First Street

Chapter 4

OYEZ, OYEZ

Shawn Klomparens

 

Gabriel’s eyes snapped open to the sound of rain pattering against his window. He turned his head to look at the clock: 4:45 a.m. He reached over to turn off the alarm that was set as a backup for 4:50.

Gabriel never needed to use the alarm.

His body was trained to rise at this time. Conditioned. Fully awake, alert, ready to go. From his time as a cadet in the ROTC, after he’d accepted his commission as a lieutenant in the U.S. Army stationed in Ft. Benning, that was his way.

Up early. Ready to go. No excuses.

He tossed the sheets off his body, got to his feet, raised his arms over his head, and leaned in a stretch from side to side. He pulled his blinds up to see a puddle in the street reflecting the streetlight at the corner. The cars parked at the curb were plastered with wet, brown leaves. He snapped the blinds shut and flipped on a light on his dresser—his aunt’s old dresser, really. The things of hers that remained in his house came up here to his floor, lingering like a ghost.

Gabriel peeled off his briefs and tossed them in a hamper before dressing himself in workout clothes. Shorts, a tight synthetic top, track pants, a sweatshirt with ARMY printed across the front. He pulled a dark gray suit, black socks, white shirt, and navy tie from his closet and carefully slipped them into a backpack. He took a pair of black shoes from a rack and looked them over; the left shoe had a scuff on the toe. This was not acceptable. He took a tin of shoe polish and a rag from the dresser and buffed the shoe to a gleaming shine. Better.

At the corner of his aunt’s dresser was a small framed image of the Virgin Mary. A crucifix hung from the corner of the frame. There’d been an altar downstairs before, a shrine with candles; his aunt’s faith had been equal to that of a whole church congregation. Something his housemates would never understand. Gabriel knelt before the image and closed his eyes.

“Lord,” he said softly, “help me do the right thing. Help me use the talents You have given me to serve Your creation.” He paused. “Please help guide the justices and clerks to do the right thing, too.” He paused again. “Jack especially.” He crossed himself and got to his feet.

Downstairs, in the dim illumination from the streetlamps outside, Gabriel surveyed the kitchen. Through the glass door of the cabinet that had been assigned to Charlotte he saw dishes in perfect order. Jack’s cabinet was nearly empty, and the sink below was heaped with its contents, along with some things belonging to Odessa. Gabriel sighed and pulled a pad of sticky notes and a sharpie from a drawer next to the fridge.

“CLEAN THIS UP,” he wrote in block letters, before squarely sticking the note on the bottom of a pot sitting askew in the sink.

Gabriel grabbed his jacket from the coat rack and stepped outside. Raindrops spattered on the nylon and he saw his own breath in the chilly October air. He flipped his hood up over his head, shouldered his backpack, and bounded down the front steps, settling into a half-jog.

Despite the early hour, the gym was nearly filled with other young professionals, all quietly toiling away on various machines. Gabriel stashed his pack in a locker, stripped off his pants and sweatshirt, and, seeing his preferred treadmill was occupied, made his way to the free weights. He stared at himself as he worked through a set of curls. Not at himself exactly, more through himself, as he blanked his mind with physical effort. Bench press, lat lifts, squats. A woman with a kettlebell kept glancing at him, and Gabriel smiled and said good morning. She managed a startled hello and returned her focus to her workout.

The treadmill was open now, and Gabriel grabbed a towel and made his way to the machine. Mounted high on the wall was a flat-screen TV tuned to a local station’s morning show. Gabriel draped his towel over the treadmill’s controls and scanned around for a remote before seeing it perched on top of a water cooler. Gabriel grabbed it and punched in channel 315: FOX News.

“Come on,” a flabby guy on a nearby elliptical muttered under his breath, just loud enough to be heard. “We really have to watch this bullshit?”

If the guy had asked nicely, Gabriel would have been happy to change it to something else. Instead he stared at the guy and smiled as he slowly turned up the volume. A young woman on an adjacent elliptical approvingly grinned at the exchange.

“China backs down in the President’s escalating trade war …” the voice on the screen blared. Gabriel stepped on the treadmill, clicked up the incline and speed, and settled into an easy, thumping rhythm.

“… The Democrat Party, the party of obstruction, obviously opposes the President’s leadership on this …”

Warmed up, Gabriel upped the pace. Sweat formed on his brow and dripped from his nose. The guy on the elliptical shook his head and left. Gabriel wiped his face with the towel and slipped into a running trance, tuning out everything around him.

“… But if he gets the opportunity to nominate a new Supreme Court Justice …”

Gabriel broke out of his trance and looked up. The talking heads were the same as usual, seated around a circular couch, pointing out media bias like they did every morning, but the breaking news chyron scrolling across the bottom of the screen grabbed Gabriel’s attention:

“NEW SUPREME COURT SESSION BEGINS TODAY … GRANDPARENTS IN EMBRYO CASE TO HOLD PRESS CONFERENCE ON COURTHOUSE STEPS …”

Today, Gabriel thought with relish. Oral arguments begin today.

