But she was regaining her self-control when she said, “Justice? Don’t bullshit me, I won’t stand for that. There’s no way you can tell me that I’m going to be all right when this is over.”

  He dropped his voice. “Come on, Bria, you’re a doctor. You know no profession can guarantee results. I can’t promise an acquittal any more than a doctor can guarantee a cure. But I’m going to be your advocate. Try with everything I’ve got.”

  It wasn’t enough. She could feel disaster looming over her. Bria wanted to hear straight talk. Nothing less. “Ben, I’m going to lose. I know that. You have to know that, too. Why are you here?”

  Ben didn’t respond immediately. He paused, took a breath. “Because it’s wrong, Bria. Everything that’s happening, what they’re doing to you. It couldn’t be more wrong. The day the story broke, I read about the case. I just had to come.”

  He wadded up a paper napkin, tossed it on his plate. “Like I told you, I can’t roll out guarantees. Except for this: Gonna do the best I can to make it right.”

  It was the best offer she’d receive. Bria knew that. “Okay. What now?”

  His voice was reassuring. “We’ll take it one step at a time. I’m going to talk to each of the State’s witnesses. Take a statement. Analyze what they say.”

  She thought about that. “Nova? You’re taking her statement?”

  “Got to. Her mother’s, too.”

  She opened her mouth, shut it. It hurt to think of inflicting distress on the girl, making her talk about the abortion. She wished she could prevent it. But it was inevitable. Bria had to let her lawyer do his job.

  They talked about his pretrial prep, and her struggle with the pain of waiting. She asked him to advise her, how she could best survive until the trial. He advised Bria to try to stay calm, keep up her day-to-day activities. Work, home. Go to church if that was part of her routine.

  “I don’t know about that,” she said. “I’m more comfortable in a seedy bar right now than sitting in a pew at the Baptist church.”

  Just then, the door opened, sending a burst of afternoon sunlight into the gloomy interior. The light blinded Bria for a moment. When her eyes adjusted, she saw that three men had sidled up to the bar. She knew one of them: Vic Fowler, a patient of hers. Though it was probably more accurate to classify him as a former patient.

  Vic Fowler and his friends appeared to be getting rowdy, from the way they were calling for drinks. Sounded like they were all half lit.

  “Let’s go,” she said, picking up her purse. It was time to leave. She just had that feeling.

  Ben paid the waitress, and they made their way to the door. They didn’t dawdle on the way out, but they weren’t quick enough.

  Fowler had spotted Bria, despite the dim lighting.

  “Goddamn! It’s Dr. Bria Gaines! You got a lot of nerve, showing your face in here.”

  Bria didn’t break stride. She pushed the door open and hustled outside, with Ben right behind her. When they were on the sidewalk, Ben took her arm as they hurried toward his car.

  But Vic Fowler followed. “Hey, Doc! Got a message for you. I think there ought to be the death penalty for what you done!”

  Ben held the key fob, unlocked the doors. When they reached the vehicle, Fowler ran up and blocked the passenger door, to prevent them from leaving.

  Bria tried to reason with him. “Vic, I can’t believe you’re acting like this. I’m your family doctor. I set your arm when you broke it. I cared for your wife during her pregnancy. I delivered your daughter.”

  “You’re not our family doctor anymore, you bitch. You won’t fool me again. You’re a cold-blooded murderer. A baby killer.”

  When he called her a killer, he advanced on her, coming in so close, she could smell his hot breath. She stepped back, stumbling when her feet hit the curb. Ben kept her from falling.

  Then he moved up to confront Fowler. Ben said, “Back off.” And he shoved Fowler away.

  The shove threw Fowler off balance for a moment; his arms flailed. When he recovered, he reared back and threw a punch that sent Ben face down onto the asphalt. Knocked Ben out cold.

  “No!” Bria fell to her knees on the pavement, checking the injury. His nose was gushing blood.

  Fowler stalked away, heading back to the bar. Before he ducked inside, he shouted a warning.

  “You can’t be no Christian, Dr. Gaines. Probably don’t believe in God. Do you believe in omens? Well, there’s your omen!”

