“Isn’t this the scene of domesticity?” Rita Jane asked.

“I love a man who can cook,” Dan said. “There are definitely benefits to getting shot. I haven’t had to cook a meal for myself in three months.”

“Don’t get any ideas about doing that again,” Rita Jane said.

“I keep telling him he doesn’t have to get shot for me to cook for him. I’ll cook for him even if he’s healthy,” Dave said.

“Isn’t he the best?” Dan said with a dreamy expression on his face.

“Do you want me to take him now? I’ve just got one more load to move out of Amanda’s.”

“We’ll keep him as long as you’d like,” Dan said. “He’s happy right where he is.”

Rita Jane dragged the cart stacked with boxes up the elevator. “It’s my last load,” she said to Claudia who was unloading groceries. “You’re stuck with me now.”

“What are you talking about — stuck with you? I’m the luckiest woman alive. Where’s Danny?”

“He’s with the boys. He’s fast asleep on Dan’s chest and I hated to disturb him. Plus, Dan didn’t really want him to go.”

“Does that mean we have the afternoon free?”

“If we want it,” Rita Jane said. “What did you have in mind? A matinee? A hike? It’s a beautiful day outside.

“I was thinking of something that we could do at home — a little indoor recreation shall we say?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Rita Jane said. They took each other’s hands and went upstairs leaving the groceries and boxes to be unpacked later.

“I think my water broke,” Claudia announced calmly.

Rita Jane ran to the nurse’s station yelling, “Help, help,” as though there was a true emergency, and not just another pregnant woman going into labor.

Audrey and Rita Jane stood on either side of Claudia, holding her hands, rubbing her back and giving her words of encouragement. Rita Jane was officially the coach, but it was soon clear that Audrey, having already had four children, knew how to anticipate what Claudia needed better than Rita Jane.

Rita Jane mostly held Claudia’s hand and let her squeeze as tight as she needed to during the contractions. Claudia’s cries of pain disturbed Rita Jane deeply. When a particularly bad pain struck, Rita Jane ran into the hallway looking for someone to help Claudia. The nurse offered an epidural, but Claudia didn’t want any painkillers. She bravely endured each contraction, and Rita Jane felt pride and love as she watched her partner endure the pain.

After several hours of active labor, Claudia fell asleep. Rita Jane offered to go to the cafeteria for coffee. She stopped by the ICU. Dave was alone with Dan. He left Dan to go talk to her.

“She’s in labor,” Rita Jane said.

“How’s it going?”

“It’s pretty awful. I don’t know what’s normal. How long can this go on?”

“With a first baby, a long time.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Well, I’ve heard of labor lasting up to three days. But they wouldn’t let Claudia go on that long. At her age, she’s a high-risk. If she doesn’t deliver within 24 hours, they’ll perform a cesarean.”

“Do you mind if I go in for a minute?” Rita Jane asked. Dave nodded, and slumped down in the chair, looking as though he would fall asleep right there.

Rita Jane sat down next to her friend and took his hand. Keyed up on adrenaline, she felt both exhausted and hyper-alert.

“It’s started, Dan,” she whispered. “She’s having the baby. God I wish you were with us. You have so much more patience than me. I just want this to be over with. I want all of this to be over with. I want to wake up and have the baby here, and have you sitting up in bed, all better, holding the baby.”

She stroked his arm, avoiding the tubes connecting him to life. “You better not die on me,” she said, more angrily than she had intended. “I mean it.”

She concentrated with all her might on the image of Dan, alive, healthy, happy, holding the child. With all the power at her disposal, she willed her friend to live. Sitting on the chair next to him, clasping both of her hands around his, she bent her head and prayed.

She returned to the delivery room feeling somewhat calmer. Claudia was still sleeping intermittently. Rita Jane sent Audrey out to take a break, and settled in next to her partner, waiting. The doctor had also left the room to check on another patient.

