The Common Lawyer Read Free Page A

were not rocks, roots, or ruts, but white-haired walkers.
    Andy sat on a boulder, removed his helmet, and ran his fingers through his thick wet hair that hung almost to his shoulders. He wore his hair long on the Samson theory: long hair made him indestructible on the bike. He dug out a few small rocks embedded in the raw hamburger meat that was his left knee, which made him grimace. One of the old ladies leaned over and yelled as if he were deaf: "Are you okay, sonny?"
    He recoiled. "Yes, ma'am."
    The second one put on her reading glasses and examined his face from a foot away. Her breath smelled like mints.
    "I was a nurse. You may need stitches."
    "Yes, ma'am."
    "At least put Neosporin on those cuts," she said, "so you don't get an infection."
    "Yes, ma'am."
    "The water's down there?" the third lady asked.
    "Yes, ma'am."
    She turned to the others. "I told you."
    "We got lost," the first lady said. "Took the wrong trail."
    "Yes, ma'am."
    "We were checking the map. I guess we shouldn't have stopped in the middle of the trail."
    "No, ma'am."
    She shrugged. "Our bad."
    She unzipped her waist pack and pulled out a can of Ensure. She held it out to him like a peace offering.
    "Homemade Vanilla."
    Tres turned away and choked back laughter.
    "Thank you, ma'am," Andy said, "but I've got Endurox in my CamelBak."
    He reached around and found the rubber tube hanging from the hydration pack. He put the mouthpiece between his teeth and bit down on the bite valve. Nothing came out. The CamelBak must have punctured on the fall—but the three liters of liquid cushion had probably saved him from a serious spinal cord injury.
    "Or I did."
    "Endurox?" the Ensure lady said. "Does that relieve constipation?"
    Tres couldn't hold back now; he buried his face in his hands and howled.
    "Constipation?" Andy said. "Well, no, ma'am, it doesn't. At least I don't think so."
    "The key to life is fiber. I mix Metamucil with my Ensure every morning. I can set my clock by my morning bowel—"
    "Yes, ma'am." He pointed west. "Go back that way, hang a left on the white rock trail, then another left on the dirt path down by the creek. That'll take you to the falls."
    "Can we swim naked there?"
    "Uh, no, ma'am. Only out at Hippie Hollow on the lake."
    The Austin chapter of AARP waved and walked off, chatting like sorority sisters. Tres fell to the ground laughing and started rolling around like a kid practicing a "stop, drop, and roll" fire drill. He said, " 'Does it relieve constipation?' " then howled again.
    Andy shook his head.
    "Get up. And help me up."
    High noon and Tres was still reliving the moment.
    " 'Does it relieve constipation?' You should've said, 'No, ma'am, but taking a header down that ravine sure as hell did—I crapped in my pants.' "
    "Dang near the truth."
    The throbbing bass of "La Grange," ZZ Top's hit song from the seventies, blared out from a boom box and reverberated off the limestone walls of the pool. Coming to Barton Springs was a trip back in time to the way Austin used to be. The music, the people, the pool. Old-timers swam laps in the icy water the Indians thought healed them and felt young again. Young people like Andy re-created their parents' fondest memories from the seventies and eighties—and every middle-aged parent in Austin had a fond memory of Barton Springs. And kids made new memories, floating on inner tubes, diving off the board, and playing in the turquoise water. For as long as anyone could remember, everyone in Austin—except developers—had desperately wanted the springs to stay frozen in time, at least for one more perfect summer.
    Like that summer.
    Andy stretched out on the south ledge of the pool and admired the lifeguard in her red Speedo sitting up in the tower. Barton Springs Pool was a thousand-foot-long natural swimming hole situated in Zilker Park just south of downtown Austin. Four million gallons of spring water filled the three-acre limestone cavity and maintained a constant year-round