A Good Mother

his partner have left with Estrada, then says to Shauna, “The witness has been less than forthcoming, and so I’ve decided to give him a little time-out to think things over.”
Shauna starts, “Your Honor—”
“Not to worry, Ms. Gooden. It’s all to your benefit.” Dars’s face has returned to its normal color and his smile is back in place. “Mr. Estrada will remain in jail until he decides to divulge the contents of his communications with Mrs. Rivera Hollis. I have no doubt by the time trial starts next week that he’ll be singing like a nightingale. Now, do we have any other business to take up?”
Abby and Shauna look at each other, say no at the same time.
“Well, then,” Dars says, as he picks up his gavel and bangs it down again. “This court is adjourned.”
Abby’s thoughts form and instantly break apart. She looks at Will, who is staring straight ahead of him as he watches Dars walk through the door to his chambers, then at Luz. Her hands are clasped, her eyes closed, her lips moving. When Abby leans toward her, she hears whispered incantations in Spanish.
Luz is praying.
Abby looks up, sees Shauna leaving the courtroom, and says to Will, “I’m going to try to catch her. Let’s meet back at the office.”
“Shauna.” Abby’s voice is too loud, echoing off the walls of the hallway. The reporters, who are milling around the elevator bank, now turn to look. A few of them call out to Abby and Shauna, asking for a word on the off chance either of them will make the stupid decision to break the gag order rule. She ignores them. “Can we?” Abby inclines her head toward the women’s bathroom. Shauna pauses for a moment, then walks toward her.
Once inside, Abby makes sure to lock the door. They stand on opposite sides of the sink outside the single stall, after Abby checks to make sure it is empty. Shauna looks at her steadily. “Well?”
Abby crosses her arms over her chest. “You can’t let Mr. Estrada go to jail. You know it’s wrong. Just—just withdraw your request for his testimony—”
“That’s what you brought me in here to say. Really?”
“Do you think,” Abby says fiercely, “that Dars would do what he just did to Jorge Estrada if he were a white man? And the way he treats both of us—” she draws her hand back and forth between them “—it’s outrageous. He is a racist, sexist, odious—”
Shauna holds up her hand. “Do not,” she says quietly, but with barely controlled rage, “compare yourself to me.”
“That’s not—”
Shauna shakes her head for Abby to be quiet. “When I worked with Dars back when he was in the US Attorney’s Office, he told me that the decision to hire me made him rethink his opposition to affirmative action. Because you know, I’m so competent and articulate.” She smiles mirthlessly. “Oh, and I went to Harvard, too, just so you know. Interesting, though, that Dars makes that connection only with you.”
“Do you think I enjoy that?” Abby can feel her voice rise in outrage. “That he attempts to imply that we are similar in any way? It makes me sick.”
“You are. You’re both white.”
“Jesus, Shauna. Come on.” When Shauna says nothing, just continues to stare back at her, Abby feels her face getting red. “Okay, look. I wasn’t comparing myself to you. I was just saying if we present a united front in the face of—”
“We are not a united front. We are exactly the opposite of that, in fact. And it is in my interest—the government’s interest—for Mr. Estrada to tell the court what he knows.”
Abby feels her stomach sink at the depth of her miscalculation, throws a Hail Mary. “You don’t think what is happening is wrong? You don’t think you have an obligation here?”
“I think a lot of things are wrong. Including your attempt to enlist me in this—” she pauses “—righteous cause of yours.” Shauna shakes her head. “I like you, Abby. I do. But we are adversaries. Not sisters.”

Wednesday, March 14, 2007
11:48 p.m.
Apartment 4F
Culver City, California
Will is careful closing the front door, and he takes off his shoes before stepping onto the parquet floor in the hallway.
But Meredith has waited up for him. He hears the television in the living room, then, “Hon, is that you?”
His heart falls, dread descending. His legs are still shaking and he stands against the wall for a moment, tensing the muscles in his calves and thighs until they are rigid.
When he walks into the living room, his wife hits the mute button on the remote and Jay Leno’s braying goes quiet. She pats the space beside her on the couch for him to sit, but he can’t bear to, dropping into the leather recliner opposite her. He sees her look of hurt confusion and quickly looks away, to his socked feet.
“You went to the gym again?” she asks.
Will runs a hand through his wet hair, nods, tries to smile, and stops when he feels the fresh scratch on the back of his neck. Not a lie, he has gone to the gym. He has been going to the gym every night for the past three weeks. But just to shower.
“That’s good,” she says encouragingly. “It’s supposed to help with the stress, right?”
That’s what he had told her in the beginning, although it had never been part of his routine when preparing for any of his other trials. He feels his mouth drying at the thought of adding to the growing pile of lies. “I’m sorry, babe,” he says, “about these last few weeks, I—”
To his horror, his voice cracks. The room momentarily blurs and he squeezes his eyes shut. Christ, what is happening to him?
Instantly, Meredith is by his side, kneeling, her face upturned, her hazel eyes fixed steadily on his. She puts her hand on his arm, rubbing it gently, and it takes every ounce of self-control he has not to flinch. “Will, honey, what is it? I