury of cramping
by herself in peace.
    X-ed spots were signed. Notary stamps were
impressed into documents. Checks were cut. Funds disbursed. The
buyers stood. Nita eased herself from the chair. Hands were shaken.
Smiles exchanged. Thanks given. She felt the lower part of her body
try to twist itself away from its pain and toward the door; however
it was held in check by her competitiveness. She stepped closer to
Herlick.
    “As usual, Dan, it’s been interesting working
with you.”
    As Nita’s hands reached