  CHAPTER

  36

  Mary Stone

  BULLOCK COUNTY COURTHOUSE UNION SPRINGS, ALABAMA

  I hadn’t set a trial date yet. Too damn early, I opined. Dr. Bria Gaines had hired a new attorney: Benjamin Meyers, from Atlanta, Georgia. He’d only entered his appearance in court a couple months prior. It was a major case. He needed time to prepare.

  Especially since he was traveling to Union Springs from Atlanta. That’s a long-ass round trip. It was a first for me, having an out-of-state lawyer throw his hat in the ring for one of my small-town Alabama trials. Had to wonder. What exactly was the motivation?

  I’d done some investigation, just to satisfy my curiosity. Meyers was a native of Georgia, a graduate of Duke Law School. Went into a silk-stocking Atlanta firm after passing the bar but didn’t stay long. Made his name taking on high-profile cases—and winning them.

  A high-stepping white boy tearing down the highway to Union Springs, to defend a young Black woman? Maybe he was kindhearted, compassionate. A supporter of feminist causes.

  Or it might be, he was ambitious. Trying to enhance his reputation as a high-powered litigator.

  Could be something else. There was that, too.

  I intended to keep a sharp eye out.

  Because I knew that a case like the Gaines trial wouldn’t die down or fade from public attention. Even though we had no hearings scheduled, no motions being heard, no jury panel scheduled. State v. Bria Gaines was top of mind. The public imagination had been kindled, with emotions running high.

  It was an uneasy balance I had to strike. Needed to give the defense and the State adequate time to get their ducks in a row. But not too much time, lest public reaction spin out of control.

  That was the goal. I thought my balancing act was working reasonably well.

  I was wrong.

  I heard Luna knock. “Judge?” she called.

  “Yeah? Come on in.”

  She opened the door, stepped inside my office. She was holding her cell phone in her right hand. “Judge Mary, you got a minute? I need to show you something.”

  Luna came over beside the desk with her arm extended. Holding her phone so close to my face my eyes couldn’t focus on the screen. But I did hear the scrambled sound of people fussing with one another.

  I pushed back from my desk, wheeling my chair away from her. Didn’t mask my disapproval as I asked, “Is that social media? You know I don’t hold with that.”

  “Yes, it’s Twitter. X, I mean. Judge, I know you don’t usually follow it—”

  “Luna, I never look at it. No ‘usually’ to it. I pay no attention to that, don’t have the time or the patience to watch other people acting the fool.”

  She still had that damn phone aimed straight at me. “Really, Judge, you ought to—”

  “Girl, you know me better than this. Haven’t you heard me preach on the evils of TikTok and Twitter and Instagram? That stuff they post on there is toxic. It’s a time waster. People get all worked up, watching fights between folks they’ve never met, happening a thousand miles away.”

  She wouldn’t back off. “Judge Mary, it’s not miles away. This video on X, it was shot right here. In Union Springs.”

  That shook me. “What have you got there? What are you looking at?”

  She handed her cell phone to me, and this time, I took it. Looked down at a frozen image. I tapped the arrow with my thumb and the action started. Two people were having an argument, people I’d never seen before. A middle-aged white man held a big poster: ABORTION IS MURDER. A young white woman—college-age, maybe—was trying to grab the poster, pull it out of his hands. They struggled over the rectangle of poster board. After about half a minute, the girl shoved the protester, and he pushed back. They screamed at each other. I couldn’t make out every word that they were saying. But the subject of the argument wasn’t a mystery.

  The controversy over abortion rights had never been hotter, not in my lifetime. That dispute captured by the video might be playing out in any city in the United States. But the video hadn’t been filmed in some faraway place.

  I tapped the screen. “That’s Union Springs, for sure. They’re on the sidewalk in front of Bria Gaines’s medical office.”

  There was no mistaking it. Her name was still painted on the front window. The shiny black letters hadn’t been obscured by the red paint vandals had flung on the building’s exterior.

  Luna nodded. “That’s what I saw, too. Seemed like you needed to know about it. It’s not the only fight I’ve heard about. Did you know that Vic Fowler punched out Bria’s lawyer?”

