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by Carsen Taite

  He dashed out the door, leaving Joan to escort her out. They stared at each other for a moment, while Camille fished for something to say. “I’m sorry to hear about Judge Blair. Do you think he’s going to be okay?”

  “He’s unconscious, so it’s hard to tell. The paramedics are with him now.” Joan shifted in place. “I should go check on things.”

  Camille stood, acutely conscious her presence and the norms of politeness were keeping Joan from being where she wanted to be. She followed her to the door. “Go ahead, I can show myself out.” She placed a hand on Joan’s arm. “I hope the judge is okay.”

  “Thanks.” She delivered the word on the run.

  Camille stood in the reception area watching her go and feeling decidedly useless. A few seconds later, she was walking down the hallway, back toward the marshal’s station, when loud voices shouted behind her.

  “Clear the way! Move!”

  She hugged the wall, transfixed, as a team of paramedics hustled a gurney down the hall. Their expressions were drawn and grave, and they were almost as pale as the man they carried, but before she could absorb any other detail, Camille’s attention was drawn to the woman who ran alongside them. It was the brunette she’d met downstairs, the one whose advice had gotten her past security. She was holding Judge Blair’s hand, and the calm, confident expression she’d worn earlier had been replaced by fear and tension.

  Was this stranger the judge’s daughter or did she just know the judge because she worked in the building? Camille wanted to reach out to her. Tell her that whatever was wrong, it would be okay, but she held her tongue. Other than their few-second exchange an hour ago, she had no connection to this woman, no right to comment or comfort. Hell, she didn’t even know her name. But she wanted to.

  Chapter Two

  Three months later…

  Camille rang the doorbell and hoped no one would answer. The last few months had been a whirlwind. The chair of the magistrate judge selection panel had contacted her to say they wouldn’t be considering her application because Senator Armstrong had recommended her to the president to fill Judge Blair’s newly vacated bench. The entire confirmation process had been a speedy blur, and now she was standing on the doorstep of the man she was about to replace. It wasn’t her choice to be here. He’d requested this visit, and she figured the least she could do was honor his last official request. If she knew the agenda, maybe she wouldn’t be experiencing this level of trepidation, but she had no idea why she’d been summoned.

  A striking woman with medium length silver hair answered the door. Dressed in white linen pants with a sky blue tunic shirt, she looked like summer, and the smile on her face said she was happy about it. The woman swung the door wide. “Judge Avery, please come in.”

  “Please call me Camille.” She walked in and let her gaze sweep the entry before turning her attention back to the woman who’d answered the door. As if noticing the inspection, the woman offered a hand. “Diane Blair. It’s a pleasure to meet you, and I appreciate you making the drive. I know the suburbs can be a pain this time of day.”

  “No trouble at all,” Camille lied. Judge Blair’s house in Southlake was far from the courthouse. The traffic snarls had been monstrous and the suburban streets wound around in a confusing fashion, but curiosity fueled her, and now that she was here, she was anxious to find out the reason for the trip. “Have you lived here long?”

  Diane’s face was briefly marred by a frown. “Not long at all. We moved here last month. We loved our house in Oak Cliff, but it was an older, historic home and there was only so much we could do to accommodate…”

  She let the words trail off, and Camille scrambled to find a way to change the subject. Good thing she was done interviewing, since she seemed to have completely lost any sense of tact. “It’s a beautiful home and this is a well regarded area. I’m sure you’ll settle in nicely.”

  “Thanks.” Diane looked over her shoulder. “Hank is just finishing up with his physical therapist. Why don’t you follow me to the kitchen and I’ll get you something cool to drink?”

