* * *

  Genevieve’s phone was ringing. Phone. Wake up, Genevieve. The phone. She dragged her eyes open and squinted at the clock. Seven fifteen. Not outrageously early, but still, who called before noon on the weekend?

  “Hello?” she mumbled, then tried to cough the sleep away from her throat.

  “Why were you there last night?” Tori demanded.

  “Um…hi. Good morning, Tori.” Great. This certainly wasn’t what she hoped for when she imagined talking to Tori again. “How did it go last night?”

  “You tell me, Genevieve. You were there. And then you disappeared.” Tori practically choked on Genevieve’s name. Was it from anger or something else?

  Genevieve sat up and leaned her shoulders against the headboard, accidently hitting her head against it much harder than she wanted to. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to postpone this discussion until after I’ve had some coffee?”

  The pause on the other end went on so long that Genevieve had to remind herself not to doze off again.

  “I’ve had three cups of coffee already. I never went to sleep.” Her voice cracked with the admission, and Genevieve’s heart cracked right along with it.

  “I’m sorry,” Genevieve said, and she wasn’t sure how much more she should say. She never had much of a filter this early in the morning, and she couldn’t decide if that would be a blessing or a curse in this instance. “I didn’t mean to… Wait, why couldn’t you sleep?”

  Tori exhaled heavily. “Look, Genevieve, I know that the legal community is small, and we’re bound to run into each other. I wasn’t sure how I’d feel, seeing you again. But now I know—it’s too hard to be near you and not be with you. I’d rather not see you for a while. So, if possible, please don’t…be places where you know I’m going to be.” The request seemed torn from her throat.

  Genevieve rubbed her eyes. On the way home the night before, she’d practiced a little speech to give to Tori, but Tori didn’t seem to be in the mood to hear it. And besides, she didn’t really want to have that conversation over the phone.

  “I thought your idea was really brilliant. I’ve been to hundreds of events like that, and this is the first time I’ve seen someone give up the microphone for a more interactive, community-building experience.”

  “Coalition building,” Tori corrected, mumbling.

  “How do you think it went?”

  “We didn’t have as much time at the end as I had wanted, for people to report back to the group what they’d discussed and learned. But we still had some great stories. And some of the women have formed new listservs and, I guess, also monthly potlucks.”

  “Look at you, Tori. Making actual change in the world,” Genevieve said, unable to keep the pride from her voice.

  “Don’t do that,” Tori said, softly.

  “Hmm? What? Don’t do what?”

  “Don’t act like we still mean something to each other, or you care, or—”

  Genevieve sat up in bed and tossed the covers off. “Tori, I will always care. We will always mean something to each other.”

  “So have you changed your mind?” Tori said, and her voice cracked.

  Genevieve paused. If she was going to tell her she still loved her and, yes, she wanted Tori back, now was the time. But as soon as the prospect became real, Genevieve forgot her speech. Yes, she loved Tori, but they were doing more fighting than anything else before Genevieve ended things, and it wasn’t at all clear to her things had changed—that they wouldn’t fall back into the same patterns and both end up unhappy again. She thought of the way Tori’s voice had sounded that last night in the wine bar. She never wanted to make her sound like that again.

  “I’ll take that as a no. I’m going to hang up now, Genevieve. Good-bye.”

  “Tori, let me explain—” Genevieve said, but the line went dead.

  Genevieve dropped her phone onto her pillow, leaned her head against the headboard, and closed her eyes.

  She could go over there. Try to explain in person. But they would either fight, or end up in bed together having not worked anything out, or both.

  After rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, she picked up her cell phone and dialed Jamie. His “hello” sounded as groggy as she imagined hers had a few minutes earlier. “Morning, Jamie. So, about that run …”

  Chapter 27

  When she’d given her interview to They’ve Got Issues six months ago, before this year’s SCOTUS session began, Victoria hadn’t expected to be back so soon. And she certainly hadn’t anticipated how different things would be. She should probably be relieved that her personal circumstances were no longer going to be a topic of conversation.

  As she watched the technical staff bustling about the studio, she took a sip of her tea and returned it to a saucer on the table between her chair and Vishal’s empty one, next to a copy of her book, International Law and its Implications on the US Judiciary. Not exactly a catchy title, but then again, as a celebrity in her field, she didn’t really need one to sell books. And the title was apt. Her editor had suggested some other ones, but they didn’t really suit the subject matter, and in the end Victoria’s original title had stuck.

  The book hit the shelves last week, and she’d grudgingly agreed when her publisher set her up with three different interviews to promote it. In addition to They’ve Got Issues, she’d be talking to Terry Gross of NPR next week and stopping by Good Morning America the week after that. Victoria had given her publisher a lot of pushback on the last one—she knew the Court police wouldn’t be overly fond of her hanging out in Times Square. After multiple phone calls between Pollard and her editor, they’d decided on some sort of schedule of events and security detail. Eventually they would even share it with her, and maybe she’d feel like less of a puppet.

  She took another sip of tea, endured some fussing from the makeup crew, and reviewed talking points in her head. This interview promised to be much easier than her last one since she wasn’t the subject; her book was.