  I did not know that. “Where?”

  “Outside of Uptown Barbecue.”

  “Shit.” I muttered the word, though I wanted to shout it. Had to exercise some self-control, in the heart of the courthouse. “No, I hadn’t heard that.”

  “Yeah, Bria had to take him to the hospital. His head hit the pavement, gave him a black eye and a bloody nose.”

  “Good Lord! Why am I the last person in town to hear this? That’s an assault on defense counsel. I have the duty to provide oversight for the trial of this case.”

  Well. I couldn’t pretend that it was a surprise, because I’d been expecting it. I capped my ink pen. My desk pad held a stack of motions I’d been reading, to enter rulings in other cases. I hastily returned the papers back to their respective file folders, shoved them to the side.

  “Luna, get counsel for both sides of State v. Gaines on the phone, arrange a time for a conference. We need to have a serious talk about damage control.”

  “Okay.” She started to head out, then lingered in the doorway. “One more thing, Judge. I heard it over at the sheriff’s office. Can’t swear that it’s true.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut. “Lord help me. What did you hear?”

  “The governor. He’s threatening to send in the National Guard.”

  Okay, that announcement threw me. I was speechless. Opened my eyes to see Luna standing in the doorway, awaiting my response. When I recovered, I said, “We’re going straight to hell. I don’t suppose the governor’s office tried to contact me? To give fair warning?”

  Only Luna could provide that answer. She shook her head.

  I took a breath. Released it. Turned to my keyboard, pulled up the court calendar. “Luna, after you make these calls, get back in here. We’re setting that case for trial before they burn this town to the ground.”

  CHAPTER

  37

  Luna hadn’t managed to reach the DA. His clerk said he was taking a break at LuLu’s, a diner about two blocks from the courthouse. He’d be back in a bit, she said.

  I wasn’t inclined to wait. Not in the mood.

  I decided to run Reeves down myself. In person. Get things settled.

  I shoved my laptop in my bright red leather briefcase, so I could access my court docket. I needed to move this train down the tracks, for the good of everyone involved.

  I stepped out the front door of the courthouse and walked straight into a cloud of smoke.

  Aurora Freeman, my former school lunch lady, was taking her morning cigarette break.

  I waved the smoke out of my face. “Aurora, why aren’t you in the parking lot? You know the mayor’s gonna complain if he sees you smoking on the front sidewalk again.”

  Aurora was unmoved. She flicked an ash. Sucked on the filter, inhaled the smoke deep before blowing it out. “I just wanted to see what’s going on out here.” She pointed down Prairie Street. “Looks like the circus is in town.”

  Aurora had the right of it. Just one block away from the courthouse, the sidewalks were crowded with people, swirling around the storefronts and surging into the street. Traffic was at a standstill. Drivers were laying on their horns, trying to get the crowd to part. No use.

  Aurora pointed with her cigarette. “That’s a sight, ain’t it? I can’t remember a crowd like this since the Christmas parade.”

  “That’s not a crowd, Aurora. It’s a mob. You should get back inside.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’m heading over to LuLu’s. I hear Reeves is holed up there.”

  Aurora fired up a fresh cigarette, lighting it with the cherry from her last one. “Hope you got your body armor on.”

  “Coming through!” A woman’s voice. I looked to my left. A young mom was trying to steer a baby stroller past me. It was a two-seater, baby in front, toddler in back. I took a half step to the right, but not fast enough.

  “I got babies here!” the woman shouted. Her oversized diaper bag clipped me in the chest. She seemed amped up, on a mission. As she passed by, I caught the lettering on the back of her T-shirt. LET LIFE HAPPEN.

  I turned to Aurora. “I mean it. Get back inside.”

  She tossed her cigarette onto the pavement and crushed it with her heel. “You watch yourself, Judge Mary. These people ain’t here to sing ‘Silent Night.’”

  I tightened my grip on my briefcase and headed down the street. Within half a block, I was surrounded by people, jostling me, crowding me, carrying me along like a stick in a stream. I couldn’t have turned around if I wanted to.