#

Gray daylight filled Jack’s room as he swatted for the snooze button on his cell phone for the fourth time. Or was it the fifth? He finally found the button, ending the jarring alarm. He rolled onto his back and took a deep breath. He was sweaty under his covers and he kicked them away from his feet and legs. His tongue felt sticky and dry in his mouth, and he could smell bourbon on his breath.

He’d had a few too many at First Street last night after he’d seen on Twitter that Emily was dating someone, some stupid actor from one of her mother’s films. She was “moving on,” according to the Twitter moment headline. She “hadn’t thought about Jack in months,” said a close source.

He’d texted her a few minutes after his second shot, the picture of her still fresh on his phone. She hadn’t answered, just like she hadn’t answered any of the texts he’d sent her since her cold dismissal in the summer.

Fuck. He peeled his eyes open and blinked them into focus, gazing at a crack in the plaster on the ceiling above him. He rolled to his side and reached to turn his clock radio so he could see it. The blurry numbers read 7:55.

Oh, shit!

Jack flung his sheets to the side and jumped to his feet, dropping his boxers to the floor as he ran to the bathroom. He twisted the old faucet handles in the shower and began brushing his teeth as the water warmed up and he stepped into the old iron tub with his toothbrush. The water was scalding hot. “Fuck!” he shouted, dropping his toothbrush as he frantically jumped back and tried to adjust the water temperature. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Clean, shaven, and shocked awake, Jack pawed through his closet and found some clothes, dropping a dry-cleaning bag to the floor as he ripped it from a shirt. He glanced at himself in the mirror and saw that he’d nicked the line of his jaw while shaving in the shower. He kept his head twisted to avoid getting blood on his collar while he pulled on his pants and dabbed a spot of lotion on the cut in hopes that it might stem any further hemorrhage. He grabbed his computer bag and dashed to the living room.

“Hello?” Jack called. “Odessa? Char?” He ran into the kitchen. “Anyone?” Jack flung open the fridge. His own shelf was barren, but there was a cup of yogurt on Charlotte’s shelf.

Jack grabbed it and ripped off the foil lid. He’d get her back later.

There were no clean spoons in Jack’s drawer, so he turned to get one from the sink. A pink Post-it note with three words written on it stared him in the face: “CLEAN THIS UP.” The handwriting felt aggressive. Jack pulled it from the pot, wadded it into a ball, and threw it into the trash.

Sure, pal, he thought. I’ll clean this up. When I get time, I’ll have it spic and span. But right now, I barely have time to clean a single goddamn spoon!

Even though the Court was close enough make it by foot, Jack ordered an Uber while he ate the yogurt.

After his meager stolen breakfast, he ran out the front door into a spitting autumn drizzle. He shook his head before spinning around to grab an overcoat from inside. A collapsible umbrella hung from the coatrack. Not his, but certainly the owner wouldn’t have a problem with him borrowing it, would they?

He’d be sure to get them back.

In the Uber, Jack dug around in his computer bag for a packet of ibuprofen. He was about to give up before finding a foil blister pack with two gel caps in the very bottom under a mess of pens, breath mints, and charging cables. He mouthed a silent “Thank you” before ripping the pack open and dry-swallowing the caplets. The ride was brief, and the driver thankfully silent. Jack tipped accordingly, put his head down, and beelined through the tourists for the side entrance.

It was 8:40 when Jack made it inside. He rounded a corner at the bottom of the stairs and nearly ran squarely into Odessa.

“Oh!” she said, startled. “There you are.”

“Here I am,” Jack said. “Were you looking for me?”

“We thought you’d left already when you weren’t there at breakfast … is that my umbrella?”

“I figured you’d be okay with me using it.”

“It’s fine,” Odessa said, furrowing her brow. “Just don’t forget to return it.”

“I won’t. Was the note there when you were up this morning?”

“The note?” Odessa looked confused for a moment before shaking her head. “Ohhh. The passive-aggressive note in the sink, you mean.” Jack nodded. “I’d like to have a word with our landlord about that. Did you know about the other one he left?”

“There was another one?”

“In my bathroom,” Odessa said. “Same message.”

“That’s messed up,” Jack said. He started up the steps, but Odessa stayed behind. “Are you coming?”

“I’ll be up in a bit. I was going to the caf for some coffee.”

“I haven’t tried breakfast there yet,” Jack said, and Odessa laughed.

“You’re not missing anything. There’s a better place on Pennsylvania. If you can force your way through the protestors to get there, anyway.”

“Protestors?” Jack said.

“You didn’t see?” Jack shook his head. “I don’t know how you could have missed them.”

“My mind must have been elsewhere. Anyway, breakfast. Want to go?”

“I’ve already had breakfast,” Odessa said. “And it’s getting pretty late for—”

“I’m not talking about now.” Jack stepped back down to the corridor so they were face to face. “We could go there before work someday. Grab breakfast. You and me. It could be like a—”

Odessa raised her hand quickly to stop him. “Hold up right there, Kerridge. Let me think about that.” Her face had the smallest hint of a wry smile. Without another word she left.

Jack watched as she walked away. His thoughts were interrupted by a deep clearing of a throat behind him. Jack knew that sound well, and he deflated in its presence.

“Dad,” he said, turning slowly to face his father. “What are you doing here?”

“I never miss the first Monday in October, Jack. Never. You must be excited for your first day of oral arguments?”

