by Emma Scott
“I’m sorry, Your Honor,” I managed. “I don’t understand.”
“As I said your brief was impeccable. Scholarly and purely academic. Which is understandable as you are an academic at this stage.” He leaned his arms on his desk, fingers laced. “In the course of preparing this brief, did you consider Johnson v. McKenzie?”
I scanned my mental catalog and pulled up the case.
“That was…an appeal,” I said, mentally reading. “The defendant’s sentence was reduced due to good behavior and programs completed during prison time. I don’t see how that’s relevant…”
“It’s relevant,” Judge Miller said, “to a brief concerned with the overcrowding of prison populations. You argued, strongly I might add, for the strict use of mandatory sentencing and unequivocal upholding of the Three Strikes law.”
“Yes, Your Honor,” I said. “Those are the laws.”
Judge Miller nodded. “Nowhere in your brief did you make any stipulation for the defendant’s rehabilitation or his continued education in the prison system.”
“I wasn’t aware that you were asking for me to take a position on such things,” I said. “I was merely providing the appropriate laws pertinent to the matter at hand.”
“Yes, and you did it brilliantly. You are brilliant, Mr. Haas. I have no question or doubt that you would make an exceptional prosecutor. And to be perfectly frank, I’d rather not work with Mr. Harris.” He pursed his lip. “He’s a bit of a bore. But I’m concerned that you see only the law; the words on paper, and not the lives behind them.”
I straightened to my full height. “I don’t understand, Your Honor. The law is the law. Isn’t our duty to uphold it as it is written?”
He held my gaze, lips pursed. “Why do you want to be a federal prosecutor?”
For my mother.
“Justice,” I said. “The punishment should fit the crime, and the criminal should be punished.”
“And leniency?”
“I…I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t know that personal feelings should interfere with this kind of work.”
Judge Miller sighed. “I’ve seen your type before. Full of piss and vinegar, as my father would’ve said. More concerned with being right than with being fair. You are not a coldhearted man. I can see that in you. But feelings, Mr. Haas, are what make us human. And humanity should be the beating heart of justice.” He leaned back in his seat and reached for some papers on his desk. “That is all.”
I left Judge Miller’s chambers feeling as if I had just been sucker punched and then doused in ice water. I had no idea what he was asking of me. In the deep catalog of California law codes I had committed to memory, there wasn’t one mention of emotions or feelings. That’s why I liked law. It was black and white, right and wrong.
On the Muni home, I racked my brain for a way to give the Judge what he wanted.
Life.
But my mother was dead. Killed by a drunk driver when I was eight years old.
I gripped the Muni bar hard as the train screeched into a tunnel and the windows went black, as if it were taking me into the dark heart of my worst memories.
Blue and red flashing lights fill the foyer with garish color. Clown colors, from a nightmarish carnival. A knock at the door. I step into the hallway behind my dad. Emmett tugs on my pants. He’s only four, but my little brother’s smart. He knows something’s very, very wrong, and he’s scared.
Like me.
I’m so scared I can’t breathe.
“Mr. Haas?”
My dad’s head bobs. “Yes?”
“I’m very sorry but there’s been an accident.”
Dad staggers back a step then clutches the doorjamb. His knuckles are white. The red and blue lights spin around and around. Their sirens are off, but the sound is deafening. Screaming. Ripping the black of the night, tearing through my father and brother and me like a banshee; shrieking with sinister glee that nothing will ever be the same again.
The Muni train surged into daylight and I blinked the horrible reverie away. The memory retreated slowly, never far from sight and always crystal clear in my perfect memory.
The defendant—my mother’s murderer—had been jailed for alcohol-related incidents twice before, and was driving with a suspended license. But it didn’t matter. The judge used discretion. Discretion. I fucking hated that word. The driver was released and three weeks later, he killed my mother. He was sentenced to twenty-five years but what the fuck did that matter? He’d already put my mother to death and given my father, brother, and I life sentences.