  A voice came through the sound system, asking for a sound check, and when someone asked her to test her microphone, she said, “In a globalized world, it is essential that the US judiciary weigh international law when reaching domestic decisions. On issues ranging from the death penalty to—”

  “Thank you, Justice Willoughby,” the unseen technician said through the sound system. “Someone get Vishal out here to check his mic, please. He’s late.”

  Some commotion to her right caught Victoria’s attention, and she turned to see Vishal coming from offstage, his jacket in his hand, dripping. “—find me another, or else I can change suits entirely,” he said.

  Vishal took his seat next to her, and an assistant swapped out the coffee-stained jacket for a new one.

  “Victoria!” he said, holding out his hand to her.

  When they shook hands, it felt like greeting an old friend, and she marveled yet again at his ability to put people at ease.

  “Lovely to see you again, Vishal,” she said.

  “Thanks for giving me some fascinating reading material,” he said. “Has Kellen read this? I’d love to see the different shades of red his face must have turned when he got to the part about—”

  “One minute, everyone!” someone called out, and the energy in the room immediately transitioned from frantic to quiet. Vishal winked at her, sat back in his chair a bit, and smoothed his jacket. Victoria took one final sip of tea before: “We’re live in five, four, three…”

  The show’s theme song blared, and they were off. Victoria relished the opportunity to talk with someone knowledgeable not only about US and international laws, but also the inner workings of the Court and its politics. She had to bite her tongue more than once, cautioning herself not to speak out of turn about the things the justices shared behind closed doors. They went through the book chapter by chapter, and Vishal concluded by asking her what she was going to write next.

  “An e-mail to my editor telling her I’m taking a year off!” Victoria said, and Vishal laughed.

  She was about to thank him for having her, when he resituated in his chair and the tone in the room seemed to change. Her right hand was resting on the arm of her chair, and she squeezed it, bracing herself.

  “The last time we talked, Justice Willoughby, I asked you if you thought your relationship with Genevieve Fornier would change your respective professional careers. Mere months later, Ms. Fornier stepped down from a case that seemed very personal to her, apparently so that you could vote on it. Have you two worked out how you’re going to negotiate your careers going forward so as to avoid this kind of conflict? And, I have to ask, how did that particular case affect your relationship?”

  Victoria closed her eyes for the briefest of moments. “Well, Vishal, it ended it.”

  His eyes widened. “I wasn’t aware of that,” he said not unkindly.

  Evidently, the discretion Victoria always displayed when it came to her personal life was working, and the media was way behind the times.

  “Yes, well, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m kind of a private person,” Victoria said.

  Vishal laughed. “So, then, can we expect Genevieve to argue in front of the Court again?” he asked, his eyebrows knitted.

  Victoria felt the color drain from her face, but she managed not to wince. “I don’t know, Vishal. I think this is uncharted territory.”

  “Last time you were here, I expressed concern that your romance might have an adverse effect on civil rights cases in this country. I apologize if that was a bit thoughtless on my part. My condolences that the reverse came to pass.”

  “Yes, well, as much as I’d like to blame the rules of professional conduct for lawyers, I think this one’s on me.”

  If possible, Vishal’s eyes grew even wider. It was perhaps the most personal statement Victoria had ever publicly made, but somehow saying it out loud didn’t fill her with regret or make her palms sweat. “We all make mistakes,” she said and shrugged, but she knew her voice sounded sad. “So,” she cleared her throat, “I can’t really say if she’ll be arguing in front of the Court again. But I can tell you that my book is available in bookstores everywhere, and also through online retailers.”

  Vishal laughed good-naturedly at her transparent change of subject and turned to the camera. “And even if you’re not a legal scholar, it’s a great read. Excellent stories and events from history that I’d never known about before. And Victoria’s writing style is accessible and refreshingly funny.” He turned back to her. “Justice Willoughby, wonderful to have you back on the show. You’re welcome any time.”

  “Thank you for having me, Vishal.” They shook hands, the theme song blared again, and someone offstage announced, “We’re off!”

  * * *

  Later that evening, Victoria sat at the table on her back patio drinking a glass of wine. The June sun was flirting with the horizon, and a slight breeze tickled the leaves in the trees. Her tomato and basil plants were starting to grow, and the daffodils were already on the back end of their blooms.

  She’d moved here when she’d first started out as a judge on the DC Court of Appeals. In the past decade, she’d come to love this house—the quiet of it, the space. The backyard with her garden and the hummingbird feeder, and the hammock she’d never once used. The kitchen, which couldn’t have had a more functional layout or better appliances.

  But the house was big. Three bedrooms, three baths. A huge dining room table where five chairs sat empty every night unless her brother and his family came over for dinner, which almost never happened. It was way more space than one person needed. She had always thought it was perfect, but maybe it hadn’t served her very well after all.

  She needed a change. She heard Genevieve’s voice in her head and revised her statement: she needed to change. After a trip inside to refill her wine glass and grab her laptop, she returned to her patio table and started searching for real estate in the DC area.