“Absolutely,” Jack said. He’d forgotten completely.

“I assume you’ve found suitable accommodation?”

“Beyond suitable.”

The Senator placed his hand on Jack’s shoulder. “I’m meeting the Chief upstairs for lunch today and I expect you to join us.”

“Really, Dad, I don’t think that would be—”

“I’ll see you there at noon.”

#

Invigorated by his workout, freshly showered, and clad in dress clothes, Gabriel walked the mile and a half from the gym to the Maryland Avenue entrance. With his hood up and hands jammed in his pockets, Gabriel found a good place to be with his thoughts. The first day of oral arguments. He’d been clerking for months now and felt like an old hand, but this was something else entirely. To everyone else in the country, this was what the Supreme Court meant, and to be a part of it on this day was humbling.

This, Gabriel knew, was exactly where the Lord wanted him to be.

Gabriel sidestepped puddles as he made his way over the broad marble apron to the employee entrance. A variety of people were all around on the sidewalk, older people, younger people, people without youth or the sheen of raw ambition. Not D.C. people.

He paused. A group to his right wore matching pink T-shirts over their sweatshirts and jackets, all soaked despite their umbrellas. The shirts were printed with something on the front that Gabriel couldn’t make out; he stepped closer to see better but his attention was drawn away by a man with a megaphone on the First Street side of the building.

“What do we want?” the man shouted.

“Justice!” responded a group of twenty.

“When do we want it?”

“Now!”

Gabriel came around to the front of the building and was astonished to see several hundred people milling about below the court steps. Officers from the Capitol Police stood on the steps to keep watch; down on First Street news vans from three different networks were parked with doors open and satellite dishes raised to the sky.

Aside from the rain and the cold, the general mood of the protestors was cheerful. Hopeful, almost. And why not? Gabriel thought. There was hope here, hope that the nation’s underdogs might find justice for each of their chosen causes. David versus Goliath. The Court was a place where the little man could have his voice heard. Gabriel was glad to be a part of it, and swelled with pride at the thought—

“You’re going to hell!” a man next to him shouted, snapping him out of his reverie. “You! Are going! To hell!”

“Me?” Gabriel asked, almost laughing.

“You!”

“I don’t think so,” Gabriel said, turning away. In front of him, the group of pink shirt-wearing protestors had moved together as a smaller group of younger people had engaged them in an increasingly heated discussion. A pair of agitated protestors stood face-to-face, their voices rising.

“It’s the right of those grandparents to decide what happens with those embryos!” shouted one of them.

“How can they be grandparents if there isn’t even a grandchild, huh?” a seventeen-year-old kid yelled back.” Explain that to me! Can you please explain that to me?”

“You don’t need to shout—”

“I’m not shouting, do I look like I’m shouting?” the kid said. A cop stepped closer. “Officer, do I look like I’m shouting? I’m just trying to—”

“Those embryos are alive, don’t you understand?”

The kid became even more agitated. “Could they survive on their own? Right now? Outside of their test tubes or whatever they’re in? Could they? I’m serious, just tell me, could they?”

“Why don’t you all just take a few steps back,” the cop said. “Maybe everybody can take a little break here.”

Admirable restraint on the part of the cop, Gabriel thought. If I could have my way, I’d punch that kid right in the mouth. Not because of his position. Really. Because of a lack of respect. The kid was just rude.

And totally on the wrong side of the issue.

Inside, Gabriel took off his coat and shook it off. Once he was through security, he draped the jacket over his arm and made his way toward the stairs. When he reached the hall, he found an older man, clad in a tailored suit, standing beneath a portrait of Antonin Scalia, gazing up at the painting with his arms crossed over his chest. Gabriel did a double take before stepping quickly to the man with his hand outstretched.

“Senator Kerridge?” Gabriel said. “Senator? It’s an honor to meet you.”

“Young man,” the Senator said, radiating polished charm as he gave Gabriel’s hand a firm shake. “Are you a constituent?”

“No, sir. I’m clerking for Chief Justice Maxwell.”

“He’s an old friend. You must be the cream of the crop, son, clerking for him. Tell me your name?”

Gabriel flushed with pride at the compliment. “Gabriel Martinez, sir.”

“Oh, yes, he mentioned you, I believe.”

Gabriel puffed out his chest. The Chief was talking about him to his friends. This was excellent news.

“And I’m sure you know my son, Jack.”

“Of course. It’s been a real pleasure getting to know him,” Gabriel lied easily. “And he’s been a great tenant—”

“Tenant?”

“Yes, sir, he’s renting a room in my house.” Gabriel kept his surprise in check; Jack’s own father didn’t know this?

“I see.” Senator Kerridge cleared his throat. “So, oral arguments today.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And this one from Wyoming, have you ever been there?”

“I haven’t.”

“Amazing bird hunting in the Bighorn Mountains, we try to get there every year. Beautiful country. Anyway, what are your thoughts? On the case, I mean.”

“We’re not …” Gabriel hesitated. “We’re not really supposed to speak about cases to those who don’t work in the Court.”