  Camille wasn’t thirsty, but she took the tall, icy glass of lemonade and politely imbibed small sips while Diane pointed out some of the features of the expansive kitchen. Camille heard the edge of nerves in Diane’s voice and doubted she really cared about the convection ovens or the built-in wine fridge, but she played along as if she was here for a regular social call instead of what was likely to be some strange passing of the baton. After what seemed like an eternity, she heard a buzz from a box on the wall. Diane grimaced an apology, picked up the handset, and listened to the voice on the other end. When she hung up, she said, “Hank’s waiting in his office. I’ll show you the way.”

  Camille followed her down a long hallway on the other side of the kitchen, marveling at the size of the place. When they reached the doorway at the end of the hall, Diane paused in the entry shooting her a look that said prepare yourself.

  Judge Blair was slumped in a wheelchair behind his desk, the left side of his face slack as if straining to pull the other half down. She’d heard the news from Stroud that Judge Blair had had a stroke and wasn’t returning to the bench. Her first thought had been she wouldn’t let a little stroke keep her from her passion, but she hadn’t clued in to the severity until just this moment.

  Which brought her back to the reason she was here. He’d specifically requested her presence. Not a phone call, not a note. An in-person visit. Now that she was here, she was even more desperate to know why he’d insisted on meeting in person. After Diane excused herself, she strode into the room, determined to act like this was a perfectly normal visit. “Good afternoon, Judge Blair.”

  “Hello.” He strangled out the word with a clear force of effort. She hoped he wasn’t planning to have a long conversation with her, because if he was, it was going to be painful for both of them. He pointed at the computer on his desk and motioned her over. While she walked, he typed with one finger of his right hand. When she was alongside his desk, he pointed at the screen.

  This is easier, yes?

  Relieved they had a better way to communicate, she nodded. “How are you doing?”

  He shook his head and pecked out another series of words. Not about me. Clerks. Have you hired any?

  She did a double take at the words. The question was completely unexpected, but she had given the subject some thought. Some of the other judges had given her their leftover stacks of résumés and applications for the position, and she’d been going through them while she boned up on federal law and procedure. At first she’d been concerned about the pile of castoffs, but when she realized the district received hundreds of applications for the one or two coveted spots per judge, she realized everyone else’s castoffs still amounted to the top talent from the recent graduating class. “I haven’t hired anyone yet, but I have a few prospects. Judge Stroud is letting me borrow one of his clerks until I get my bearings.”

  Blair barely waited for her to finish her sentence before he started pecking at the keyboard again. I need a favor. It’s important.

  Like she was going to deny this man anything. Within reason. “Name it.”

  More typing. West Fallon. Best there is. Ready to start on day one. She knows the court inside and out. You won’t do better.

  The name didn’t ring a bell, but it wouldn’t. Most clerks were young lawyers, at most a few years out of school, some not even admitted to the bar yet. She’d had a few interns when she was on the state court bench, but federal judges had the luxury of one or two paid full-time lawyers at their disposal for research and other random tasks. The clerks generally worked for a district judge for a year or two before using the experience as a stepping-stone to either a position with an appellate judge or to open doors at some of the more prestigious firms. She was already inheriting a secretary and a bailiff, and she had been looking forward to the opportunity to hire her own clerks as a way to make her mark. What was so important about this clerk that
he felt the need to personally ask her to keep her on? Figuring she knew the answer, she asked, “Family friend?”

  Yes, but it’s more important than that. Promise me you’ll keep her on?

  One look at the judge and she knew she couldn’t deny him. Whatever the reason, keeping this clerk was very important to him, and it wouldn’t hurt to have another clerk by her side who knew the courtroom inside and out. “Okay. I promise.”

  Satisfied at her answer, the judge visibly relaxed, and they spent the next hour going over details about the court. Camille was impressed with his willingness to share information about his staff and procedural details about the court. By the time they were done with their visit, it was clear to her he truly cared that she was successful in her new position.

  Before she left, Diane stopped her at the door. “Thanks for coming by. The first month we were inundated with visitors, but everyone’s gone back to their lives, as to be expected. He was on the bench for so long, it’s been hard for him to adjust to a life without it.”