  Maybe she should live in a hipper neighborhood. Some place where new restaurants were regularly opening and college kids drank beer. She did a quick search for properties in Foggy Bottom, where, according to this particular website, the median age was twenty-eight and only 2 percent of families had children. The listings overflowed with apartments and condos but no houses that interested her. A search for Cleveland Park brought up a lot of places that looked ideal for Genevieve and not at all appealing to Victoria.

  She sighed and searched for Georgetown. There were a dozen places that she found attractive, especially a $6.8 million house on the Potomac. Okay, perhaps that one was a teensy bit out of her price range. She was about to close the browser when she glanced at the final property on her screen.

  It was a white townhouse with a red brick driveway leading to a two-car garage. The shutters were black, and the front door was red. The pictures of the kitchen had her practically drooling, and the sunroom facing the backyard looked perfect for reading the morning paper. There was even a back patio that would suit the table she was sitting at right now.

  It was walking distance to everything but the Metro, which she couldn’t take anyway. Imagine the look Pollard would give her if she suggested it.

  Pictures could be misleading, of course, but from everything she’d seen so far, she’d love it. And it would probably be a lot healthier for her to be less isolated.

  She wasn’t ready to up and move—not by a long shot—but doing a little research might be fun. She fired off a quick message to the agent listed on the posting to schedule a viewing.

  The wine was delicious, and the sky was almost orange as she leaned back in her chair, feeling proud of herself.

  She was about to head back inside when her phone rang with a number she didn’t recognize. A quick glance at her laptop confirmed it was the agent’s phone number, and she accepted the call. After going back and forth on dates and times, they landed on the end of the week for a viewing—Friday at 7:00 p.m.

  As she hung up the call, the significance of that day and time wasn’t lost on Victoria, and she wondered if Genevieve still swam then. She suspected they’d both been studiously avoiding any appearances at their mutual fitness center at their former rendezvous time.

  As she headed back inside to clean the kitchen and settle down with a book, she wondered what else they’d both given up because of their split.

  Chapter 28

  Wrapping up the Court’s session had never felt this stressful or frustrating. There was an unusual amount of last-minute jockeying as justices suddenly refused to sign opinions they’d previously given verbal agreement that they’d join. Clerks were scrambling to write concurring opinions, and the outcome in some cases was as yet undetermined.

  On Tuesday night, Victoria typed away at her laptop in her home office, trying to tweak the wording on her voting rights decision in order to keep Jamison on board after he waffled. She revised the same section for the eighth time that evening, then pushed back her chair and rubbed her face. After sighing and squaring her shoulders, she looked at the document open on her computer… and her shoulders slumped. She just didn’t have it in her to rework this opinion one more time. Closing her laptop gave her much more satisfaction than any of the work she’d done that night, and she turned off the lights in the office.

  She was heading upstairs when her cell phone beeped. Glancing at the screen while she climbed, she saw a text from Genevieve, and her feet forgot how to navigate steps. Communicating in any way with Genevieve left her tied in knots, and it would be best for her mental health if she avoided it altogether. But she never did have much strength of will in this area.

  After stumbling into her room and perching on her bed, Victoria opened the text message:

  I’m choosing to be flattered and amused by these.

  There was a link to a website. Victoria adjusted her glasses and tapped the URL, which opened a Wordpress website for an undergraduate course at Georgetown called Media and Law. Naturally, Professor Dating My Student and Interrupting Your Dinner Date would make his course website public—the man had serious boundary issues.

  She scrolled down his class syllabus to the link for week thirteen, “Romance in the Legal Community: The Curious Case of Victoria Willoughby and Genevieve Fornier,” and almost gagged. Steeling herself, she tapped the link.

  Your assignment for this week is to propose a media representation of the relationship between Willoughby and Fornier. This representation can take the form of a TV pilot, a music video, a graphic novel—you get the picture. Think creatively, but as with all your assignments, you’ll be assessed on how well you incorporate our course material and themes. The proposal should be 2-3 pages.

  Below the assignment prompt were the files students had submitted.

  Oh, for crying out loud. This should be interesting. Victoria clicked on the first student’s submission, which was a proposal called SCOTUS Love, the Musical. Victoria was to be played by an alto and Genevieve by a soprano. Rolling her eyes, she texted Genevieve:

  What’s your vocal range?

  The student called for the musical to end with a rousing group number where all nine justices sang on the steps of the Court. The student obviously had an idealized view of the harmony between justices, both metaphorically and musically.

  Her phone beeped with Genevieve’s reply:

  Oh, I can definitely hit the high notes in “A good lawyer knows the law, a great lawyer knows the judge.”

  Victoria smiled as she wrote back:

  Really? Because I always imagined you as an alto.

  As soon as she saw Genevieve’s reply, Victoria laughed before she could help herself.

  I’m flexible.

  Victoria clicked on the next student’s submission, a Lifetime movie entitled Lawyer’s Appeal, and snorted. The opening shot was of a redheaded woman sitting in a bay window, looking mournfully out at the trees beyond while rain dripped down the panes, accompanied by Yanni.

  Genevieve texted again.