“Ah, yes. The famous secrecy … That’s all right, son. I respect the rules.” The Senator nodded and clapped Gabriel on the shoulder. He smiled tightly. “If Jack couldn’t bring himself to accept a position with Chief Maxwell, I’m quite pleased he ended up with you instead.”

The realization hit Gabriel like a fist. That’s why the Chief was talking about him. It wasn’t just Jack and the others who knew he wasn’t the Chief’s first choice. The Senator knew too. Everyone must know.

“Sir, I—”

“Wonderful meeting you, young man. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around. Best of luck.”

#

Jack saw Benjamin Robeck, Justice Russo’s old clerk, standing down the hall outside his office. Justice Russo had mentioned a few weeks ago that former clerks frequently came to see arguments on opening day.

“Hey, Benjamin!” Jack called as he approached him. “Good to see you. What’s your take on this mining thing today?”

The case they were hearing wasn’t particularly interesting—it had to do with surface rights and mineral rights and the Safe Drilling Act in Wyoming, but Jack felt excited anyway.

“What the hell is in Wyoming anyway?” Benjamin asked.

“Jackson Hole, the ski area?” Jack said. “Have you ever been there?”

“Skiing’s not really my thing, to be honest.”

“What do you think about the case?”

“I think the landowner is getting screwed.”

Another Russo clerk, Michael Fordham, headed their way from the opposite end of the hall. “Personal property rights, all the way,” Michael said, obviously having overheard the conversation. “Fucking Wyoming, man. That place is badass.”

“You’ve been there?” Jack asked.

“Jackson Hole, dude! Every winter with my family!” Michael exchanged a high five with Jack. Benjamin shook his head and crossed his arms. Jack ducked his head into the office where Hanna Wicks typed intently at her computer.

“You ever ski Jackson Hole, Canada-Hanna?”

“Whistler Blackcomb,” she said without looking away from her screen. “British Columbia has far better snow and terrain.”

“What isn’t better in Canada, really?” Michael called from behind Jack.

“And the case today?” Jack asked.

“Mineral rights laws in the U.S. are antiquated,” Hanna said. She stopped typing. “This case is an opportunity for the court to fix a system that’s been dysfunctional for decades. Absolutely the property owner is in the right here.”

“I agree,” Jack said. “Anyone feel like the drillers get the win here?”

“I thought Robert might,” Michael said. “He was going back and forth in the elevator. But he came down for the landowner. Audrey seemed pleased.”

“Audrey?” Jack asked.

“The elevator attendant,” Michael said in a reproachful tone.

“Right, right. Anyway, I don’t even understand how anyone could question this.”

Jack left and went a few doors down to his own office. Charlotte was seated at her desk already.

“Good morning,” she said. “Nice to see you made it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Charlotte shrugged. “The way you were last night, I thought maybe you’d have a hard time this morning.”

“It was fine. I was fine.”

Charlotte shrugged again. “Are you ready for the hearings today?”

“I honestly kind of forgot that today was the day.” Charlotte said nothing, but her face displayed a reproach. “But … yes,” Jack continued. “I’m excited. What do you think about the fracking case?”

“Why are you so interested all of a sudden? When Gabriel tried to talk about the case a couple of weeks ago, you put your hand over your mouth and yawned loudly.”

“That guy can be a blowhard. Anyway, I’m interested now. What do you think?”

“I think it’s open and shut.”

“Open and shut in favor of …?”

“Of the landowner, of course. And no, I have never skied in Jackson Hole. I have never skied.” She paused and blinked again. “I could hear you down the hall.”

“You should try it, it’s fun.”

Charlotte shook her head stubbornly. “It’s dangerous.”

“Fine.” Jack took a seat and pulled his laptop out of his bag. “So, why?”

“High velocity, high energy falls. Broken bones—”

“I’m talking about the mining case.”

“Oh,” Charlotte said. “The law is a mess. The court could clarify it.”

“Canada-Hanna said the same thing.”

Charlotte frowned. “Her last name is Wicks.”

“So?”

“I’ve never asked Hanna, but I wonder if she’s related to the Wicks in Wicks v. Michigan, which was—”

“A very well written opinion,” Justice Russo said. She’d appeared at the door unnoticed, and Charlotte sat upright in her chair like a scolded child.

“I’m sorry, Justice Russo,” she said. “I didn’t see you there.”

“It’s fine.” Russo smiled. “Wicks now, as I was saying. Such a well-thought-out opinion on that one. Clearly the state cannot just snatch property willy-nilly. Questions of eminent domain are always muddy. I thought Wicks might change that, but here we are again. And both of you, you have thoughts on this, I’m sure?”

Charlotte had a confused frown on her face and seemed reluctant to answer. Jack had no reservations about speaking up.

“The law should be struck down,” he said. “This is absolutely a case where the court should protect the rights of the individual from the unchecked power of the state.”

“I see,” Russo said. Her expression was Sphinx-like, giving nothing away. “And you, Charlotte?”

“I’d have to say … I agree with Jack.” She looked troubled, and Jack smugly crossed his arms.

“Very well,” Russo said. “We’ll have to see how this one goes. I’ll see you both after, I’m sure. Good day!” She turned and disappeared into the corridor.

Charlotte’s expression looked like she had chewed on an unexpectedly sour piece of fruit.