She must have dozed herself, because the next thing she remembered was Claudia saying, “The baby’s coming.” And sure enough, there was the top of the head, and the doctor was telling Claudia to push and Audrey was holding Claudia’s hand and reminding her to breath, and Rita Jane was looking on in amazement. Claudia rallied a last burst of strength pushing as hard as she could, and the next thing they knew there was a bloody, screaming, baby boy. All three women gasped at the child. Rita Jane had been convinced that it was going to be a girl, but then she realized a boy was perfect. She looked at Claudia who said, “Now we know what to name the baby.”

Rita Jane nodded.

The doctor cut the umbilical cord and passed the baby to Claudia who held him close to her heart. “Hello, Daniel Canavan Connors Spencer. Welcome to the world.”

Rita Jane left the delivery room to tell her family and friends, who had been anxiously awaiting the news. “It’s a boy,” she said proudly. He’s beautiful, and Claudia is fine, too.”

Her mother hugged her. “Congratulations. That is great news. Now you need to go get some rest.”

“I need to go tell Dan first,” Rita Jane said. “Will you come with me?”

As they walked through the maze of corridors between obstetrics and ICU, Rita Jane realized there would never be a better time to tell her mother about Claudia.

“Mom, you know before when I said that I wasn’t a lesbian. Well, I’m still not sure if I am, but Claudia is my girlfriend. Or partner. Whatever you want to call it.”

“We figured that out, dear.” Leigh said. “We didn’t believe you were going to raise a child with a stranger.”

“But I didn’t lie to you,” Rita Jane insisted. “At your house I was telling you the truth. We weren’t together then.”

Her mother murmured, “Uh huh.”

“I swear to God, I wasn’t lying,” Rita Jane said, but realized she didn’t have the energy to argue further. “It doesn’t matter. I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me, too.”

They arrived at Dan’s room. He looked amazingly peaceful despite the tubes and machines that connected him to life. Dave saw her through the glass window and left the room.

“It’s a boy,” she said. “We named him Daniel Canavan Connors Spencer.”

“That’s a wonderful name,” Dave said.

“Do you mind if I tell him?” Rita Jane asked.

“Of course not,” Dave said.

Rita Jane crossed herself reflexively before entering Dan’s room, a gesture that startled her. She sat down next to his side and took his hand.

“I’ve got good news,” she began. “Claudia had the baby. It’s a boy. We named him after you.” She fought back tears. “Listen Dan, you have got to get better. We need you, and your son needs a father. You have absolutely got to get better. Do you hear me?”

Dan lay unresponsive.

“I mean it Dan. I absolutely will not have you go and die on me right now. You’ve got to get better.”

The tears were close to coming. She stood up to leave and when she bent over to kiss him, she could have sworn she saw his eyelids flickering.

“There are people who are paid to do that momma,” she said, laughing at her mother.

“I feel guilty just sitting here,” Rita Jane said. “Can I do anything to help?”

“Help Claudia change into a clean shirt and shorts. And do something with her hair. It looks wild.”

Audrey had gone around to other patients’ rooms asking to borrow their chairs so had managed to squeeze six into the small space, but they had to keep the door to the room open to do so.

At 3:30 they turned on C-SPAN 1, to make sure they didn’t miss any of the news conference. A reporter was interviewing Ken Parker who said that Weymouth had never called for a press conference without disclosing the topic. Parker guessed that he was going to announce a special piece of legislation related to the shooting, such as making it a federal offense to kill someone because of their testimony at a congressional hearing.

Dan’s father had managed to convince Dave to leave Dan’s side, but only on the condition that Dan’s mother would call immediately if anything happened. Paul and Aimee had also come by to visit Dan, so they tagged along, too. Leigh had come to visit Rita Jane and Claudia.

At 4:00, the camera panned to an image of the Capitol Building, and then showed a throng of reporters with cameras and notebooks in hand. Weymouth stepped forward to the microphone.

