"I'm William Kleeper, a lawyer," he replied handing her a card. "I represent Jodie Forrest. She's the driver of the pickup who hit you a few days ago."
"Oh," Lathal murmured. She had been wondering what had happened to the other driver and how she was. "How is she?"

"She's far worse than you," Kleeper said rather reluctantly. "She suffered multiple fractures and she's in a body case. She'll be in the hospital for a while."

"I'll send her a get-well card if you have her address," she said.

"That's very kind of you. Just give me the card and I'll take it to her," Klepper said. "What shall I tell her your intentions are?"

She blinked confused. "Excuse me?"

"My client wants to know if you intend to sue," Kleeper said, holding his briefcase in front of him.

"Mr Kleeper," Malan frowned at the lawyer. "This isn't a good time. My wife just got home from the hospital."

"I understand," Kleeper said. "It's just that insurance companies tend to pay the minimums in cases such as these and my client wants to ensure you get everything you deserve. I won't take up too much of your time, but it's something we should discuss, Ms. Harvey."

"Hamel," she corrected him.

"Pardon," Kleeper said, a shadow of confusion fell across his face. "My client told me she hit a well-known journalist named Harvey."

"That's me," she replied. "But I changed my name when I married almost two years ago. I wonder if Ms. Forrest knew me. Perhaps we went to college together."

"Possibly," Kleeper said. He hadn't asked his client how she knew Lathal. He just assumed his client knew Lathal by her reputation and fame as a local journalist. "Now if you don't mind, we can go inside and talk about this matter."

"Mr. Kleeper, if nothing else, you're persistent," she said with mild annoyance. "Like my husband said I just got out of the hospital and I'm kind of tired, so I'm going to have to ask you to come back."

Kleeper backed off. Malan tilted her wheelchair back. Lathal had a death grip on the arm rests as Malan safely lifted her wheelchair onto the large concrete step in front of their doorway.

"I have no intention of suing your client, Mr. Kleeper," she said while her husband unlocked the door.

"You wouldn't mind signing an affadit to that fact," Kleeper said.

They exchanged looks. They wanted to be rid of the pesky lawyer but they didn't want to do anything they weren't sure about so they could avoid being cheated.

"By signing the affadit you say you won't sue my client," Kleeper explained. "You'll still retain your rights and be entitled to the maximum payments for damages due to you from my client's insurance company owes you."

"Fine," she said, gesturing toward the document.

Kleeper lent her his briefcase so she'd have flat surface to write on. Once she'd signed the legal document, he gave her an unsigned copy. Then he stuck the signed version in his briefcase.

"Thank you," Kleeper said, turning to leave. "I wish you a speedy recovery, Mrs. Hamel."

As soon as the lawyer departed, Malan's cell phone rang. It was Paul. "I'm sorry I didn't come back. Lathal was released from the hospital today. Yeah. I'll see you tomorrow."

He rolled her into the house. She looked around. It was exactly as she remembered it.

He parked her by the couch, and she sighed. She was glad to be home.