“What,” Jack said, “you have a problem with me getting it right for once?”

Charlotte shook her head. “It’s not that. It’s Justice Russo.”

“What about her?”

“This case has nothing to do eminent domain, and Wicks v. Michigan was … it was nothing. Insignificant. Wicks was an artist who sued the State of Michigan because they used an image of hers without permission. It should never have even made it out of the Sixth Circuit.”

“So?”

“So it’s something she should know.”

“Come on, Char,” Jack said. “The woman has seen a lot of cases. Cut her some slack.”

#

At a quarter to ten, Gabriel walked to the courtroom. He entered from the right of the bench and made his way to the seats set out for the clerks. The room was ornate, the seats upholstered in leather, the railings gilded, and the whole space possessed a gravity that seemed to absorb the murmurs of those who’d come to observe what would go on here today.

Gabriel said hello to some of the clerks who were already seated, shaking a hand here and there. The room was nearly filled by this point, the rear made available for members of the public who had waited for a chance to witness the spectacle; behind the public seats was a standing gallery for the public. It was already filled.

“Pretty impressive, right?” Dana said at his shoulder, startling him.

“It is. Hi, Dana.”

“You got anything for me on this one?”

Gabriel looked around nervously. Everyone seemed intent on their own thing, but still. Dana had written a pretty accurate piece about the decision to summarily reverse the LifeCycle case and some other decisions that had been made in the last few weeks. And what had she said? She had other sources. If there was a leaker, and he was seen hanging out with her, that wouldn’t be good.

“Nope. See you, Dana.”

Gabriel found an empty seat, happy to have vacant space, at least for now, on either side of him. He settled into the chair, exhaled, and took in the bench. It was a made of dark wood, with darker drapes behind, and angled in a shallow V shape. Before it stood a lectern that counsels spoke from. Gabriel let the feeling of it sink into him. He was here among the weight of past decisions. The weight of tradition and justice. He leaned back and smiled.

The smile left his face, though, when he looked across the clerks’ section to see Jack shuffling his way across the aisle, pausing to greet and glad-hand the clerks as he passed. In Jack’s motion he suddenly saw the man’s father, the same polish, the same ambition. Gabriel quickly looked away. He silently hoped that Jack had not seen him.

“Gabe!” Jack said.

No such luck.

Gabriel smiled weakly as Jack dropped to the chair next to him and slapped him on the knee.

“Good morning, Jack.”

Jack grinned. “Can you believe it? It’s finally happening.”

“I can, in fact,” Gabriel said dryly.

Jack shook his head. “Hey, about the dishes—”

“Really, we can discuss it later.”

“I’m sorry, man. I’ll do better. So this case,” Jack said. “Wyoming. You ever been? You probably don’t ski, huh?” Gabriel said nothing. “No? Didn’t think so. Anyway, what do you think? Miners or property owner?”

Gabriel felt Jack getting to him. “If you’d read my memo, you’d already know what I thought.”

“Please tell me you’re not in favor of the miners? What about the disturbance? They’re trashing the guy’s land to get to the natural gas.”

“Am I supposed to feel sorry for the guy who owns a thousand acres? Must be nice.”

“Aren’t conservatives supposed to be in favor of property rights?”

Gabriel bristled. That was so like Jack, assuming that there was only one way of thinking—right or left. “The country needs energy, Jack. It doesn’t just magically appear. I’m not saying that’s my position, but you need to consider it.”

“Okay. Sure. Let me put it to you this way, then. Let’s say I own that chair you’re on, and you’ve purchased the right to sit there—”

“This sounds like a pretty shaky analogy to me.”

Jack made a gesture of impatience. “Work with me here. I own the chair, and I decide I want to cut off one of the legs. That’s totally my right, because the chair is mine. But you paid a lot of money to sit there, so I need to respect that, correct?”

“Still shaky, but okay, sure. My sitting should not be disturbed.”

“Exactly! So, if I cut off one of the legs and you fall over and hurt yourself, is that okay? Or am I compelled to prop some books up under the chair or something so you don’t fall?”

Gabriel wasn’t convinced. “Look, you can stop with the chair. I get it. There should be limits to how the gas is accessed. If the surface is ruined, or has the potential to be ruined, that’s not right.”

“So, you’re on the side of the landowner?”

“Like I said in my memo …” Jack rolled his eyes. Gabriel hesitated, then continued. “The damage to Mr. Knudson’s property is significant, and since there are no provisions in the law to safeguard the surface owner’s rights … I think it should be struck down.”

“Excellent!” Jack said, grinning. “All the clerks agree. This should be easy for the Justices.”

“You never know,” Gabriel said.

Jack turned away from him and thankfully said nothing for a bit. The peace was short-lived, though; Gabriel felt an elbow nudging his upper arm.

“Hey,” Jack whispered. “Check this guy out. Over to the left.” A tall man entered wearing a suit; around his neck was a braided leather bolo tie with a turquoise clasp, and on his feet were ostrich-skin cowboy boots. He took a seat in the arguing attorney’s chair to the left of the lectern.

“Get a load of that, huh?” Jack said. “Yeehaw.”

