The only good Lawyer

go.”
    “John—”
    “I’m not quitting. At least, not yet.”
    There was a sigh of relief as I made my way back down the corridor, but it didn’t come from me.

    Cricket’s is located in the South Market building, catercorner from Fanueil Hall itself. The hall is where great debates have been held since the American Revolution. You can see the red-bricked structure from the greenhouse dining area, though the only debate you’re likely to hear in Cricket’s is whether to go with the club sandwich or the daily catch.
    I walked into the main entrance of the restaurant proper; the woman in a print dress at the hostess stand watching me, probably because I looked as nervous as I felt.
    She said, “Mr. Cuddy?”
    “Yes.”
    “Your party’s already here. This way, please.”
    I followed her into the greenhouse extension, spotting Nancy as soon as I cleared a potted tree. She sat at a table for two, the sunlight slanting through the glass making her features glow, like something you’d see in paintings or films of the Tuscan hills. Two menus lay in front of her, but Nancy ’s attention was directed to a touristy couple outside on the cobblestones. The couple talked to a man in a business suit and gestured with their camera in a sign-language way, implying that they didn’t speak English very well but wanted him to take their picture.
    When the hostess delivered me to the table, Nancy and I both said “thank you” to her simultaneously. Everybody laughed, the hostess a little more naturally than either of us.
    I sat down, extending my right hand across the table. Nancy took it, gave me a quick squeeze, and then let go. “Right on time.”
    I made a pretense of looking at my watch. “I was tied up, afraid I might be late.”
    “No, I was early.”
    We received a reprieve from that soul-numbing exchange thanks to the waiter coming by for our drink orders.
    “Wine?” I said to her.
    Nancy spoke to the waiter. “Just iced tea for me, please.”
    I wanted something stronger; but said, “Same.”
    After the waiter over-described a couple of lunch specials, we both watched him walk away.
    I took a deep breath. “When he’s out of sight, we have to start talking again.”
    A pause before, “I know.”
    I looked back at Nancy . “What is it?”
    Her chin was down, like she was reading the menu instead of me. “I’m beginning to think this wasn’t such a good idea.”
    “What wasn’t?”
    “Meeting for lunch like this. I thought we’d be able to talk first, build up to it.”
    “Nance, I’m afraid that until I hear what the ‘it’ is, I don’t know what we should be talking about.”
    The waiter was brutally efficient, our drinks arriving in tall glasses with twists of lemon still circling the straws like milkmaids around a maypole. I think he could sense something was wrong between us, though, and he left the table without asking for our food orders.
    Nancy put some sugar into her tea. Stirring it, she said, “When you got back from out-of-state last week, and we first talked about Woodrow Gant, you asked me if I knew him.”
    “I remember.”
    “Do you remember what I said?”
    “Something like, ‘I’d met the man, but I never worked with him.’ ”
    “Close enough.” Nancy drew some tea through her straw. “Years before we... before you and I got together, there was a continuing legal education conference for prosecutors, a long weekend down on Nantucket . A.D.A.’s from all over the state attended.” I nodded.
    “That’s where I met Woodrow Gant.”
    I nodded some more.
    “And that’s where I... slept with him.”
    I tried to nod, but couldn’t.
    Nancy closed her eyes. “This is what I was afraid of.”
    “What?” It didn’t sound like my voice.
    She opened her eyes. “Your reaction, John.”
    “What reaction? I haven’t said—”
    “The way you’re looking at me.”
    I could feel my blood rising. “Nance, at least give me a chance to say something?”
    She watched me, but wary, like a cat that’s been yelled at. “Go ahead.”
    I lowered my voice. “Why didn’t you tell me this at Thai Basil?”
    A hardening. “Rather than walk out on you?”
    I kept my voice low. “Why didn’t you tell me then?”
    “Because you’re such a... such an ‘innocent’ about sexual things.”
    “ Nancy —”
    “Put yourself in my shoes, okay? When we met, I fell in love with you—almost at first sight—but you put me off because you were still mourning Beth. I could