“Good afternoon. Thank you for coming. I have prepared a brief statement that I will read and then answer questions,” he said his face expressionless.

“Two days ago, after testifying at an oversight hearing in my committee, Dan Canavan was shot outside the Rayburn House Office Building by someone who claimed he did not like his position on gay issues. Dan Canavan is an extremely talented advocate and lobbyist and cares passionately about protecting the civil and human rights of all people.

“I got to know Dan when he was lobbying the SOFA bill. Most lobbyists who work on this issue would not have bothered to lobby me. I’m a Republican, and they work with Democrats. Dan was different. He sought me out and asked for my help. I believe that it was his public involvement in this issue that led to his shooting.

“Dan could have made a lot of money working for a big K-Street lobbying firm, but instead he chose to use his law degree to work for a nonprofit organization working to end discrimination against gay and lesbian people.

“Institutionalized discrimination is still very much alive and well in the United States. Gay people, with a few exceptions, do not have the right to marry. This fact means that in a majority of states they cannot
legally adopt children together, share health benefits or make end-of-life decisions. This legally sanctioned discrimination makes it socially acceptable to treat gay people as second-class citizens. It also leads some misguided people to believe that they can use violence against gay people.

“The only way for laws to change is for people to change and that is why today I am choosing to publicly announce that I, too, am a homosexual. Although I am married and have three children, I have always been gay. My wife, who is my best friend, knows this about me, but married me anyway. Dan Canavan learned about my true identity and instead of publicly outing me, he privately approached me and asked for my support in trying to oppose SOFA.

“I always thought that it was okay for me to have my public career and my private sexual identity. I rationalized, as do many others, that whomever I chose to love is nobody’s business. Now I realize how wrong I was.

“I believe I have done a good job representing the citizens of the Fourth Congressional District in Mississippi. I hope my constituents will re-elect me, but if they choose not to then I am willing to accept that outcome. There are more important issues at stake than my political career. What is at stake is creating a safe society for all citizens, whatever their race, nationality, gender or sexual orientation. Any questions.”

There was a pause of several seconds before the media pounced on him.

“Are you coming out of the closet because you feel guilty about Dan Canavan’s shooting?”

“I am coming out of the closet because I believe it might prevent future shootings.”

“Did you have an affair with Dan Canavan?”

“No.”

“Do you believe it is your fault that Dan Canavan was shot?”

“No.”

“Is Dan going to survive?”

“It is unclear at this point if he will or not.”

“Did Dan Canavan father a child with Claudia Connors, a lesbian?”

“I am not here to talk about anyone else.”

“Are you going to get a divorce?”

“Absolutely not. My wife and I love each other and love our children. We aren’t the only married couple who doesn’t sleep together.”

This remark got a laugh from the reporters and gave Weymouth the break he needed to wrap things up. “Thank you very much for coming. I have to get back to work now.”

Claudia turned down the volume on the commentators offering their opinions about why Weymouth had done what he had done. Everyone looked at each other, unsure of what to say.

“Unbelievable,” Dave said.

“Incredible,” Rita Jane said.

“That poor man,” Audrey said. “It must be weighing heavily on his soul.”

“Dan would be proud,” Claudia said.

Claudia introduced him to Audrey who took the flowers and went to look for a vase. Weymouth sat down in the chair next to Claudia’s bed and grabbed her hand, “I feel so terrible,” he said. He looked on the verge of tears, his broad shoulders shaking. “I didn’t want him to testify,” he sobbed. “I should have refused to call him as a witness.

“But if he had been here at the hospital instead of at the hearing, he would still be alive.”

“He is alive,” Rita Jane said, horrified at the thought that anyone had given up on Dan so soon. “I know Dan. He’s a survivor. If anyone can survive this, it’s him.”

“Rita Jane’s right. He’s going to survive. We have to believe that.”

Audrey had returned with the flowers prettily arranged.

