The Widow and the Will Read Free Page A

opened one eye and squinted. “Yeah, a little, I guess.”
    “Shit.” Hudson shoved the keys back down into the folds of his pants. “I’d tell you to take my truck and go home, but I don’t want you for a client. Go back to sleep, it’s early.”
    Ford ignored him and shuffled toward the bathroom. Hudson sighed again and grabbed his briefcase. He crossed the room, which was really a kind of waiting area with the couch, a secretary’s desk, and small cabinet housing the coffeemaker, to open the door to his private office in the back. He tossed the bag on the single client chair in front of his desk and then went back out to the main area. While he waited for Ford to relinquish the bathroom, Hudson prepared to make a pot of coffee. Yeah, he was irritated to find his older sibling sleeping off a drunk in the office, but it had become so commonplace he couldn’t really get that angry. In spite of his penchant for drink, Ford was responsible enough not to get on his motorcycle in a compromised position. Hudson would rather find him on the couch, safe and sound, than dead in the morgue or sitting in jail. He filled the coffee pot from the water cooler and poured it in. Jamming his thumb on the brew button, he slid the pot in place to collect the elixir of life that would soon come pouring forth.
    Ten minutes went by without a sound from the bathroom. No running water, no flushing. Just as Hudson went to knock on the door to make sure Ford hadn’t passed out again, his brother emerged looking pale and sweaty.
    “You didn’t barf in there did you?”
    Ford glowered at him. “Yes, I did. Sorry. I cleaned it up.”
    Hudson growled. “You better have.” He looked his brother up and down and shook his head. “You’re a mess. I’ll call you a cab and you can go home.”
    “I’ll be fine. Let me have a cup of coffee and then I’ll borrow your truck.”
    “Highly unlikely.”
    The brothers stood silently at opposite ends of the room while the smell of fresh coffee filled the air, disguising any odor of disinfectant that had leaked out of the bathroom. When they both had cups, Hudson went into his office and Ford sat back down on the couch.
    Hudson glanced around his tiny inner sanctum and smiled. The space was only about twelve foot square, barely fitting his large oak desk, a filing cabinet and another brown, microfiber couch. It wasn’t the poshest of spaces, but it was comfortable and inviting. For as many times as Hudson found his brother passed out in the main area, he’d taken a nap or two himself behind the closed door.
    It wasn’t often a new attorney, only three years out of law school, could open his own place and keep it afloat. Most of his pals had taken 80-hour-a-week jobs with silk stocking firms just to pay off their school loans and to gain as much experience as possible before thinking about opening their own practice. But Hudson hadn’t wanted that kind of a life. He liked to work, and work hard, and the proof was in the fact that he had very little college debt to pay off. Between scholarships and working multiple jobs, he’d managed to get through college and law school without as much debt hanging over his head that plagued so many others. He knew just how lucky he was. Granted, it had taken him a few extra years to do it, but he had. He felt pretty accomplished for 31 years old.
    Hudson had taken one of those grueling positions with Hacket & Hacket in downtown Detroit for one year right after graduating law school, and in that time, lived in a studio apartment, scrimping and saving every cent he could. After twelve months, he gladly gave his notice and opened his own firm right in St. Clair Shores where he’d been born and raised.
    Hudson found the space on the end of a building right on Harper Avenue, negotiated a rent he could afford, had a sign made and was off and running. For the last three years, he’d managed to stay in business by handling any legal matter that walked through his