A Good Mother

Jesus Christ, Abby. This is not normal. Maybe you need to see someone. A professional.”
“Because I want to do my job? Having a baby hasn’t changed me, Nicky. I am still the same person. None of this should come as a surprise. You knew, you have always known, what you were getting into with me.”
Nic puts his fingers to his temples, starts massaging the skin around his eyes. “Your life is different now, Abby. We are a family. You can’t—you can’t expect things to go back to the way they were before. You’re a mother now.”
“Do you understand that when you say that,” she says fiercely, “I feel like I am being erased? Like you are erasing me?”
Nic reaches across the table again but Abby sits back, abruptly moving out of his reach. “Look. I love you. I’ve been in love with you since the first day I saw you. You know that.”
“Since the first day you saw me in court. That’s who I am.”
“There are other parts of who you are and they are just as important. You’ve gotten to experience them. With him. With me. It’s been good for you. Healthier. You were—”
“Drinking, I know.”
“Drinking so much. You don’t want to end up like—”
“Don’t.” She puts up her hand. “I know why my father is dead.”
They sit in silence for a minute. Abby says, “This is how you show me you love me. I don’t want a diamond ring or a white dress. I don’t want happily-ever-after. I want to try this case. I want you to make that possible for me.”
“Don’t do this, Abby. There are half a dozen people in your office who would do a great job, including, no doubt, this JAG guy. It doesn’t have to be you.”
She shakes her head. “I’ve tried to tell myself that, too. But I actually think the opposite. I think I can try this case in a way no one else can.”
“Why?” Nic’s voice is cold.
Abby looks down at Cal, passes her fingers lightly over his soft downy head. I love you, darling boy. She wonders if he can hear the unspoken thought, if he knows that the love she feels is deep and desperate and yet driving her away.
“Because I’m a brand-new mother, too. The way Luz was, those few times that I met her—I feel that now. She killed her husband in this horrible, violent way, but she did it to save her baby.”
Nic shakes his head. “You have no idea why she killed her husband.”
“I know that’s the story the jury needs to believe. Before I had Cal, I understood that story as a legal theory. Now I understand it in my bones.”

Monday, December 11, 2006
10:25 a.m.
Office of the Federal Public Defender
Los Angeles, California
Will raises his hand to knock on the closed door, hears arguing, and lowers it. A woman’s voice, raised and angry. Paul, answering her, in his distinct West Indies accent; measured, but testy. Will strains to hear while keeping a respectable distance from the door. A few words come through. Her: “My case,” “you can’t,” “fucking ridiculous.”
Paul: “careful consideration,” “client’s best interests,” “already decided.”
Will waits another minute, then two. The voices continue. He considers leaving, but Paul does not like people to be late for meetings and Will’s excuse—that he delayed after eavesdropping—is not a good one.
He knocks.
A pause and then, “Come in, Will.”
When he opens the door, Will sees an elfin woman standing over Paul’s desk, her dark hair pulled back into a ponytail, her heart-shaped face pale and devoid of makeup. She’s wearing a flowy long-sleeved tunic top that catches on her small belly, her stick-figure arms and legs made even more stick-figure-like by contrast. Her head swivels in his direction, the gaze warning and accusatory.
Will gives her his warmest wide-open smile before turning smartly to face Paul. “Sir, I’ve just come from Mrs. Rivera Hollis’s arraignment.”
Paul, too, has been standing, but now he sits, gesturing for Will to take one of the two empty chairs opposite. Will sees the flash of gold cuff links, the expensive watch. Paul is neither vain nor materialistic, but everything he owns is of exceptionally fine quality.
“Yes, thanks. We’ll get to that in a minute. Will, this is Abby. Abby Rosenberg.”
Will blinks. This is Abby Rosenberg? Never in a million years had he thought that she would look like some pissed-off chick who thought you’d jumped the line at Starbucks. And her maternity leave had just started. What was she doing here?
“Pleasure to meet you, ma’am.” He steps forward, extending his hand. “And congratulations to you and to Mr. Rosenberg—” Too late, he looks at Paul, who shakes his head slightly. Will stops, looks at her bare hands, and remembers. “I mean, congratulations to you and your—the—to the both of you on the birth of your—” he pauses, decides to guess “—daughter.”
“Son.” She still looks genuinely angry, but also the tiniest bit pleased that he is stepping in it so royally and repeatedly.
Will looks at Paul, but there is no help coming his way. “Well, that’s really, I mean, that’s really terrific.”
“Yeah,” she says flatly, “it’s just great.”
Paul coughs. “Abby’s partner, Nic Mulvaney, is a US marshal. Former military, like you. I bet you’d have a lot in common.”
Abby’s glare is so withering, Will is amazed that Paul isn’t feeling the physical impact. But Paul, as ever, seems unperturbed. “I was just bringing Abby up to date about your work on the case now that you’ve taken it over because of her maternity leave.”
“Which is over. I’m returning next Monday.”
Will tries not to react visibly to this announcement. One of the few perks of working at the federal public defender’s office was that having a baby meant all those months of paid time off. For the dads, too, although he wasn’t sure if any of them actually took it.
Paul smiles, but it looks effortful. “So far ahead of schedule. It’s been—what—six weeks?”
“Forty-six days.”
“Well, we’re delighted to have you back, of course, if that’s