Seeing Weymouth she put the flowers down, and stuck out her hand,

“Audrey Connors, I’m Claudia’s momma.”

“Nice to meet you,” Weymouth said taking her hand. “You have a remarkable daughter.”

“I do indeed.”

“I heard what you said to Claudia, and she’s right. You can’t blame yourself. Dan wanted to testify. Wild horses couldn’t have kept that boy away. And he’s got everything to live for now. He’s going to be a daddy.”

Weymouth looked hopeful. “I hope you’re right,” he said softly.”

Rita Jane and Claudia looked away, discomforted by seeing Weymouth, who had always seemed so strong and impenetrable, bear his soul. Powerful men were only human, after all, and could suffer like the rest of us.

Just as quickly as he let his guard down, he put it up again.

“I came by to tell you that I’m holding a press conference at 4 o’clock this afternoon. I believe the networks will be covering it. Please try to watch it if you can.”

Rita Jane couldn’t imagine why he would be holding a press conference, but she didn’t really care. “Would you like to see Dan?” she asked softly. “They allow visitors into his room one at a time. Someone is with him all the time — usually his mother or Dave — but I’m sure they wouldn’t mind leaving so that you could visit.”

“I’d like that,” he said.

Rita Jane escorted him to the ICU. He walked like an old man, heavily and slowly as though he were dreading what he would see.

When they arrived, the nurse told her Dave and Mrs. Canavan had gone to get some coffee. Paul was in with Dan, but agreed to leave so Weymouth could visit. Rita Jane asked for a moment with Dan first. She sat down beside her friend, reaching for his hand, which had an IV line going into it.

“You’ll never guess who’s here to see you, Dan,” she said. “Congressman Weymouth. I knew you’d be thrilled to get a visit from the Chairman, although I suspect you’d pick a different outfit to wear. Don’t worry, though, you look fine. That hospital gown suits you.”

Weymouth entered and Rita Jane said goodbye to her friend, kissing him on the hand, as it was impossible to find his cheek with the oxygen mask and layers of bandages wrapped around his head.

“He’s ready for you,” Rita Jane said to Weymouth who made an attempt at a smile. He touched her hand gratefully and she smiled.

Weymouth got down on one knee and leaned over the bed with his head bowed as if in prayer. Rita Jane and Paul watched through the window. Weymouth said something to him, but Rita Jane couldn’t make out the words. Weymouth bowed his head and clutched his hands together as though praying to God to intervene. Watching him made Rita Jane cry again. Paul put his arm around her and squeezed her tight. Rita Jane hoped God was listening.

Dave returned from the cafeteria with several cups of coffee and smiled when he saw Weymouth. “Dan would be pleased,” he said sadly. Rita Jane nodded.

In less than five minutes Weymouth emerged from the room. He thanked everyone for allowing him the time with Dan, and reminded everyone to watch the 4 o’clock press conference that afternoon.

Audrey had returned from Texas. What should have been a wonderful family reunion on the occasion of the baby’s birth had become a somber wait.

Rita Jane made a detour along the way to the small chapel before returning to Claudia’s room. Since the shooting, she had been lighting candles daily to the Virgin Mary, praying for Dan’s recovery. The small chapel smelled of cheap incense, but at least she had the place to herself. She knelt down at the front pew and dutifully folded her hands and bowed her head. “Dear God,” she prayed silently. “I can’t believe you are letting this happen. Things were finally going well. Claudia’s case was dismissed. Dan found a great boyfriend. My parents were coming around to the baby idea and now this. How could you let this horrible homophobic lunatic ruin our lives?” Tears were stuck in her throat and her breathing was shallow and labored.

“I know it’s not your fault. I know I should be grateful that he’s still alive. At least there’s hope, but I just don’t understand why someone would want to kill Dan. He’s the nicest guy. He’s so caring and loving. Why is there so much hate in the world?”

