Deadlock

A bailiff rushed over and warned Aggie to quiet down. Sarah Mae slumped in her chair. Charlene stood clamped to the floor, unable to move, watching the aftermath of the destruction of her world.

But worst of all was not what the decision meant for her. No, she could somehow recover from this. The worst thing was seeing Sarah Mae’s head fall into her hands and her small, girlish body begin to shake.

Charlene put a hand on her shoulder. Almost immediately she felt a hand on her own. Aggie was pulling Charlene away. “Don’t touch her,” she said.

“Please – ”

“No! Sarah Mae, come along. Now.”

Helpless, Charlene watched as Aggie yanked Sarah Mae up like a sack of linens. Sarah Mae’s eyes flashed at Charlene, a mix of confused emotions Charlene could not read. Following her mother through the railing, Sarah Mae Sherman disappeared from view, and for all Charlene knew, from her life.

She fought back tears. She would not cry, not here. But she longed for someone to talk to.

Anyone except Beau Winsor. He offered his hand to her. “Don’t feel too bad,” he said. “There will be other fights.”

Charlene opened her mouth, and there it stayed. Open and without speech.

“You’re young. You’re talented. Ever think of joining a firm?”

Slowly Charlene shook her head.

“Give me a call. Let me take you to lunch.”

All she could do was shake her head.

Winsor said, “If you change your mind…” And then he nodded and walked away.

Larry Graebner also offered his hand, and Charlene felt compelled to take it.

“I’d consider his offer,” Graebner said. “It’s a good one.”

“This isn’t over,” Charlene said weakly. “I’ll file an appeal.”

Graebner glanced at the courtroom doors. “If you do, and you lose, our position will become precedent in this circuit. Would you want that?”

“Has it occurred to you we might win on appeal?”

“It really hadn’t,” Graebner said. “But anything’s possible.” Larry Graebner smiled. “Good luck, Ms. Moore. You did a fine job.”

CHAPTER TEN

1

Millie was beginning to hate the word hope. Jack Holden had used it several times already in the eulogy. And each time he said it, she heard a few mumbled “amens” behind her. She felt herself wanting to sear these people with a don’t you understand? look.

Hope was in the casket, about to be buried. The hope that she would get more time with her mother. The hope that had been waved in front of her when her mother had managed to talk to her at the hospital.

“ ‘Therefore, since we have been justified through faith’ ” – Holden was reading, and she heard the words as if outside the building – “ ‘we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have gained access by faith into this grace in which we now stand. And we rejoice in the hope of the glory of God.’ ”

This was how her mother would have wanted her funeral, and for that she could endure it. But not the word hope anymore. Please.

“ ‘And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us.’ ”

More amens. Holden had asked her if she wanted to say a few words, and she had declined. What did she have to say to these people? She was an outsider. She had once been one of them, but she had left long ago. In body and in spirit.

She dutifully stayed for the meal that had been prepared by several in the congregation. She dutifully shook hands and received condolences. She dutifully said what needed to be said without sounding rude.

They were good people, and they had been her mother’s family. Millie hated the way she felt about them now. She was jealous – of the times they’d had with Ethel that Millie had not. Her smile felt forced. But she smiled. Mom would have wanted it that way.

She was grateful for the job Jack Holden had done. But she was also jealous of him. He had had time with her mother, too.

He approached her at the back of the fellowship hall, where Millie had sought some respite from talk.

“You’ll be going back to D.C. soon?” he asked.

“Two days,” Millie said.

“May I say something?”

“Of course.”

“Even though the circumstances are not the best, it’s been good to talk with you. You know. About all the things we talked about.”

“My mother thought highly of you,” she said. “You were a great comfort to her.”

“You have her qualities.”

“I wish.” Ethel Hollander was so unlike her daughter. Or was it the other way around?

“I’ll be here if you need anything,” Holden said. “Arrangements with the house, that sort of thing.”

“I appreciate it.”

“And I’ll be praying for you.”

She felt a scream welling up inside her. It did not issue, but the pressure was intense. “Why wasn’t I there?” she said suddenly. Loudly. “Why wasn’t I with her?” She wanted to grab Holden’s shirt and shake him, shame him out of his assurances, force him to join her in guilt and doubt.

Her mother was gone. There would be no more words. Ever.

2

Anne was starting her second espresso when she heard a knock. She looked through the peephole and saw an African American man in a sharp brown suit looking directly at her.

“Ms. Deveraux?” he said.

He must have been waiting for the light to change in the hole when she put her eye to it. She still didn’t say anything.