  “I understand.”

  “You’re welcome to come back anytime. He’d be happy to answer any questions you have.”

  “I might just take advantage of that offer.”

  “And by the way, I voted for you. I get that you had to make a tough call.” Diane pointed in the direction of the judge’s study. “He had to make plenty during his career. He was just fortunate enough to have the safety net of a lifetime appointment. Now you’ll have that too.”

  “Thanks.”

  Camille reflected on their conversation as she walked down the street to her car. Maybe Hank Blair could be a mentor of sorts. Judge Stroud would be the natural fit to take on this role, but he was so connected to her parents, she wasn’t sure she would trust him with questions that exposed her own insecurities. She liked Hank, and he had a way of making her feel like there were no dumb questions. Deep in thought, she didn’t notice the woman standing beside her until she was inches away.

  “Hey, I remember you.”

  A second of surprise was followed by a surge of warmth at the familiar face. When Camille had last seen this woman, she hadn’t seen the tattoo snaking up her arm, but she’d never forget that face, those eyes. She grinned. “I remember you too. Courthouse. Last spring. I was setting off alarms on the metal detector and you were dispensing advice.”

  “That’s me.” She scrunched her brow. “You live around here or are you following me?”

  “No and no. Besides, I think I was here first.”

  “Fine, but if I’d known you were going to be here, I’d have shown up sooner.”

  “Are you always a flirt, or just with women you meet at the courthouse?”

  “Depends.”

  “On?”

  “On a lot of things. Let me buy you a coffee and I’ll tell you more.”

  Camille drew back slightly. Flirtatious banter was one thing, but a date, even a casual coffee date, was another. All her focus needed to be on distinguishing herself at the job ahead, and random dates with total strangers, especially young, tattooed ones, wasn’t on the agenda. “I’m afraid I have plans, but thanks for the offer.”

  The stranger cocked her head and gave her a smug, knowing smile as she pulled a card from her wallet. Camille watched, transfixed, as she scrawled a note on the card and handed it over. “When you’re ready, give me a call.”

  Camille watched her saunter up the walk toward Judge Blair’s house, and the memory of her running alongside the stretcher at the courthouse flashed in her mind. She wondered now what she’d wondered then—was this Blair’s daughter? She glanced down at the card. Good for one cup of coffee. The offer was followed by a phone number and then a scrawled, but legible signature. West Fallon.

  West Fallon. The clerk she’d just promised to keep on her staff. She stared at the phone number written in a neat row beneath the invitation. An hour ago, before her conversation with Judge Blair, she might have called the number on the card and taken West Fallon up on her invitation, but now that possibility was off the table. She was going to spend every workday with West for the next year, and the prospect brought equal parts dread and excitement.

  * * *

  West stood on Judge Blair’s front porch rethinking her semi-slick move with the card and offer of coffee. What she should’ve done was flirt a little more, get the woman’s name and number instead of the other way around. Now she was at the mercy of this stranger who might or might not ever call.

  Truth was she was out of practice. It had been a long summer and she’d had no social life to speak of. After Hank had started rehab, she’d finally taken off to Montgomery for her stint at the Southern Poverty Law Center. She’d spent her days working her ass off and her nights studying for the bar exam certain if she worked hard enough on both fronts, they’d offer her a permanent position. Her bosses at the Center had gushed about the quality of her work, but budget cuts meant they’d put a moratorium on hiring. Apparently, the wildly successful Democratic sweep in the last election cycle had left people feeling passive about making donations to organizations that champion civil rights. With her dream job on hold for now, she’d decided she might as well fulfill the promise she’d made to Hank.

  She glanced back at the woman who was pulling away in her Lexus. Just because she was about to start a drudge job didn’t mean she couldn’t have a little fun on the side.

  “West, I thought that was you. Have you been standing out here long?”

