James Bell - Deadlock

“What about Justice Riley?” Millie said.

“Too old, too controversial.”

“He deserves it.”

“We don’t always get what we deserve in this life. Much as I admire Tom Riley, there is no finer mind on the Court than yours.”

Millie looked again at her water glass. The little bubbles seemed to be exploding everywhere.

“Now don’t be modest about it,” the senator said. “It’s true. You are a towering intellect, your opinions are models of style. Larry Graebner says he uses you as the model in his classes at Yale. The question is not, can you do it? The question is, do you want it?”

Millie paused, took a deep breath, and met the senator’s eyes. “Senator Levering, I love two things in this world above all else. The law, and the United States Supreme Court. I would do my level best to lead it in the finest traditions of the greatest judicial body in the world.”

Levering smiled and nodded slowly. “That’s about the most eloquent acceptance speech I’ve ever heard.” He put his glass down on his ornate mahogany desk. “You are the right woman at the right time, like I said. And that brings me to my next question. It’s rather personal. Do you mind?”

It was clear he was going to ask anyway. “All right.”

Levering leaned forward. “I wonder if you’d do me the honor of having dinner with me sometime.”

Before Millie could respond, Levering added, “I know I dropped that kind of sudden, but I’m a sudden sort of fella.”

Sarah Mae Sherman looked as skinny and scared as the first time Charlene Moore met her. She had big eyes, like the children in those black-and-white photographs taken during the Depression. Sarah Mae, if she had not been a real girl in terrible torment, would have been a perfect casting choice for a remake of The Grapes of Wrath.

She looked lost in the wooden chair in Charlene’s office, even though her mother was with her. Aggie Sherman was a larger, plumper version of Sarah Mae. Unlike her daughter, who wore her hair in long strands, Aggie had hers cut short, a look that matched the severity of the expression she always wore.

It was even more severe now, after Charlene had advised them to turn down the settlement offer from Winsor & Grimes.

“That’s almost half a million dollars,” Aggie said, sitting on the edge of her chair. “That’s more money than we’ll ever see in our whole lives. You sayin’ not to take it?”

Charlene folded her hands, trying to stay calm. “What I am saying is that we started this case because we wanted not only to compensate Sarah Mae, but also to punish the abortion clinic and doctor who did this to her. To send a message. The amount they are offering is just the insurance company’s idea of nuisance value. They want to get rid of us. They do not want to try this case.”

Aggie grunted dismissively. “When we went into this, we warn’t in no federal court. You told me that’s a lot harder.”

“I can’t deny it is very different from our state courts,” Charlene said. “But the jury is still made up of people, just like you and me.”

“We ain’t their kind,” Aggie said. “And they ain’t our’n.”

“When Sarah Mae first came to see me with Pastor Ray, we had a long talk about how she felt about filing a lawsuit. She said she wanted to do it so the whole country could hear what happened to her. So it wouldn’t happen to other girls. You remember that, Sarah Mae?”

The girl nodded slowly.

“And do you still feel that way?” Charlene asked.

“You talk to me now,” Aggie said. “Sarah Mae ain’t old enough to make that decision.”

Charlene noticed a slight twitching in Sarah Mae’s cheeks when her mother said that.

“Of course, Mrs. Sherman.” Charlene needed to respect this woman, a single mother struggling day to day. It was a precarious situation. Her daughter’s suicide attempts had shaken Aggie to the point where her defensiveness was understandable.

Charlene continued. “Sarah has undergone such trauma that her story needs to be told. The abortion industry is engaged in a willful practice of deceiving women about the dangers and consequences of abortion. They are especially deceptive about the psychological dangers. They refuse to admit such dangers exist. And women continue to suffer depression, guilt, shame. Studies show that the guilt gets worse as time goes on.”

At least Aggie Sherman appeared to be listening. When Charlene had first interviewed her, Mrs. Sherman seemed to be completely oblivious to the long-term effects of abortion. Most people were. The media never reported on the studies that indicated such effects.

“Post-abortion trauma is real, Mrs. Sherman, and it will continue unless people find out about it. I believe most Americans are fair-minded but aren’t getting the whole story. If they hear Sarah Mae’s story it will make a difference.”

“Why can’t we tell the papers or the TV or something?” Aggie said.

“Leverage,” Charlene said. “As it stands now, your daughter’s story might make the local news, but that’s where it will stop. A lawsuit has a way of getting attention.”

Aggie Sherman chewed on this for a moment, then her eyes narrowed. “That’s what you’re after, ain’t it?”

The tone in her voice puzzled Charlene. “What do you mean, Mrs. Sherman?”

“Attention. This’ll bring a lot of attention to you.”

Charlene shook her head. “That is the furthest thing from my mind.”

“Is it? You ain’t the busiest lawyer in these parts. And you’re a…” She stopped short.

Charlene didn’t have to hear the word to know it was in Aggie’s throat. A black lawyer, especially a female, was rare in the region. Charlene fought hard to keep her emotions in check. “I am a lawyer, Mrs. Sherman. When someone like your daughter is hurt, the law should provide justice and maybe prevent the same thing from happening again. That’s all I am interested in.”

“Well,” Aggie said, “my daughter is what I’m interested in. And four hundred thousand sounds more than interesting to me. I want you to get us that money.”

“Mrs. Sherman, please – ”

“No. I don’t want to have to go through a whole trial. Sarah Mae don’t either.”

Charlene’s heart plummeted. She had invested not only time and money in this case, but her very soul. It was a case she passionately believed in. A battle she was sure God had entrusted to her. It couldn’t be yanked away.

“You can’t do this, Mrs. Sherman,” Charlene said desperately.

“I can!” Aggie Sherman said. “You get us that money.”

Charlene looked at Sarah Mae. The girl said nothing. Her mother grabbed her arm, pulled her off the chair, and out of the office.

The first time Millie Hollander saw the Supreme Court she was on her father’s shoulders. He had a business trip to Washington, D.C., and insisted on taking her along. She was eight. They had turned the corner, Daddy giving her a ride that was bracing in the cool breeze, and suddenly there it was.

It literally took her breath away.

Great white steps led up to a main portico flanked on either side by two large marble figures. Seated majestically, the twin statues looked ready to hand down decisions of timeless wisdom. The portico itself was supported by sixteen massive Corinthian columns. It was like some palace of the gods.

And over everything, etched in stone for all the world to see, were the immortal words: Equal Justice Under Law.

The impression was overwhelming. Millie knew there had to be something of incredible importance housed here.

Perched on her father’s shoulders, she felt ten feet tall. She also sensed immediately that whatever she was going to do in her life would, in some way she couldn’t possibly know, have something to do with this building.