“About a dozen years or so.”
“All on the Eastern Shore?”
“No, I hung out my shingle here less than two years ago.”
She leaned toward me. “I’m always curious about this when I meet an attorney. When did you know that you wanted to be a lawyer?”
“Probably when I first realized my initials were B.S.”
She grinned and handled me a cracker topped with a cheese slice. “I’m serious.”
“My whole life, I suppose. There’s something exciting about standing in the front of a courtroom. When you’re in trial, you’ve got a front row seat to see all the good and all the evil in people. I love it. Always wanted to litigate.”
A ridgeline of dark gray clouds appeared along the western horizon, but far enough in the distance not to be a concern. The sunshine felt warm on my hands and face. I stood up to stretch my legs and back. The boat rocked gently on the waves.
Jennifer snapped the lids back onto the empty plastic containers. “Then let me ask a follow-up, if that’s okay. What’s it like representing someone you know is guilty? I mean, how do you do that?”
“Well,” I replied, “from the outside, it probably doesn’t make sense. You know, defending someone you know is guilty. You try to reach an agreement with the other side and not take those cases to trial. After learning all the facts and considering the law, then you help your client make the best decision.”
“And if your client wants a trial?”
“Well, even guilty people deserve a defense. Then we put our faith in the process. A prosecutor or plaintiff’s counsel presents evidence in support of a case. Defense counsel challenges that evidence or suggests a different version of the facts. A judge or jury weighs both sides and reaches a decision. The defense plays an essential part in that process. The goal is to arrive at the truth. Most of the time, the court gets there.”
“But not always?”
“No, not always.”
“Why not?” she asked. “The people, the system, or what?”
“All of the above. Courts aren’t perfect, just like people aren’t. The funny thing about being a lawyer is that you can be smart, work hard, keep your integrity, and sometimes it’s still not enough.”
“But the objective is to reach the truth. In some respects, being a lawyer is a lot like being a journalist. We’re after the truth, as well.”
“I guess I can see that.”
“Well,” Jennifer said, “the jobs aren’t exactly the same, for sure. But we have to sift through interviews and documents to figure out who’s lying and who’s not. Ultimately, journalists want to tell the public what really happened.”
“So I guess we have that in common.”
Jennifer smiled as I sat down next to her, brushing against her soft shoulder.
She tilted her head slightly and arched an eyebrow. “I’ve enjoyed doing travel stories, selling them freelance to websites and magazines, but I’m ready to move into serious journalism. It’s hard without a connection to the right people. A wire service or a network. I’ve been looking for a way to make that transition. Travel reporting has been a good start, but I’d like to dig beneath the surface and tell a story that uncovers something meaningful.”
“Sounds good. I hope you succeed.”
The dark clouds that lined the distant horizon were moving east toward us, filling about a quarter of the sky. A cool breeze spun the boat along the surface of the water until the anchor line strained. The waves became increasingly choppy. I considered digging through the hold to find a second anchor, but decided against it since we had finished the picnic.
Jennifer said, “And that brings me to something else I wanted to ask you about.”
I got a kick out of how she said “about,” which sounded more like “a-boot,” but my amusement was tempered by a suspicion I could not quite place.
Her blue-green eyes met mine. “Bryce, you’ve an interesting trial coming up. I read the court docket online this morning. Benton Dynamics v. Richard Kostas and Marisa Dupree.”
With more of a sinking feeling than shock, I replied, “Not really sure what to say, except you’ve been checking up on me.”
“Well, of course,” she said in a reassuring voice, “but don’t be like that. I wasn’t about to go out on the Chesapeake Bay with a guy I just met in a bar without doing a little background. How was I supposed to know that you were really a lawyer and not some psycho?”
Her disarming smile was lovely.
“Besides,” she continued, “lawsuits are online now. Come on, Bryce, don’t tell me you didn’t look me up, as well.”
“I especially liked your video tour of the Gettysburg Battlefield.”
“Thanks,” she said as she stood up, stepped to the helm, and placed her hands on the steering wheel.
I said, “You can pilot us when we start up again.”
“Aw, no thanks,” Jennifer replied over her shoulder. “I just wanted to see how it felt.”
The sun slipped behind the clouds. I put on my jacket. “Discussing my legal work on a Sunday afternoon was not really what I had in mind. I thought you just wanted to go out on a date.”
She sat back down next to me. “I do, and I’d go with you again, as long as you get that look off your face.”
“Sorry,” I replied a bit defensive and embarrassed. “I just don’t think I can help you with your reporting.”
“Fair enough. If you don’t want to talk about it …”
“It’s a pending case. I really can’t. Hope you understand.”
“Sure.” She shrugged. “I respect that. But you have to admit it’s fascinating. Stolen data from a big defense contractor. Then I dug through the local newspaper for more. Richard Kostas is dead. Drowned in the bay. Marisa Dupree is up against a big corporation. Well, like you said, the justice system isn’t perfect. Looks like you’re fighting this.”
“You’ve done your homework. The hearing is Wednesday.”
Jennifer looked intensely at me, as if she were trying to convince