And none of it needed to happen.
My hand on the Muni rail tightened again until my joints ached. The senselessness of it gnawed at my guts whenever I thought of it for too long. I turned my focus on what I could do as a prosecutor, instead. Sought sanctuary, as I always did, in the law.
But Miller’s lecture in his office had me scared shitless. If I didn’t give him what he wanted—life, in a briefing about senseless death—I’d lose everything.
I was still pondering these questions when I walked up to the Victorian. In my flat, Darlene was at the kitchen table, sitting next to Olivia in her high chair, feeding her a snack of cubed cheese and grapes that Darlene had cut in half.
“Hey,” she said brightly. Her beautiful face like a ray of sun I basked in for a moment. “Elena came by. She said Hector did break a bone but it was a clean break, no surgery needed.”
“Good, good,” I said. “Glad to hear it.”
“How was your meeting?”
Catastrophic.
“Fine.”
I leaned over Olivia’s high chair from behind. “Hey, baby. Having a snack?” I plucked a piece of Jack cheese from her tray and ate it.
“Cheece, cheece,” she said, and I watched her tiny fingers pick up the white cube and bring it to her mouth.
I looked up to see Darlene watching me. She quickly averted her eyes.
“She’s got a great vocab,” she said, brushing a curl of Olivia’s hair out of her eyes. “She’s a smarty, aren’t you, sweet pea?”
“Would you mind hanging out for one more minute?” I asked. “I want to change out of this suit.”
“Knock yourself out.”
In my bedroom, I changed into my evening uniform of flannel sleep pants and a white, V-neck undershirt. I grabbed my wallet from my suit on the bed, and pulled out a twenty dollar bill. In the kitchen, Darlene was wiping Olivia’s face with a cloth, and saying something to make my daughter laugh.
Jackson’s words from this morning came back to haunt me. Darlene was beautiful, fun, and great with Olivia.
Why not ask her out?
It seemed like such a simple thing, but I was on the verge of losing my clerkship. Aside from studying and classes, I was going to have to devote even more time to Judge Miller’s final assignment to ensure I gave him what he wanted.
The tiredness fell over me like a heavy coat.
I have nothing to offer her.
Darlene removed the tray from Olivia’s highchair, and set her down on the floor where my daughter made a bee-line for the wooden blocks scattered on the carpet by my desk.
“We were making towers,” Darlene said. “I’ll clean those up.”
“No, it’s fine. Here.” I held out the twenty. “I don’t know what your going rate is but…”
She was already shaking her head. “Nope. I owe you from the other night. I was so pushy, and I still feel bad about it.”
“What? No. Take it.”
Darlene ignored my money and knelt beside Olivia. “Bye-bye, sweet pea.”
“Bye-bye,” Olivia said. She stacked a wooden block with letters on each side on top of another that was covered in numbers.
“So smart, this girl.” Darlene popped back up with a breathy exhilaration. Her eyes were impossibly blue. “I should go.”
“Darlene…”
Her phone chimed a text. She fished it out of her bag. “Oh, that’s Max. He’s a frien
d. I told him I’d meet him later, so yeah.” She shouldered her bag and headed for the door.
Max. Okay.
I followed Darlene to the door to open it.
Max is the guy who’s going to ask her out if he hasn’t already because you won’t.
“Such a gentleman,” Darlene said as I held the door for her.
“You should take the money,” I said stiffly. Almost harshly. “You saved my ass today so…”
I held out the cash again but Darlene pushed my hand away and held on for a moment. Her fingers were soft and warm on mine.
“Your money’s no good here. We’re even.”
A short silence fell, and my mind—so full of every goddamn thing I’d ever seen and read—had no words.
“Goodbye, Sawyer the Lawyer.”
She let go of my hand, her smile softer now, and turned to go. Half a second later, she stopped and spun back around.
“I changed my mind. I know how you can pay me for today.”
A small laugh erupted out of me, despite myself. God, this girl.