  West grinned at Diane Blair who stood framed in the open doorway. “Sorry, I guess I forgot to ring the bell. I haven’t been here long.”

  Diane looked past her and then shook her head. “Well, come on in. Hank’s in his study waiting for you and dinner will be ready soon.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Do me a favor?”

  “Sure, whatever you need.”

  “Don’t wear him out. He’s already had one visitor this afternoon and he won’t admit it, but any amount of conversation really takes a toll.”

  “Okay,” West said, but Diane’s comment made her feel she’d missed something important. “I’m a little confused though. I thought he’d already gone back to work, but you’re telling me more than one visitor is a hardship?”

  Diane didn’t meet her gaze, but West could tell by the duck of her head and a slight reddening on her cheeks, she was holding something back. “Diane, he is back at work, isn’t he?”

  Diane waved her hand. “Go on back. He’s waiting for you.”

  West gave her one last hard look before following Diane’s directions back to Hank’s study. The wall along the way was covered with family photos. Hank and Diane. Hank and Diane and their kids. Soccer games, birthday parties, and weddings. In the sea of sentimentality, she found the few framed photos she sought out on every visit. She and Hank, standing on the steps of McFarlin Auditorium at her high school graduation. She wore her cap and gown, and Hank had his arm around her shoulders, beaming like a proud parent. The next one was her college graduation. Same pose, but both Hank and Diane were in the picture, flanking her like she was their own. She lingered for a moment, taking time to savor the closest thing she had to a family photo album.

  The study door was slightly ajar, but she knocked out of habit.

  “Come in.”

  She froze at the sound of his voice, recognizing the tone, but not the slurred speech. When she’d left for Montgomery, the doctors were promising a fast recovery. Maybe it just hadn’t been fast enough. Bracing herself, she pushed the door open and stepped over the threshold, determined to deal with whatever greeted her inside.

  Hank looked small, hunched in a wheelchair, but more than that, he looked frail, exhausted, and worn, nothing at all like the vibrant man in the pictures lining the hallway. Diane’s words flooded her mind. Hank hadn’t returned to work yet and he might not ever.

  “West, it’s good to see you. Come in.”

  She understood him, but only because she’d known him for years and knew the natural c
adence of his voice. A stranger would probably have a much harder time ciphering through the slur caused by the paralysis on the left side of his face. She met his eyes. He knew exactly what she was thinking, and the last thing he would want was her sympathy. She walked over to the desk, using the length of her steps to search for levity. “Oh, this is pretty handy. Now you can say mean and nasty things about the attorneys appearing before you and they won’t report you because they’re not even sure what you said. Right?”

  Hank laughed, and half of his face smiled weakly while the other half remained still and devoid of affect. For the first time since May, when she’d ridden in the ambulance with sirens blaring, her gut twisted at how close she’d come to losing him. She reached around his chair and pulled him into a tight hug, hoping the unusual gesture wouldn’t send his heart into arrhythmia. The embrace lasted several seconds before she was satisfied her fears were no longer real.

  “Sit,” he said, waving his good arm toward the couch near his desk. “How was your summer?”

  Unable to imagine engaging in small talk while the big question loomed over them, West said, “I will, but first I have to ask. Are you really back at work?”

  “No.”

  One simple word, but it changed everything. She’d come back to Dallas for the clerkship. She’d found a place to live and abandoned other possibilities, all for a job that apparently wasn’t hers anymore, but the thing that mattered most was Hank hadn’t told her before now. Anger bubbled up, and she breathed deep to keep from giving in to its tempting pull. “I’m assuming you just found out or you would’ve let me know. Right?”

  Hank had the decency to meet her stare head on, but he didn’t sugarcoat his words. “Known for a while. Chose not to tell you.”

  “Because you knew I wouldn’t come back.”

  “Yes.”

  “And now there’s apparently no job to come back to.” She shook her head, no longer bothering to hold back her aggravation. “I was first in my class. I could work anywhere.”