She waited for an answer, but none came. Instead she cried out her rage and pain and fear. How could she live without Dan who had been the one person, above all others, who had always listened to her, loved her, encouraged her, cherished her and just been there for her?

Back at Claudia’s room, all the networks were carrying around-the-clock coverage of the shocking story. First, the revelations that Dan had fathered a child with a lesbian, who had been charged with providing material support to her terrorist client, and then the news that he had been shot during a recess from the hearing where these revelations had been made. It was such a wonderful combination of drama, intrigue, and passion that the media outlets would keep the story running for days. The shooter had calmly turned himself in to Capitol Police saying that he had done his duty and rid the world of a homosexual sinner. No charges had been brought yet while police waited to see whether Dan would live.

When they couldn’t stand the television anymore, they turned it off. They both dozed a while, Rita Jane sitting beside Claudia in the Naugahyde chair, holding her hand.

She heard her mother’s voice calling her name and thought she must be dreaming, but when she opened her eyes her parents were there, carrying a large arrangement of plants and cut flowers, arranged in a beautiful bowl. She started crying.

“What’re you doing here?” Rita Jane asked.

“Claudia called and told us what has been going on. We wanted to come by and offer our support.”

Rita Jane couldn’t stop crying, it was as though all of the pain, disappointment, joy, fear, love, beauty and ugliness that had been trapped inside her now had to be released.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she said. She found that she meant it.

“Watch out,” Rita Jane screamed as the driver ran a red light, narrowly missing a crossing pedestrian.

“It’s better if you don’t watch,” Dan said. “I usually close my eyes and pretend I’m somewhere else.”

Dan looked at his watch and cursed the traffic.

“On days like this I fantasize about living in a cabin on a lake in some remote place, like Maine.”

“You’d last about five minutes,” Rita Jane said. “You’d be bored out of your mind without the gossip and intrigue of Washington.”

Although sitting in a traffic jam was not exactly fun, at least she was out of the hospital, where she had spent most of her time since Claudia was admitted. She took Dan’s advice and closed her eyes. She felt lighter than she had in a long time. For months she had been comparing herself with Claudia, wishing she were the pregnant one. Each time Claudia vomited or complained about being exhausted, Rita Jane imagined that her body would have tolerated pregnancy better. Now the jealousy was gone, replaced with real concern for Claudia and the baby.

The cab dropped them at the Independence Avenue entrance at 9:55 and they pushed their way to the head of the security line and sprinted to the Judiciary Committee hearing room just as Weymouth was beginning his opening remarks.

Weymouth called Dan to the witness table and began asking him about the FBI visits. Rita Jane knew that Claudia had already been asked about them and wondered why the Chairman was asking them again. He then asked Dan where he worked and he asked him to describe OutReach.

As soon as Weymouth finished questioning Dan, Congressman Blake, who looked like a cross between Smoky the Bear and Humpty Dumpty said, “Excuse me, Mr. Chairman, I’d like to ask this witness a few questions with your permission.”

Rita Jane racked her memory for where she had heard of Blake and remembered that OutReach had quoted him as saying that the answer to the problem of homosexuality was for gay people to accept Jesus Christ as their Lord and Savior.

Blake looked disdainfully at Dan who attempted a look of nonchalance, but Rita Jane knew he was nervous. “Mr. Canavan. I understand from your testimony that you are a ho-mo-sex-ual?” He said it slowly, articulating each syllable.

Dan hesitated. “Yes, that is correct.”

“Yet isn’t it true that you had a sexual relationship with Claudia Connors?”

The room stirred and Rita Jane said a quick prayer for Dan to keep his cool. “It wasn’t exactly a relationship,” Dan said, sounding ridiculous, even to himself.

“Oh really,” Blake said dramatically. “What would you call it?”

“We’re friends,” Dan said simply.

“But you had sex with her,” Blake persisted.

“One time,” Dan answered.

“I see,” Blake said.

“If it’s only one time, it doesn’t count?” A burst of laughter escaped from the audience. Weymouth pounded the desk with his gavel.