  I looked from side to side for people I knew. Didn’t see anybody. Just a mix of unfamiliar faces, more white than Black. Some toted Bibles. Some carried posters.

  BEFORE YOU WERE BORN, I CONSECRATED YOU said one. Another just said ISAIAH 49:1.

  A thickset man in front of me held a little boy on his shoulders. The lettering on the back of the boy’s T-shirt said FEARFULLY & WONDERFULLY MADE. Up ahead, I could hear a woman starting to whip a contingent into a chorus of shouts. “Life is precious! Save the babies!” I saw a row of vans parked by the curb. All from Christian churches. Some from Alabama, but most from out of state. Mississippi, Georgia, Louisiana. All over the South.

  I didn’t like crowds. Never a fan of big concerts. A mosh pit was my worst nightmare. And this was starting to feel like one. I was getting claustrophobic. My heart was racing. I could hardly breathe. And the farther I went, the worse it got. I wasn’t even moving under my own power anymore. I was just getting swept along.

  Somebody stepped on my heel. My right shoe came off. I shouted out, “Hey! Wait! Hold up!” But the crowd just kept moving, and me along with it. That shoe was gone. I grabbed my briefcase in both hands and held it against my chest. I started swinging my elbows, trying to make some room. But the crowd didn’t pay me any mind. It had a mind of its own.

  I realized that I had no power here. No robe or gavel. These people didn’t know me from Adam. And they sure as hell didn’t give a damn what I thought.

  I spotted LuLu’s about a half block up. Suddenly there was a man with a bullhorn behind me. The damn thing squeaked and squawked when he turned it on. Then he started shouting through it. “Human rights begin before birth! Human rights begin before birth!”

  The people all around me took up the chant. I was the only silent one in the jostling mass. The energy was now at a whole different level. It was no longer just a moving crowd. It was a march.

  I turned to the side, trying to avoid the blast of the bullhorn. With one shoe missing, I was off balance. I tripped over somebody else’s feet and fell forward. My head hit somebody’s hip on the way down. My briefcase landed hard on the pavement and I landed right on top of it.

  “Stop!” I shouted, as if anybody could hear me.

  Work boots and running shoes stomped by inches from my face. For a second, I thought I was about to be trampled to death. When I pressed my right hand onto the asphalt to push myself up, somebody stepped on it. I let out a howl. Felt like my fingers were broken.

  At that moment, I felt a strong arm around my waist, and then somebody scooped me up and set me on my feet. It was a muscular white man, with tattooed arms and a thick beard. He stood like an oak, holding me in front of him as the mass surged around us. He leaned down and spoke right into my ear. “You okay?”

  I nodded, out of breath. My knees were banged up. My blouse was dirty and torn.

  When my rescuer stepped back, he kept his hands on my shoulders, steadying me. I could see a silk-screened image on his T-shirt. A Confederate flag draped over a crucifix, as if Jesus had left it there.

  “Can you walk?” he asked.

  “I’m fine. Thanks.”

  “Praise the Lord!” he said.

  “Praise the Lord!” I said right back. At least that was one thing we could agree on.

  I thanked him again, then shoved my way through the crowd until I was huddled in the entryway of LuLu’s. Through the glass door, I could see Reeves inside at a table, talking to two of his associates. I couldn’t imagine what he’d say when he saw me in this kind of shape.

  As I tried to collect myself, I watched the marchers stomp past, waving their signs, chanting their chants, blocking out everything that was familiar on Prairie Street.

  I was born in this town. Grew up here. But I didn’t know it anymore.

  Union Springs, Alabama, had gone batshit crazy.

  CHAPTER

  38

  Cocheta Bass

  HAPPY HAVEN NURSING HOME UNION SPRINGS, ALABAMA

  Cocheta Bass was working two jobs these days.

  During the ten months of the school year, she was employed as a school nurse at Union Springs Middle School, where she screened adolescents for illness and treated injuries of all sorts. Served up no-nonsense maternal advice, along with bandages and disinfectants and sanitary napkins.

  And there was that one time. When she landed in the middle of a student’s major life crisis. Cocheta was still paying a high price for that decision.