“How?”
“Last Friday, at the grocery store? You said that I was a…” She held her hands out.
I blinked. “A what?”
“That’s just it. I don’t know. You never finished your sentence.”
I thought back to that night, that moment. “Oh, yeah.”
“You remember, right? Your mega-mind has it?”
“Yeah, I have it but I’m not sure you want to hear it.”
“Try me.”
“Well, I was going to say you’re like a human tornado.”
“Oh,” Darlene said. Her face fell, the light in her eyes dimmed slightly. “I’m like a twisty windstorm that destroys everything I touch?”
“No, not at all.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “I didn’t say it then because I thought you’d take it as an insult. And saying it now, it sounds like an insult. But it’s actually—”
“A compliment?”
Her light was back and she was standing so close to me.
“Yes. I meant, you’re like this whirling ball of energy that sweeps people up so they…can’t help getting caught up in you.”
“Oh,” she breathed. “They can’t?”
I can’t.
I was leaning over her, my shoulder against the doorjamb, and she was right there, her breath on my chin and her eyes so blue with light and life.
Darlene is full of the life Judge Miller wants. I’m the machine that has to keep going and going until there’s nothing left of me.
I straightened and smiled faintly. “Thanks for taking good care of Olivia, Darlene.”
Darlene’s smile was brilliant and her words, seemingly innocuous, hit me right in the chest and sank in.
“Thank you, Sawyer, for the lovely compliment.”
Darlene
I went back to my little place with a smile on my face that made my cheeks hurt, and a warmth in my chest that wouldn’t quit. Max’s text said he wanted to grab dinner before the NA meeting tonight, so I jumped in the shower. After, I did my makeup in the mirror.
Can’t help getting caught up in you.
My cheeks turned pink without blush, and my eyes looked bluer than I’d ever seen them.
I pointed my mascara wand at my reflection. “Stop right there. You are doing great at this responsibility stuff. Don’t mess it up now.”
But visions of Sawyer Haas looking devastatingly handsome in his suit, tangled with those of him looking deliciously sexy in his pajamas. And his compliment, like a song stuck in my head, played over and over, except I didn’t want it to stop.
It was only going to get harder to mind my own business, I thought, as I put on my usual smoky eyeshadow. My attraction to Sawyer was bad enough, but his little girl was an angel too. Watching her smile and hearing her talk or build block towers or even eat her ‘cheece’ were like special little gifts, the kind of mini-joys you never knew you wanted in your life until you had them.
My reflection’s smile slipped.
Back off, girl. He’s got too much going on and you…
“I’m working on me.”
Another tiny thought whispered that maybe part of who I was here in SF might have something to do with Sawyer and Olivia, but I bottled it up quick.
I grabbed my old gray sweater and headed out.
Mel’s Drive-In on Geary Blvd was a hopping, 1950’s style hamburger joint that pleasantly assaulted the senses with its red and white décor, chrome details, and posters of the movie American Graffiti on every wall. The air smelt of French fries and milkshakes. On the jukebox, Chuck Berry sang about a country boy named Johnny B. Goode.
“I’m in love already,” I said, plopping down across from Max in a red-upholstered booth.
“With Sawyer the Lawyer?”
The question shocked me so much I nearly knocked my silverware into my lap.
“What? No. With this diner! It’s super cute.” I shot Max a dirty look. “Why on earth was that your first thought?”
Max held up his hands. He looked like he’d stepped out of one of the American Graffiti posters himself, with his gelled hair and black leather jacket. “You wear your heart on your sleeve, Dar,” he said with a grin. “I took a shot.”
I wrinkled my nose at him. “Well, I’m not. I’ve been in love hundreds of times. I know what it feels like. It’s not like that with Sawyer. It’s…not the same.”
Max raised his eyebrows.
“Never mind.” I flapped my hands at him. “There is no ‘with Sawyer’ anyway. I babysat for him earlier today, and left his place without making a fool of myself.” I held up my hands. “And here I am.”