“Why don’t you show a little fucking respect for once, maybe?” Gabriel snapped. The smile on Jack’s face fell away, and he leaned back in his seat and faced forward.

“Sure,” Jack said. “Sorry, I—”

Jack was interrupted by the loud clack! of the marshal’s gavel, and everyone in the room stood.

“The Honorable, the Chief Justice and the Associate Justices of the Supreme Court of the United States,” the marshal said loudly as the Justices appeared from behind the drapes on both sides of the bench. “Oyez! Oyez! Oyez! All persons having business before the Honorable, the Supreme Court of the United States, are admonished to draw near and give their attention, for the Court is now sitting. God save the United States and this Honorable Court!”

The gavel fell again, and everyone took their seats. Chief Justice Maxwell sat at the center of the bench, and Justice Russo sat two seats to the left of him. The Justices sat in order of seniority, alternating left to right from the Chief’s seat at the center.

Maxwell cleared his throat and glanced at some papers before him.

“We’ll hear argument first this morning,” he said softly, peering out over his glasses, “in Knudson versus Wyoming. Mr. Hansen?”

The man in the bolo tie got to his feet and approached the lectern. “Mr. Chief Justice,” he said, “and may it please the court.” His voice seemed like something out of an old Western, all gravel and tumbleweeds and Marlboro cigarettes. “There’s no dispute that the State of Wyoming has made a clear distinction between surface and subsurface rights, and that ownership and enjoyment of those rights—”

“Wait,” came a question from the far edge of the bench. Justice Cooper, the newest member of the court. “If we’re talking enjoyment here—”

“—is guaranteed by—” the lawyer said.

“I’m sorry,” Cooper went on, “is enjoyment part of ownership, or a separate thing?”

Hansen paused, briefly. “It’s part of ownership.”

“Is it?” Cooper pressed.

“If you own something, it’s certainly your right to enjoy it.”

“Is that a guaranteed right?” Justice Russo asked. “By which I mean, is that codified somewhere? Is there a law, perhaps in Wyoming, that states exactly that?”

“I … I think we take it to be a given,” Hansen said. Gabriel cringed at the man’s hesitation and glanced at Jack, who shook his head, wide-eyed.

“I’m glad it’s not me up there,” Jack said in the barest whisper as Hansen continued to have his argument destroyed by the Justices.

“Agreed. They’re eating that cowboy alive.”

#

Jack was almost happy to get out of the courtroom after seeing the abuse the lawyer had taken from the Justices. He was embarrassed for the old guy. Reduced to the point of stammering at times, Chief Justice Maxwell had to insert himself on a couple occasions to gently guide the flustered man back to his train of thought. Was it nerves, Jack wondered, or a total lack of preparedness? Maybe both. Jack laughed to himself at the mental image of the guy mounting a horse outside and riding off into the sunset, a six-shooter at his side. The old frontier lawyer, never to be heard from again. After such a drubbing, how could he even show his face?

Jack grabbed his overcoat from his office before heading back down and out the front steps of the building to get some fresh air. The rain had eased, and the protestors were still thick out along First Street.

“They have a right to live!” someone shouted. She wore a pink T-shirt, and her whole body shook with emotion. “Those embryos deserve to live!”

What a strange thing, Jack thought as he turned left and waited at a crosswalk. The whole case. The woman’s wishes seemed pretty clear, and most likely she knew what her late husband would have wanted, too. Shouldn’t her wishes be respected? Those parents-in-law should butt out of it.

Jack took a moment to check his phone while he waited at the light. No reply from Emily to his texts from last night. Here in the daylight, it almost didn’t hurt anymore.

Nighttime was another thing entirely.

The light changed, and Jack crossed the street with several other young professionals, all wearing badges on lanyards and walking at a fast clip. Kids from everywhere, fresh out of college and in D.C. to make it in the world of politics. It was funny to him. Having grown up with it he knew it in a way they never could.

Give up! he wanted to shout. Abandon all hope! Move to a city like New York, a fun place, enjoy it while you’re young!

Save yourselves! he wanted to yell.

But he didn’t.

Jack paused by the fountain in front of the Library of Congress. Empty now for the season, the figures were frozen in green patina. Poseidon on a giant sea horse. Turtles and fat frogs. He loved the baroque ridiculousness of it.

Jack made an orbit around the Capitol building and thought about his father. Jack had been a kid the first time his dad was elected to national office. Barely in middle school. First to the House, then to the Senate. It wasn’t so unusual, lots of other kids at St. Albans had parents in government. Field trips to their parents’ offices in the District, lunches in the Hart Senate Office building cafeteria …

Lunch. Jesus Christ, I have to meet my dad for lunch.

Jack drew his phone from his pocket, disappointed that there hadn’t been a cancellation, some event more pressing that took his dad’s attention. He hadn’t seen his dad since he’d left in July. He tried not to think about Emily and his father working together every day. Knowing his dad, he’d find a way to mention her at lunch.

Jack considered coming up with some reason to cancel, but couldn’t bring himself to do it. He couldn’t even count the times his dad had missed things when he was a kid, how many times he’d had something “more important” come up, but he couldn’t stoop to that level. He wanted to be a better man. He had to be.

