by Paul Heald
He leaned his head back, put his feet up on the coffee table, and let the music wash over him. But he could not get comfortable. Images of Gottlieb and his father and Jefferson flashed in his head, and he could not shake the feeling that his life was fraying bit by bit. The logic of his decision making, his commitment to law itself, was assaulted by the emotional chaos of the music. Phil’s despair in the library suddenly seemed a more honest response to their predicament then his own fatalism.
When the last chorus finished, he drained his beer, got another, took up his score, and started to run through it from the beginning. As he was wailing away on the last measures of the longest section, he heard the door shut behind him. Assuming it was Suzanne, he finished with a dramatic flourish and spun to face her.
“Bravo!” Melanie stood in the hallway, smiling and jangling a set of keys.
“Hey.” He turned the stereo down and patted his front pants pocket. Empty. He had left his keys at the office. He hadn’t noticed because Suzanne, as usual, had left the door to the house unlocked. “You didn’t have to bring those! This is way out of your way. You should have just called.”
“Well, Ms. Stillwater did call, but I guess you couldn’t hear the phone.” She nodded at the stereo and looked around the room and down the hall. “Nice place! I wish I could walk to work.”
“It is pretty sweet. You want a beer?”
“Sure.”
Arthur offered her a seat on the sofa and went to the kitchen.
“When’s the performance?” she asked when he returned and handed her a bottle of Beck’s. “I’d love to come.”
They made small talk for a bit, first about the house, which she was seeing for the first time, and then about the Judge, their usual topic of conversation. She was lovely with her hair tied back and more relaxed than Arthur had ever seen her, feet up on the coffee table, seemingly oblivious to the amount of thigh she was showing or the warmth she projected whenever she made eye contact and smiled.
A treacherous little part of him wondered what would happen if he gave her a tour of the house that ended in his bedroom. The mere thought prompted his beer to go down the wrong way, and he fought a losing battle to keep from spraying the room with a regurgitated mist of barley malt and fine German hops. He stood up and pounded on his chest, while Melanie laughed and rubbed his back. When the coughing subsided, she snaked her arms around his waist.
“Do you need the Heimlich maneuver?” she whispered in his ear. “I’m pretty good at it.”
His back tingled with the pressure of her firm belly, but the specter of a surprise return by Suzanne jolted him from temptation. He shook his head harder than was absolutely necessary, and she slowly withdrew her hands. As he straightened back up and cleared his throat, she leaned against the door frame and observed his recovery. Her expression was inscrutable, something between mildly offended and amused.
“Someday I’ll learn to drink,” he gasped and forced a grin.
She smiled back. “Well, I better be going. Thanks for the drink!” She turned and left with a provocative flounce.
He breathed a sigh of relief and watched her through the window as she walked to her car. When she drove away, he turned to the picture of King David on the cover of the album. “That’s how you should have dealt with that Bathsheba chick.”
* * *
As she drove away from Arthur’s house, Melanie wondered what had come over her. Not that she was embarrassed. Where she grew up, playful flirtation was not necessarily meant to lead anywhere. And he had felt uncomfortable, so she had backed off. No big deal. But the attraction she had momentarily felt seemed real, and that could be a problem. After a rocky start, they were now working well together. His comments on her work inevitably made it better, and she felt like he was finally taking her seriously. Developing feelings for him would upset a delicate equilibrium.
He’s just so cute, she thought, and I haven’t been with a guy since last summer. This season of celibacy was wearing thin.
Instead of going home, Melanie drove her car back to the courthouse. She had decided to contact Jennifer Huffman and arrange for them to meet when she made her interview trip to Cravath, Swaine, and Moore. When she got back to her office, she dialed the number she found in the Martindale-Hubbell directory of American lawyers.
“Could I speak to Jennifer Huffman, please.”
“I’ll connect you,” then, “Hello?”
“Hi! I’m Melanie Wilkerson, and I’m currently doing a federal clerkship in Clarkeston, Georgia.” She spoke brightly, an eager young prospect trying to impress a potential future colleague. “I’m coming up to New York to interview with y’all next Thursday, and I was hoping we could get together for a cup of coffee. It’d be awesome to talk with someone who’s already made the transition from Clarkeston to Cravath.”
“I’d be happy to.” She sounded friendly and honestly interested in helping out a fellow high-flier. “I’m not on the interview team this year but that doesn’t matter. How did you know that I clerked in Clarkeston?”
“I met April Duncan. When she heard I was interviewing at New York firms, she said that you’d be a good person to talk to.” She was making a big assumption that April and Jennifer had not been deadly enemies. “I’m not quite sold on moving to New York versus staying closer to home in Atlanta. It’d be nice to hear the thoughts of someone who’s actually spent time in Georgia.”
“Of course.” She paused for a moment. “I don’t know how much help I’ll be. It was quite a traumatic year. I’m sure April told you that one of my friends died.”
“She did mention it.” Melanie wondered whether she should say anything more or drop the subject. Since Jennifer had first broached it, she decided to put out a feeler. “It must have been horrible, and no one’s forgotten about it here. We’ve got Carolyn’s mother constantly calling the chambers to bug us.”
