II

Skyler sat looking at the cheap desk and the cheaper lawyer, yet another court appointed one, that sat behind it. He did not look like that sleazy, but highly efficient and cunning bag of slick, Saul Goodman, but given enough hair thinning time, sordid experience, and a few more Men's Big And Short Clearinghouse coupons and it could be a good grub race between the two. This one looked better suited to manage a Home Depot than go over important documents in her case, but she didn't have a choice. Money decided the options in life, and she just didn't have it now, or ever, really. Though funnily, she thought as she squirmed in her uncomfortable seat, she had tried to manage a mountain of it just a short while ago.

She noted the yellow, egg salad stains on his tie and on his breath (hmm, he liked it heavy on the pickles), and tried to bring herself to seriously attend to his questions.

"Well, the way I see it, Ms. Lambert, is that the court wants to have sympathy for you right now, but we are really going to have to sell it to them. You don't look like a criminal, as bigoted and biased as that sounds, and neither does your husband, though he's killed plenty of people and you… haven't, right?" He eyed her slightly, waiting for a guilty look to cross her face. She just stared at him blankly, her face and eyes widely innocent though bored and haughty. The jury won't approve of that, I'll have to find a way to tone that coldness down. "I'm going to have to separate you two far apart in people's minds…" He looked up at her again from the statements. More frigid ennui peeped from under long, blond lashes. He cleared his throat. "Let me put it to you straight… how much do you hate your ex-husband?"

She hesitated a moment. No one really asked her that question in that way before. She was surprised she had not really thought of her required strategy like that. To her, it had been about survival, about getting away and not having all the shit falling into her lap, and that's what she wanted for him too. She never understood, was infuriated by, truthfully, why he never just walked away the times he could have. Was he that unhappy with their lives together? He seemed to love her. No, he did love her passionately. She was content with their lackluster lives, never complained much about it, in fact, did what she could to continue it all. She liked the fiddling bits, keeping up with in-law's birthdays, sending out holiday presents from garage sale finds, friend's and neighbor events. A welling feeling came up inside her over all the little loses that added up to her huge isolation. Everything he brought about.

But the word "hate?" She mouthed the word over in her mind. Hate. Not fear and dread. Hate – and how much. Saul G. would have been proud of the man getting to the heart of the situation.

She did not even utter the initial, politically correct denial of it that popped up in her as he glanced into her distant face. Instead, she merely said, "How much is safe for me to say?"

"Well, of course you know everything you say to me is confidential, client-privilege, etc. etc. If you told me you tried to stab him in the heart every night for the past, what, two years or so, it wouldn't faze me. It does seem to have been pretty… ah, stressful."

She couldn't help but quickly guffaw at that summation.

"Well, I did cut open his hand, once." She shocked herself in admitting that to him.

"On purpose?"

"He wanted us to leave the house with him after Hank, um, Henry Schrader, was killed. He wanted us to go immediately."

"Us being, your son and daughter and you."

"Yes, my son and my baby daughter, Holly."

"And Hank was your brother-in-law, who also worked with the DEA?

"Yes."

"And how are your son and daughter doing?"

It had been a while that anyone has asked how her family was doing. Not that she had been a social butterfly of late, but it actually touched her for a moment that someone asked. She also became instantly suspicious.

"Um, not well."

"I can imagine. Look, Ms. Lambert, do you realize how much you have been traumatized? I'm sure you do in one sense, and quite angry over it, but in another, you're in shock and not focusing on what you have to do. You're surviving, you're getting through each day, and with your son, who is probably a basket case emotionally and I haven't even met him yet…"

"He doesn't want to see you. He didn't want to come along today. He hasn't seen any of the lawyers."

"Well, I'm sure he's going to have to see me, but it's okay that it wasn't today. You are really going to have to decide what you want to say in all this. And it's not going to be what you should say for this person or that person or even what is a hundred percent true. I am here to defend You, and that's the person you have to think most about. You have to believe me when I say do that, and everything else will fall into place for you. You don't see that, though. You haven't seen that for two years. This has always been what I see in my similar cases."

"Your cases? You seem a little older than the fetuses that I have been appointed before, but I don't understand…" She was at a loss for words. What did she want to say? Where did this guy come from?

"Hmm, yes, you're a little surprised I seem more familiar with your situation than the other's you've gotten to work with, eh? Well, I have been following it, and I petitioned the court quite a while ago to be considered, but they don't like it when outsiders come into their circle. They want to be very careful in this. I had to wait my turn. I'm sure other, bigger named lawyers have come to you in this?"

"Well, recently a few have, but I didn't like that they wanted to make their names with my family's misery."

"Perhaps you can see that I'm coming about it through some effort, maybe that will show you some sincerity."

She uttered flatly, "You want to make your name with us as well."

"Of course. At least I'm being honest with you. And I'm showing you I understand a little about the system and what everyone wants to accomplish. You could do much worse. And as you can see, I don't waste much money in showing off my office or my suits." He flourished the plaid lining of his wine colored monstrosity. "Don't worry, I don't wear this particular one to court, just lounging around in my office. I need something to absorb my rushed lunches. You can imagine I have a little rep among my law abiding colleagues." He lightly smirked, but it changed his appearance, his believability, for the better. "Give me a try. You know, you can fire a lawyer at any time for any reason, but I'd take the chance. After all, I got myself in front of you, didn't I, and that was not an easy thing."

She looked at his pot belly, his overlong tie, the waddle under his chin, his slightly red, bulbous nose. All he needed was some oversized, clown shoes. Could any of this become more of a circus? It somehow amused her.

"Sure," she said.

God, I must really want to commit suicide or something, she thought.