Jack returned to the court and entered through the side entrance, avoiding the scrum of protestors on his way in. Through security and to the back steps, and all the way up to the top floor. It was 12:02 when he reached the empty dining room. A steward asked if he needed help.

“I’m looking for the Chief,” Jack said. “And Senator Kerridge. I’m joining them for lunch.”

“Come with me,” the man said with a light Caribbean accent, guiding Jack along with an elegant wave of the hand. “Right this way.” He led Jack to a small dining room off to the right of the main dining room. Jack’s father—drinking scotch—and the Chief—drinking water—were seated at the table. Jack thanked the steward and entered.

“Here’s our Jack!” the Senator said expansively, getting to his feet. He was always much nicer to Jack when others were around. The Chief raised an eyebrow and said nothing.

“Hello,” Jack said, wishing he was anywhere but in this room. “Nice to see you, Mr. Chief Justice.”

Jack held out his hand. The Chief hesitated for a moment, then shook it.

“I hope you’ve been enjoying your time clerking for Justice Russo?”

“I have, sir, thank you.”

“So, Jack,” the Senator said when they were seated, “I’ve been trying to get some information out of Max on some of the cases you’ll be seeing this year. Old Max won’t show his hand, though.”

“We all take secrecy pretty seriously.”

Jack and the Chief exchanged a brief moment of eye contact. Was that a hint of a smile Jack was seeing?

“Can’t be too seriously … what about that journalist who’s writing all those pieces lately? Dana Jacobs.”

“Jacobson,” Jack said, then regretted it when he caught a look from the Chief.

“Right. She seems to know what’s going on.”

The Chief said nothing, and Jack wondered what he was holding back. From what he gleaned from Gabriel and Odessa, the Chief took Court business very seriously. Which meant he probably already had someone looking into Dana and her potential sources. Jack couldn’t think of anyone who’d be stupid enough to talk to her.

“This embryo business!” the Senator said, oblivious. “What a mess!”

“It is,” Jack said. “Speaking personally, of course.”

“But you can’t help but feel bad for those grandparents,” his father said. “Can you even imagine? They’re being interviewed tonight. Here, right here on the courthouse steps. Did you know that, Max?”

“I make a point of avoiding the media,” the Chief said. “Very little good comes of it.”

“It’s all biased anyway,” the Senator said. He laughed. “Or ‘Fake News,’ as they say.”

“If I avoid it,” the Chief said quietly, “I have no need to assess its veracity.”

The Senator nodded sloppily. “A good point. A very good point. But this case load you’ve got. My God, so much work!”

“You know,” Jack said, “speaking of work, I have quite a lot myself—”

“Come on,” the Senator said, “it’s just lunch, you can certainly spare a few minutes.”

“You’re welcome to stay,” the Chief said.

Jack stood. “I really do have a memo I need to complete.”

“Of course,” the Chief said. “I’m sure Justice Russo relies on you.”

“Well, if Max says so,” the Senator said. “I guess his word is law!” Jack’s father laughed too loudly at his own joke, and Jack wondered just how many tumblers of scotch he’d put down already.

Jack said a hasty goodbye and left, but before he could leave the main dining room, he heard his father’s boozy voice booming from back in the small room.

“Come on, Max, we’ve known each other how long? Tell me one thing. One thing. Was it unanimous?”

“It shouldn’t be difficult for you to guess, John,” Justice Maxwell said.

“It was! I knew it. That poor hick lawyer. He never had a chance, did he?”

“He may have had a chance with a bit more preparation. As it was, he didn’t do much to help his client, that’s for sure.”

The Senator laughed. “I’d ask for my money back, getting walloped like that!”

Jack stood frozen. The Justices had upheld the law? Unanimously? How could that be? He realized the steward was at the doorway, looking at him. The man pressed a slender finger to his lips and shook his head. Jack nodded and stepped out into the hallway. When he was out of sight, he broke into a run toward the staircase. Down the stairs two and three at a time, he burst out into the corridor by his office. He peeked in doorway after doorway, but all the offices were empty for lunch. He dashed around a corner and saw Gabriel at the end of the hall.

“Hey!” he called. “Gabe!” Gabriel turned to face him. “I know something. Something big.”

“Okay?”

“The Wyoming case. I know how the Justices voted.” Gabriel’s eye narrowed, and Jack nodded vigorously. “I’m serious! I’m not kidding. I heard.”

“And?”

“And they voted to uphold the law. We were wrong. All of us.”

“How did it break?”

“Unanimous! Can you believe it? I know the attorney was bad, but come on, the facts of the case, right?” Gabriel shrugged.

“What? That’s it? A shrug? We were wrong. You were wrong.”

“Maybe I was wrong,” Gabriel said. “But the Court is right. I’m okay with that.”

He nodded and walked away, leaving Jack alone in the hall wondering if he was ever going to understand his housemate at all.

#

By six o’clock, Gabriel was shot. His capacity for critical thought was exhausted. It was time to go home, grab a beer, read a book, refill the well. He closed his laptop, donned his jacket, and stepped out into the hall. Hanna was still at her desk; Gabriel rapped on her door and smiled.

“Don’t work too late, Hanna,” he said. “It will still be here tomorrow.”

She smiled and sighed.

“I know, I know.”

