On Monday morning the parking lot next to the Courthouse in Upper Marlboro, Maryland was nearly empty when I pulled into my assigned space. After taking the elevator to the second floor, I arrived in the office at my usual time, thirty minutes before my legal secretary. I was at my desk, holding a hot cup of coffee, when Susan Howard showed up, right on time.

“How was your weekend?” I asked through the open door.

“Okay, I guess. I just stayed home and cooked. Sunday, we celebrated our pastor’s twenty-fifth anniversary,” she said, taking a seat at her desk. “What did you and Douglas do? Go dancing or to that new restaurant in Bowie?” she asked.

I wanted to tell her the truth. Douglas and I had been married for ten years but, even though we slept in the same bed, we saw very little of each other over the weekend. The past two days had been no different than all the other weekends we’d not shared for the last five years. He played golf with his friends and I stayed home reading through the files for my upcoming murder case, scheduled to start next Wednesday. “We just grilled out on the patio and watched a lot of old movies.” I lied instead, smiling.

I had met Susan when I first came to interview for the job. She took me under her wings like I was one of her daughters. Our relationship extended beyond boss and worker, we were friends.

“Emily. You two thirty-five-year-old kids act like you’ve been married for fifty years.”

“Yes, we do,” I agreed as she closed the door between us.

And then I remembered. “Susan. Around nine when they open, could you remind me to call my doctor’s office?”

I needed to refill my birth control prescription and pick up my next three-month supply at the drug store. Friday morning, I took the last one but forgot to call the office. It didn’t seem pressing at the time because Douglas and I rarely had sex. The last time was two months ago.

Like it had been for the last five years, it was a perfunctory exercise—he letting me know he wanted sex by rubbing my breasts or hips when we were in bed. I let him know I was okay with it by touching his leg. I removed my panties, opened my legs and he put it in, then moved up and down until he came. And I turned over and went to sleep while he held me in his arms.

It hadn’t always been that way. We met in law school, became a couple after a few months and married right after we graduated. We both found jobs in the Washington Metro area. Douglas worked in DC for the federal government and I worked for the state of Maryland.

Our sex life once was like two rabbits, always in heat. It remained that way until our daughter was born and died two days later.

* * * * *

On her way to lunch, my boss, State’s Attorney Stella Bell, poked her head into my office while I was preparing my opening statement for the trial. She was near the end of her second term in office and was gearing up for the next election.

“Will you be ready Wednesday?” Bell asked with a smile.

I knew the question was a lot more serious than the smile indicated. “Yes,” I asserted. “I think we have everything covered. I’m working on my opening statement.”

“These spousal abuse defenses can be tricky to prosecute. It all depends on whether the jury likes the wife or the husband.”

“Well, the husband was a police officer. That should put us on the plus side,” I said, trying to show my confidence in the case.

“But he was an asshole. He killed two suspects while in pursuit, and had twelve citizen-complaints of aggressive behavior in ten years on the force.” A frown appeared on her face as she continued, “His wife called 9-1-1 three times reporting domestic violence. Each time the reporting officers talked her out of filing charges.” She shrugged her shoulders and opened her palms toward the ceiling. “Cops looking out for each other.”

“Why didn’t you drop it or make a deal?” I asked, knowing the answer to be the police union.

“We have to deal with these cops every day. We can’t look weak on a cop killer case. Especially with an election next year,” she said, nodded, and left.

I was assigned the case because I had the highest conviction rate in the office. Every attempt I had made to try and get replaced on this case had failed. I was uncomfortable trying this one because the defendant was six months pregnant.

The idea of sitting several feet from a pregnant woman for three to four weeks brought back a lot of unpleasant memories, memories I didn’t want to relive.

* * * * *

At the end of the day, I thought I had the basis for a sixty-minute opening. All I needed was to tighten it up and add some flowing language. Susan had left and I wasn’t excited about going home. As I rose to get another cup of coffee, my telephone rang. I knew it was my mother from the caller ID.

“What’s up, Mom?” I asked, happy to hear her voice but suspicious about the call. She rarely called me at the office and we’d talked for over an hour Saturday night. Our call had ended pleasantly.

“Mabel Brown died yesterday,” she yelled into my ear. My mother was sixty-two years old and her hearing had started to deteriorate.

“Leon’s mother?” My voice cracked. Damn, I wanted to scream.

“Yes. She had a heart attack after church and never regained consciousness.” They had attended the same church for as long as I could remember. At one time they were best friends.

“How is Leon?” I asked, knowing the news would devastate him.

“Because of the Navy, he can’t get home until Thursday. He’s on a sub somewhere at sea.”

“Is his wife there?” Could he need me after twelve years?

“I told you he was divorced,” she yelled. My mother had feared during my last two years in high school that Leon would get me pregnant, we would marry, and I would remain in Louisburg with a gaggle of kids.

“But I heard he remarried.” One of my high school girlfriends had told me after I probed her for information.

“Yes. And he’s divorced again.”

Leon wasn’t married! Why did this make me smile?

“Let me know when they schedule the funeral. I want to come down.” I needed to be there, to be there for Leon.

“The wake is Friday night at their house. And the funeral is Saturday at South Main Street Baptist Church.”

“I’ll leave Thursday morning and should get there sometime in the afternoon.” It was only a five hour drive.

“Will Douglas come?” she asked.

“I don’t think so. He has to work.” I didn’t want him to come with me.

“Are you working on my grandchild?” she asked, changing the subject.

A subject we had spent hours and hours discussing. I was an only child and my father had died a year after the death of my daughter. I had seen the glow in my mother’s eyes when she was around other young children in our family.

“We’re not ready yet,” I stated again.

“Five years is enough time to get ready,” she insisted.

We talked about other things going on in Louisburg until we ended the call ten minutes later.

I leaned back in my chair and thought about my relationship with Leon’s mother, which had been very positive at one time. She was always hinting that she expected us to produce a lot of grandkids for her. At times I had viewed her as my second mother. Things changed as Leon and I drifted apart during our senior year.

I’m not sure if she blamed me for the breach, or if this was the cause of the cooling down of the friendship between my mother and Leon’s. When I had returned home for my father’s funeral, she had greeted me warmly.

Tears began flowing from my eyes as my thoughts revisited those years so long ago.