“I don’t see the point of this line of questioning,” Weymouth interrupted. “Please stick to relevant questions.”

“This is relevant, Mr. Chairman,” Blake said. “This man is trying to give this committee the impression that the FBI was unfairly harassing him, when in fact the agents were well within their rights to search his house.”

“I allowed that question,” Weymouth said, “But I hardly think whether Mr. Canavan has one-night stands is relevant to our inquiry.”

“It goes to the question of his char-ac-ter,” Blake said. “What kind of man impregnates his friend and then leaves her to have the child on her own?”

Weymouth said, “Out of order. The last remark will be stricken from the record.” He turned the full force of his wrath on Blake. “You may ask questions but you may not engage in character assassination. Do you understand?”

“I’ll rephrase it,” Blake said smugly. “Isn’t it true that you impregnated Claudia Connors and deserted her, forcing her to raise the child on her own?”

Rita Jane was so furious she wanted to stand up and scream that Claudia hadn’t even wanted to have the baby, that it was Dan who had been willing to raise it. Dan cleared his throat and took a deep breath.

“It is not true. I have not abandoned Claudia Connors. We are not married, but I will support her and the child.”

“Is this your idea of family values, Mr. Canavan?”

There was so much commotion in the room, few heard his answer. Rita Jane had wanted to run up to the desk and hug Dan, and then go punch Blake in the nose. She was grateful when Weymouth announced a two-hour recess for lunch.

They went to Tortilla Coast, the Mexican restaurant behind the Rayburn Building that was always swimming with staffers and lobbyists. Rita Jane, who never drank at lunch, ordered a large Margarita. Dan sipped iced tea and picked at his food, too upset to eat anything. Rita Jane ate the entire basket of tortilla chips, alternating the sweet taste of the drink with the salty taste of the chips.

“At least the worst is over,” Dan said. “The worst has come out.”

“It was so hard to sit there and be quiet. I wanted to stand up and yell at Blake that you hadn’t abandoned your baby, you had saved it.”

“I don’t think that would have helped matters,” Dan said. But then he smiled. “It would have made a good headline, though. ‘Gay Catholic man saves his unborn child from abortion by a pregnant lesbian terrorist’.”

They burst into hysterical laughter — the kind that made your stomach hurt — drawing attention from the other patrons. Before they left, Rita Jane had managed to get Dan to eat half of a black bean burrito, convincing him that he needed to keep up his strength.

They walked back to the Rayburn Building together. As they arrived at D Street, Rita Jane heard someone call Dan’s name. She assumed it was a reporter.

“I’m going inside to get a seat,” Rita Jane said leaving Dan. “Good luck.”

Rita Jane walked past the attractive man and smiled at him, but he didn’t notice her. She hadn’t gone 10 feet before she heard the shot. She turned to see Dan on the ground, blood pouring from his head.

She tried unsuccessfully to reach Rita Jane from her cellphone on the cab ride to the Hill, which was fine, because she didn’t really want Rita Jane to watch her testify anyway.

By the time she took her place at the heavy oak witness table, sweat was clinging to the back of her neck. Her bare thighs stuck to the wooden chair. She dearly wished she were anywhere but where she was. When Weymouth told her to begin, she took a deep breath, pulled the microphone closer, and prayed she wouldn’t throw up or say anything too embarrassing.

Weymouth asked the questions in a way that enabled her to explain what she had done for her client and why she had done it. She answered him directly, looking straight at him, trying not to think about the fact that the room was packed with spectators and dozens of reporters. She was getting into the rhythm of the questions, feeling more confident, when Weymouth paused and took a sip of water. Claudia felt her stomach turn.

“Miss Connors, why do you believe the U.S. Attorney’s office chose to prosecute you?”