He said goodnight to another clerk and rounded a corner to see Justice Russo standing in the hall, tapping her chin as she stared at a print on the wall.

“Andrew,” she said, “do you remember where we got this one?”

“Justice Russo?”

“Was it Barcelona?” She turned and faced Gabriel with oddly blank eyes.

“It’s Gabriel. Gabriel Martinez. I clerk for Chief Maxwell.”

Justice Russo blinked and, in an instant, her expression flashed confusion and fear.

“Oh, of course. Have a good night, won’t you?”

“You too, Justice Russo.” Gabriel paused. “Can I … do anything for you?”

“I’m fine, thank you.”

Gabriel continued down the hall, thoroughly unsettled by the interaction. Had she confused him for Andrew Rodriguez? That had to be it. She’d probably linked the two names together in her mind. It made sense.

Gabriel exited through the Maryland Avenue side of the building and started eastward through the drizzle toward home. Something stopped him, though: a strange glow in the mist, and when he turned back toward the Court he saw the building silhouetted in a nearly otherworldly glimmering.

He headed back toward the front to see the area teeming with protestors, at least three times more than had been there this morning. All of it was illuminated by banks of massive, generator-driven halogen lamps scissor-jacked into the air. More media vans were parked at the curb: CNN, FOX, CBS, NBC, and the police presence seemed more visible, more on edge. A group of protestors near the base of the steps broke into a chant.

“Let them live! Let them live!”

A larger group quickly organized itself and began a counter-chant of its own: “Her embryos, her choice!”

Gabriel moved closer, allowing himself to be consumed by the crowd. Ahead of him the lights were brighter, and large umbrellas and boom microphones were held aloft. Several cameramen stood waiting, their gear wrapped in clear plastic to protect it from the weather. At the center of it all, almost too brightly illuminated to look at directly, a woman in a professional-looking blue dress stood next to an older couple. The woman held a microphone, and the couple looked almost frightened by the attention.

“You’re live in twenty, Ashley. Going live in twenty.”

The woman in the blue dress smoothed her hair and raised her microphone. She placed a hand on the elderly woman’s shoulder and said something, and the older woman forced a smile and nodded.

“Ashley, you’re live in three …”

The lights got even brighter, and the woman stared intently into one of the cameras.

“Thanks, Jim,” she said, and the crowd calmed down as it leaned forward to listen. “CNN is live in front of the U.S. Supreme Court, where the first day of oral arguments were heard this morning. There’s been a much larger number of demonstrators than we’ve seen in previous years. We know a lot of that comes from …”

A chant picked up, drowning out the reporter, and just as quickly died down.

“A lot of that comes from a case we’ve been discussing a lot lately, those six frozen embryos in Louisiana that were fertilized during fertility treatments for Patricia Dunbar and her late husband Leo Flaherty. Ms. Dunbar wants to dispose of those embryos, while her husband’s parents want to see at least one of them brought to term with a surrogate mother. I’m standing right now, in a CNN exclusive, with Maureen and Eugene Flaherty, Leo Flaherty’s parents. Maureen, tell our viewers, why should these embryos come to term?”

“You know, our son loved children. He wanted to be a father so badly, he and Trish worked so hard with the treatments and all that to get these embryos. We were so happy for those two, and so devastated when we lost him.”

“I’m sure,” Ashley said. “Mr. Flaherty, what about your daughter-in-law’s wishes, though? Shouldn’t they be considered?”

“We love Trish so much,” the man said with a wavering voice. “Trish, if you’re watching, we love you, and we pray for you every day. We know Leo wanted these babies. You know it, too. We’ll give them a good home, a wonderful life. We’ll raise them in a home full of love, just like we raised our boy Leo.”

“Are you both ready to take on that responsibility?”

“We sure are,” the woman said. “We both have an awful lot of love to give.”

Gabriel backed out of the crowd and returned to the mist and the night. He walked with his head down, deep in thought. A house full of love. He believed it. His own grandparents had raised him and his brother; he knew it was possible. His abuela and papá and Aunt Rosa; they meant the world to him.

Of course the embryos should live. They were made by God. And when they were born, they’d enter a world filled with love.

Gabriel tightened his hood around his face, feeling at peace with his certainty.

#

Back at the house, Charlotte was alone in the living room, reading a tablet with her legs beneath one of his aunt’s old quilts when Gabriel walked in. She watched as Gabriel grabbed a beer from the kitchen and returned to the living room recliner. He seemed keyed up, excited in a way she hadn’t seen before. What was that about?

“The grandparents gave a press conference tonight,” Gabriel said after taking a long swallow of his beer.

Charlotte bit back her words. “I saw on the news. You went?”

“I observed. Nothing improper.”

Charlotte wasn’t so sure. “We’re supposed to remain objective.”

“Ha! Sure. Just like you are.”

“I—”

Gabriel stood. “Forget it. I’m heading upstairs.”

“Goodnight.”

Gabriel rose and took his beer to the stairs. He stopped on the landing. “Oh, I almost forgot. Funny thing, your Justice called me Andrew tonight.”

“Oh, that’s funny,” Charlotte said, not feeling like it was funny at all.

“Funny how?”

“Her husband’s name was Andrew.”