Between Sisters

“I want to. I can’t . . . live like this anymore. ”

“I hope that’s what this phone call means. ”

“I hope so, too. ”

It was that rarest of days in downtown Seattle. Hot and humid. A smoggy haze hung over the city, reminding everyone that too many cars zipped down too many highways in this once-pristine corner of the country. There was no breeze. Puget Sound was as flat as a summer lake. Even the mountains appeared smaller, as if they, too, had been beaten down by the unexpected heat.

If it was hot outside, it was sweltering in the courthouse. An old air-conditioning unit sat awkwardly in an open window, making soft, strangled noises. A white flap of ribbon, tied to the frontpiece, fluttered every now and then, defeated.

Meghann stared down at the yellow legal pad in front of her. A neat stack of black pens were lined up along one side. The desktop, scarred by decades of clients and attorneys, wobbled on uneven legs.

She hadn’t written a word.

That surprised her. Usually her pen was the only thing that worked as fast as her brain.

“Ms. Dontess. Ahem. Ms. Dontess. ”

The judge was speaking to her.

She blinked slowly. “I’m sorry. ” She got to her feet and automatically smoothed the hair back from her face. But she’d worn it back this morning, in a French twist.

The judge, a thin, heronlike woman with no collar peeking out from the black vee of her robes, was frowning. “What are your thoughts on this?”

Meghann felt a flare of worry, almost panic. She looked again at her blank legal pad. Her right hand started to shake. The expensive pen fell from her fingers and clattered on the table.

“Approach the bench,” said the judge.

Meghann didn’t glance to her left. She didn’t want to make eye contact with her opposing counsel. She was weak right now—shaking, for God’s sake—and everyone knew it.

She tried to look confident; perhaps it worked. As she crossed the wooden floor, she heard her heels clacking with each step. The sound was like an exclamation mark on the sentence of her every breath.

At the high oak bench, she stopped and looked up. It took an act of will to keep her hands open and at her sides. “Yes, Your Honor?” Her voice, thank God, sounded normal. Strong.

The judge leaned forward to say softly, “We all know what happened last week, Meghann. That bullet missed you by inches. Are you certain you’re ready to be back in a courtroom?”

“Yes. ” Meghann’s voice was softer now. Her right hand was trembling.

The judge frowned down at her, then cleared her throat and nodded. “Step back. ”

Meghann headed back to the desk. John Heinreid stepped in beside her. They’d tried dozens of cases against each other. They often shared a glass of wine and a plate of oysters after a long day in court.

“You sure you’re okay? I’d be willing to shove this back a few days. ”

She didn’t look at him. “Thanks, John. I’m fine. ” She went back to the table, slid into her seat.

Her client, a Mercer Island housewife who couldn’t possibly live on nineteen thousand dollars a month, stared at her. “What’s going on?” she mouthed, twisting the gold chain of her Chanel handbag.

Meghann shook her head. “Don’t worry. ”

“I’ll restate, Your Honor,” John said. “My client would like to stay these proceedings for a short time so that he and Mrs. Miller can obtain counseling. There are, after all, small children involved. He’d like to give the marriage every opportunity to succeed. ”

Meghann heard her client whisper, “No way,” as she planted her hands on the desk and slowly rose.

Her mind went blank. She couldn’t think of a single argument. When she closed her eyes, trying to concentrate, she heard a different voice, gruff and desperate. It’s your fault, you bitch. Then she saw the gun pointed at her, heard an echoed blast. When she opened her eyes, everyone was looking at her. Had she flinched or cried out? Shit. She didn’t know. “My client believes that the marriage is irretrievably broken, Your Honor. She sees no benefit to counseling. ”

“No benefit?” John argued. “Certainly, after fifteen years of living together, it couldn’t hurt to spend a few hours with a therapist. My client believes that the children’s welfare should be paramount here. He’s merely asking for an opportunity to save his family. ”

Meghann turned to her client. “It’s a reasonable request, Celene,” she whispered. “You won’t look good if we fight this battle in front of the judge. ”