Claudia hesitated, unsure of what Weymouth was getting at. She took a slow sip of water buying time to think of what answer he wanted. Then she answered, “I can’t say for sure, but I believe they did not want me to represent Mr. Emad. By charging me as an accessory, they forced me off his case.”

Weymouth nodded. “Why would they do that?”

“Because I was something of a zealot about this case.”

“Can you explain?” Weymouth asked.

Claudia nodded. “I knew Mr. Emad personally. I considered him a friend. He spent time in my community.” She paused, “I was involved in political activities with him.”

Weymouth interrupted her, “Such as?”

“We were both part of an anti-war organizing committee.”

“Did you attend meetings together?”

“Yes.”

“Were some of those meetings at your community?”

“Yes.”

“Anything else you’d like to add?” Weymouth asked, with a tone that suggested there was some other information he was looking for.

“We had organized a support committee for Emad. Kind of a defense committee.”

“Did the U.S. Attorney’s Office know about these activities?”

“I hadn’t thought so then, but now I suspect that they did.”

“Why do you say that?”

Claudia hesitated, wanting to explain about the FBI visits without getting into her relationship with Dan. “The FBI visited our community on several occasions ostensibly to find out information about me.”

“What kind of information?”

“Information to help make their case against me, I suppose.”

“How many times did they visit?”

“At least twice.”

“Can you describe those visits?” he asked. Claudia realized this was her opportunity to talk about the break-in at Dan’s house without Dan having to do so. If this was a real trial that information would have been inadmissible as hearsay, but this wasn’t a real trial, and besides, Weymouth was in charge.

“Once they executed a delayed-notification search warrant on Dan Canavan’s apartment.”

“Can you explain what that is?”

“It’s a sneak-and-peek search. A black-bag job. They went into his house when he wasn’t there and looked around, but Dan came home early from work and found them there.”

There were gasps in the audience. Claudia continued. “Another time we were having a community work day and two officers — the same two that went into Dan’s place — set up surveillance right in front of our community.”

“Really, in broad daylight?”

“Yes. One of our members became suspicious and asked them what they were doing. When she found out they were FBI she invited them to lunch.”

Laughter filled the room.

“Did they join you for lunch?”

“No, they declined.”

“Were you present that day?” Weymouth asked.

“No, I was inside my home resting. Pregnancy exhausts me,” Claudia said. A murmur of understanding went through the audience. Claudia relaxed a bit. Things were going well.

“Ms. Connors,” Weymouth asked, “is Emad Khadonry a terrorist?”

She knew this question, which would also be inadmissible in court, must be infuriating Martin. She smiled inwardly but outwardly put on her best lawyerly voice and said, “No, sir. Emad is a law-abiding citizen. This so-called ‘terrorist’ investigation is a colossal waste of time and money. It would be laughable if it weren’t so tragic. Emad’s young daughter hasn’t seen her Daddy in seven months!” A buzz filled the room.

“One more question,” Weymouth said. “Are you a terrorist?”

“No, sir.”

“Thank you, that’s all the questions I have,” Weymouth said.

Claudia stood up to leave when she felt a stab of pain so sharp she gasped. Her legs felt wobbly so she leaned on the table. She fell back into her seat as she vaguely heard Weymouth announce that the hearing would be in recess for 15 minutes.

Dan was at her side with a cup of water looking at her with an expression of mixed excitement and horror. “Is it time?” he whispered urgently.

“It can’t be. It’s not due for another two weeks,” Claudia said.

Weymouth asked her, “Are you alright?”

She nodded bravely but sucked in her breath as another stab of pain coursed through her body.

“I think we should take her to the hospital,” Dan said frantically.

Weymouth looked at him sympathetically. “Dan, I’ve been through this a few times already. Let’s not overreact. Help me take her into my office and we’ll call her doctor and see what he advises.”

Claudia walked jerkily to Weymouth’s office braced on either side by Dan and the congressman. As soon as they eased her onto the couch in Weymouth’s office, Dan was on the phone to her doctor who advised that they bring Claudia into her office for a check up. He immediately called Dave for a ride to the doctor’s and called Rita Jane and told her to meet them there.