“Are you kidding? I thought she only bothered me. That woman is whacko. She thinks everyone in the courthouse conspired to kill her daughter.”
“What do you tell her?”
“The truth. I saw Carolyn that evening, and she was hopping mad at the Judge about something. I tried to calm her down, but she just kept getting more and more worked up. By the time she charged out of my office, she was practically foaming at the mouth. It’s no wonder she slipped.”
“Wow!” She feigned surprise at the news. “Did she say what the Judge had done? Or why?”
“Not really,” Jennifer said as she expelled an audible breath. “She was pretty vague about the details. But she wasn’t vague about how she felt about him. Her last words to me were, ‘I’m gonna kill that sonofabitch.’ I didn’t tell Mrs. Bastaigne that, though. No sense throwing fuel on the fire.”
She was taken aback by Huffman’s frankness. She could not think of a quick follow-up question and decided she should wait until they were face-to-face. “Well, this year has been a lot less exciting, thank goodness. I’m really looking forward to seeing you in New York …”
Jennifer rang off cordially, leaving Melanie to sit in her office and ponder the information that had fallen into her lap.
The image of Carolyn charging out of Judge Meyers’s chambers was not difficult to conjure. She had always imagined Carolyn as a spoiled brat who never lacked anything. How would she react to running into a brick wall like the Judge, someone who could smash her dreams without a hearing or appeal? She could imagine the frustration and surge of emotion. And to whom else had Carolyn complained and blustered? What other threats had the enraged young clerk made? Anyone who loved the Judge, anyone who wanted to protect him, would have plenty of motivation to defend him. A violent argument with Carolyn could have ended in a tumble down the stairs. Misadventure or accident were more likely than murder given the volatile person that Jennifer Huffman described. Where had April been that evening? Or her co-clerk?
One thing at a time, Melanie thought as she headed home. Go to New York, get as much information as you ca
n, and then reevaluate.
* * *
When Arthur got to the courthouse on Saturday morning, the old limestone building was devoid of its usual bustle. Only four cars, none of them the Judge’s, were parked in the gated lot. He let himself in through the loading dock door at the back of the building and walked silently down the cool marble halls, meeting no one until Ms. Stillwater greeted him from behind her desk.
“Arthur! I tried to call you a while ago but you’d already left home.” She frowned, distressed at her inefficiency. “You can go back if you want. The Judge called a half an hour ago to say that he and Judge Byrd and Judge McIntosh had tentatively decided not to enter a stay in the Jefferson case.” He stared at her and bit his lip. “Since they were in agreement, they did everything by phone. I’m sorry that I couldn’t get a hold of you earlier.”
Arthur went back to his office and spun helplessly in his chair. The train had left the station, and he had missed it. He drummed his fingers rapidly on the table and reminded himself that the Judge was just one vote out of three. Arthur could not change things unilaterally even if he wanted to, even if he could convince the Judge that Medea was somehow relevant to Jefferson’s case. His stupid thoughts about a play didn’t really matter. But then why had the Judge given him the book? For that matter, why was he working here in the first place? Suddenly, he was tired of being passive. He wanted the Judge to save Jefferson’s life, and he walked quickly back down the hall to Ms. Stillwater.
“There’s something I forgot to put in the memo,” he said forcefully, before he lost his nerve. “That’s what I wanted to talk to him about today. Do you think I could call him at home? I don’t have his number.”
“He wouldn’t mind at all, Arthur, but he’s gone into Atlanta with his wife. They’re not going to be back until late this evening, but I’m sure it’d be fine for you to call him on Sunday.”
She wrote down the number, and he drifted through the rest of Saturday, working in a desultory fashion until late afternoon, trying to catch up on the bench memos due for the next sitting. He was just about to leave when he got a phone call from William Redwine, chief attorney at the Office of Legal Counsel. He reminded Arthur of their meeting in Washington and apologized for the office’s delay in getting back to him. Then, without any further elaboration, he offered Arthur the job of his dreams. He could start on July 15, and all his reasonable moving expenses would be paid for by the government. Due to time pressures at OLC, he would need to respond to the offer within ten days.
Someone had once told him that smart offerees always say “thank you” and then pretend to consider the offer for a reasonable period of time, but he had no stomach for mock indecision. He told Redwine that it would be his pleasure to join the most exclusive group of lawyers in the United States.
When he left, Ms. Stillwater had already gone, and there was nobody around with whom to share the news. He called Phil, but his friend’s answering machine reminded him that he was out of town for the weekend. He resisted the impulse to call Melanie and left for home. Suzanne was visiting her sister in Augusta, so he rocked on the porch of the empty house and watched television before making supper. When she returned late in the night, Suzanne found him on the sofa and tucked a comforter gently under his chin before carrying Maria to bed.
XXV.
