Page 10 of Holding On

I immediately like her. She seems genuine, authentic. She’s all business, but it comes from a foundation of warmth.

She asks what I like about school and how my contract class was the first year. She asks what I think of tort law. She explains her interest in family law, criminal law, and torts, and how she couldn’t stand property law.

Finally, she focuses in on what brought me to Maine.

“Loyola has an extensive internship program, and I wanted to get out of California,” I explain. “I spent most of my life there, then I had a really idyllic summer here a long time ago and wanted to come back.”

“Admit it. It was the lobster. It always is.” She winks. “And the pull of the sea.”

I smile. She nailed it. All those islands, the rocks, the tides . . . California has nothing like it.

“And the other reason?” says Audrey. Her bright blue eyes bore a hole through my forehead.

I sit there for a moment, realizing I’m at the mercy of this great strategic thinker. The next moment, I’m telling her things I thought I’d never say out loud because they sound so petty.

“Frankly, I just wanted something I thought would be a little easier than LA in the summer.”

She nods, and apparently, that’s all the encouragement I need.

“I didn’t want to deal with that sort of Lord of the Flies corporate world, and as you know, most of the internships in LA are corporate. It’s always about money—who’s going to get what job at what firm later.”

“It’s brutal.”

“Exactly. Thank you. I wanted to intern someplace for the sake of the work and not worry about some job I’m not interested in. I know it sounds terrible,” I say, pausing and trying to reframe what I’m about to say. “Despite the lobster, I’m not interested in moving here. I didn’t want the pressure of trying to impress for a job. I wanted an easier time.”

Suddenly, I realize that’s not something I should admit to.

“I don’t mean it like that. I just meant that I want to work someplace and not feel like I have to prove myself for some other job. I want to work for the sake of working.”

Audrey gives me a look I can’t decipher and then says, “How do you feel about justice?”

My back stiffens, and I sit straighter in my chair. “It’s why I’m doing what I’m doing.”

“So you’re not interested in money. You’re not interested in prestige. Do I have that right?”

I shrug. “I am a little. I need to live, but I’d be perfectly happy working at legal aid or the public defender’s office, representing disenfranchised groups.

“And you thought Maine might be less pressure. You think Mainers have fewer problems?”

“No,” I say and feel heat come to my cheeks.

Suddenly, she smiles. “I admire your honesty. You’re not trying to impress me, which in turn, impresses me.” Pulling up another chair, she sits next to me and lowers her voice.

“This internship position is a bit complicated. I have two of you this year.

The other is a young man from Portland named Danny—lovely guy. But I need someone that’s not from here for a special project.”

She’s making it clear I’m that person.

“I have to ask a question, and you need to be very honest with me. Have you ever heard of Judge Oliver Raymond Barr?”