“Here you are, looking radiant,” Max said, a dry grin on his lips. “Hence, my supposition that it was Mr. ‘the Lawyer’ who was responsible.”
I rolled my eyes. “Oh, stop. I met the guy a few days ago. Even I don’t fall that fast.”
“Right. You need a week, minimum.”
I chucked a sugar packet at him, as a waitress wearing a 50’s uniform with a cap on her head appeared. Her nametag read Betty.
Betty put a pen to her pad. “You ready, hon?”
“I’ll have a jack cheeseburger—extra pickles—fries, and a Coke with three cherries in it,” I said, and gave Max a scolding look. “And bring him something to put in his mouth before I get mad.”
Max laughed, and ordered a bacon cheeseburger, fries and a root beer.
“I thought you were all for me not getting involved with someone,” I said when Betty had gone.
“I don’t know,” Max said with a wistful smile. “I have my own good days and bad. Today wasn’t great. Your happiness seems more like something to boost up instead of tear down with a bunch of warnings.”
My heart ached a little, and I reached my hand across the table to hold his. “What happened?”
“Nah, it’s nothing,” Max said, smiling thinly. “I’m the sponsor. I’m supposed to have my shit together.”
“The meeting’s not until nine,” I said. “You’re not on the clock yet.”
“I’m always on the clock.”
“I just smashed the clock.”
He chuckled, then heaved a sigh and sat back in the booth. I put my hand in my lap and listened.
“My parents caught me with a guy when I was sixteen. So nine years ago. They didn’t take it well, especially considering they hadn’t known I was gay. They disowned me, kicked me out.” He shook his head, his blue eyes heavy. “God, my life is such a cliché.”
“It’s not,” I said. “It’s what happened to you. Go on.”
Max toyed with his fork and waited while Betty set down our drinks and hurried off again.
“I’d met this guy. Travis. He was a little bit older than me, in college at the University of Washington.”
“Seattle?” I asked. I popped a cherry into my mouth. “Is that where you’re from?”
Max nodded. “Travis was a good guy, too. He was good to me. N
ever tried anything; was willing to wait until I got older. We were both new to actually living as ourselves. We weren’t in a hurry to experience everything all at once. We just wanted to be together.”
“What happened?” I asked softly.
“My parents freaked out. They told Travis if he came near me they’d have him arrested for statutory rape, even though we hadn’t come close to actual sex. But it scared him. His first relationship with a guy and he’s being threatened with jail. He broke it off with me and I was devastated.”
Max wrenched himself from his story to look at me.
“I don’t know if I should be telling you this.”
“Why not?” I asked. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”
His smile flickered over his lips. “Yeah, we are.” He took a sip of root beer, wiped his mouth on a napkin. “Not much left to tell, actually. My parents’ concern about me being ‘violated’ by Travis was utter bullshit. They just wanted to punish him. And me.” He managed a grin. “My parents were trapped in another era. This era,” he said, indicating the restaurant. “You walked into their bedroom half-expecting to find twin beds, instead of one.”
I smiled for him, while inside I braced myself for something terrible.
“They forced me to break up with Travis, and then kicked me out of the house anyway.”
My eyes widened. “You were sixteen?”
He nodded. “I had no job, no place to live and a shit-ton of anger.” He lowered his voice, toyed with his straw. “I hooked up with some other homeless guys and they got me into selling drugs. Selling quickly became doing. I felt like I was carving up my soul into little pieces. I got caught a bunch of times, went to juvie a bunch of times. It’s so movie-of-the-week.”
“How did you survive?”
“I don’t know, to be honest. I hitchhiked down here and fell in with a new set of bad guys. They sold more than drugs and convinced me I could make a lot of money if I did the same.”
“You mean… prostitution?”
He nodded. “That’s drugs for you. They make you think fucking terrible ideas are really good ideas.”
“Or even better, not think at all.”