MOTHER AND CHILD REUNION
The next morning, Suzanne lured Arthur out of bed with the smell of gourmet breakfast. After packing Maria off for an early play date, she wafted the aroma of fresh ground coffee and frying bacon up the stairs like a smoke signal and soon heard the shower running. The comfort of the warm kitchen soothed her nerves and steadied her for the conversation they were going to have. Eventually, she heard his footsteps down the hall and felt him sneak up behind her and kiss the fine hairs on the back of her neck while she stirred potatoes and onions in a heavy black skillet.
“Stop it!” She reached back and shoo’d him away. “I’m going to burn myself! Pour a cup of coffee and sit down.”
Sunlight streamed through the back window as she moved from range to cabinet to refrigerator and finally spun around to present him with a steaming plate of homemade hash browns, bacon, and a cheese omelet. He attacked the food, but she had little appetite. A nibble of bacon cramped in her stomach, and she dumped extra cream into her coffee to cut its bitterness. When Arthur finally came up for air, she leaned back in her chair and let out a deep sigh.
“I sent Maria over to Judy’s house so we could talk.” She reached over the table and squeezed his hand. “Arthur, I’ve thought a long time about how to tell you this, but I just don’t know a good way.” She met his gaze and held it. She was filled both with love and the poignant certainty that she was stronger than he was.
“I found out last Friday that I’m pregnant.”
The compressor on the refrigerator kicked on and hummed quietly. Arthur said nothing. He stared intently at a mole on the back of his hand, unmoving, as if stillness might dissolve the whole scene and ravel it back to some safe place.
“I know this is out of the blue,” she spoke in a quiet voice. “Let’s go sit in the living room.”
She took his hand as they walked slowly into the parlor. She sat down first, then scooted closer to him on the sofa where they had first kissed five months before.
“Talk to me.”
The secret out, she was calmer. After a few silent moments, she managed a weak smile. “You look like I just hit you over the head with my skillet.”
“You sort of did.”
She imagined him trying to see into possible futures of marriage, birth, adoption, abortion. He looked like he might lay his breakfast on the thick wool rug covering the living room floor.
Arthur hunched forward on the sofa. Suzanne rubbed his back through his flannel shirt and said, without any trace of guile or regret, “I know what you’re thinking, and I’m not suggesting we get married.” She felt another wave of nausea hit him.
“Why not?” he managed weakly.
“You know why … My home is here. I’d rather be a single mother in Clarkeston—hell, I already am—than be a lawyer’s wife up north.” She put her hand on Arthur’s knee and squeezed with emphasis as she spoke. “I love my life here. We’ve talked about this before, and I understand your dreams. You’d be miserable here wondering what you might have done in Washington.”
They sat and looked at anything but each other for a long time, examining cracks on the walls and listening to mowers start up around the neighborhood. She hoped he wasn’t working up the courage to do the right thing and nobly sacrifice his career for her imagined well-being. Judy would think she was crazy. All she saw was a nice, handsome guy with unlimited potential. She hadn’t seen the clouds gathering around him. She hadn’t seen his reaction to the pressures of the Judge’s chambers. Immature and wounded was not an attractive characteristic in a future spouse. She loved him and would heal him if she could, but imposing a marriage on him was out of the question.
“Suzanne, will you marry me?” He looked up at her, still half-crouched over the floor. Sisyphus rolling his stone looked more enthusiastic. “We can stay here in Clarkeston. It’ll be easy for me to get a job after working for the Judge. Things will work out.”
She shook her head.
“Thanks, Arthur, but this isn’t a fairy tale.” She sat up straight and explained the facts without hesitation. She had spent the last forty-eight hours working things out. “I’ve had longer to think about this than you. I’ve had one less than perfect marriage, and I’m not going to risk another because I’ve frustrated my husband’s lifelong ambitions.” Her voice picked up intensity. “And I’m not willing to risk Maria’s feelings either. The last thing she needs is another family to fall apart on her. And I don’t even know whether I want another baby. It’s a huge responsibility, and there’s nothing fun about being pregnant … Marriage is not the answer.”
She thought she could see relief on his face.
�
�If you keep the baby, I’ll support you completely.” He straightened up and finally made eye contact. “I’ll be making enough money in Washington to help all the way through college. I’m not perfect, but I’m not a prick.”
“I know that. That’s one of the reasons why I love you.”
“I love you too.”
They held each other tightly, but the warmth and comfort that had seen them through a winter of uncertainty had faded, and Suzanne released him and wiped a tear out of the corner of her eye. She slid back into the corner of the sofa. There was more to talk about. The decision not to marry answered only one important question, and she wanted to know what Arthur thought about other matters.
“What would you think if I decided not to keep it?”
“I’ve got no legal right to interfere with that decision,” Arthur replied immediately.
“I understand, counselor.” She sighed at his knee-jerk legal correctness. “But I’m not asking for a legal opinion. I’m asking how you would feel if I terminated the pregnancy?”
Arthur’s mouth was set in a thin line as he leaned back in the sofa and studied the grooves etched in the beaded board ceiling. His left temple pulsed as he ground his back molars against each other.
“I’m sorry to be sarcastic,” she added gently. “You’ve probably never thought through this before.” But a sudden wince told her otherwise. “Oh … you want to tell me about it?”