Weymouth returned to the hearing after promising Dan that he would not call him as a witness that day. Weymouth also called the Capitol Police and obtained permission for Dave to drive his car into the secured area at the rear of the Rayburn Building, an area that had been restricted to the general public since September 11. Weymouth also sent a security guard who offered to help escort Claudia to the car.

Dan insisted on going to the doctor’s office even though Claudia urged him to stay and watch the hearing. It took Dave almost an hour to maneuver the traffic on Capitol Hill so that by the time they pulled up to the entrance to the Georgetown University Professional Building, Rita Jane was already there looking anxious.

Claudia insisted that Dan wait outside while the doctor examined her but let him return to hear her advice. “I’d like to admit you to the hospital. You appear to be in the beginning stages of labor, but your cervix is not dilated and your water hasn’t broken. You’ll need to be on complete bed rest for the remainder of your pregnancy. You could stay at home but that would mean someone else would have to wait on you hand and foot because I mean complete bed rest. I recommend that you go into the hospital so we can make sure you are properly cared for.”

The doctor left the room giving them privacy to discuss their options. Claudia began to protest but Rita Jane interrupted her, “Please listen to what she’s saying, Claudia. For the baby’s sake.”

“I agree,” Dan said vehemently.

“I’m not even going to ask you,” she said to Dave. “You’re a doctor. I know your kind always stick together.”

Dave smiled, “Try to think of it as a vacation.”

She felt such weariness she didn’t have the strength to argue anymore. “I’ll get Georgia to bring over some files. You guys better bring me some good books to read or I’ll go out of my mind,” she said resignedly. The doctor sent for an orderly with a wheelchair to push her over to the hospital. At her insistence, the others left to go back to work, promising to return later with comfortable clothes and books. As she waited for the orderly, she thought of all the people who had a stake in her life now, who were personally affected by the decisions she made, and who felt that they had a right to have a say in those decisions, a thought that both comforted and annoyed her.

Claudia wore one of the few maternity outfits she had bought — an off-white linen pantsuit with a light beige blouse. Dan had on an elegant gray pinstriped suit that was making him sweat. Rita Jane, oblivious to Washington conventions, and not owning any suits, wore a brightly colored flowered skirt and white T-shirt.

Rita Jane had never been to a congressional hearing before and was acting like a child in a toy store, craning her head every which way to get a better look at the ornate gilding on the ceiling and the portraits hanging on the walls. Dan acted blasé, as if these hearings were an everyday occurrence, which she supposed they were. Claudia wiggled uncomfortably on the hard wooden chair, unsure if she was nervous, or just uncomfortable.

As the hour approached, members sauntered into the chamber carrying cups, presumably filled with coffee. Weymouth arrived promptly at 10 carrying only a note pad and pen. Two staffers followed behind him awaiting his instructions. Sitting at the center of the three-dozen committee members, he appeared like a king presiding over his court. He had subpoenaed 25 witnesses and what with taking breaks to go to the floor for votes or attending committee hearings on other pressing matters, the proceeding was expected to go until at least the Fourth of July recess.

The chairman pounded his gavel and launched into a speech about the importance of the matter before them. Claudia only half listened to the rhetoric. She was watching her nemesis, the U.S. Attorney. She thought of Emad in prison and his daughter crying herself to sleep every night and rage burned through her. She was pleased to see a hint of anxiety on his chiseled face.

Several members asked to make opening statements knowing that the hearing would be on every major news station and their constituents would be watching. It was past 10:30 before the questioning began.

The first witness was William Richards, the Deputy Attorney General in charge of the Criminal Division. “Mr. Richards,” the chairman boomed in his ominous voice. “Would you please tell the committee the nature of your work since September 11?”

Richards droned on about how he was the head of the terrorism unit and that his unit had been diligently investigating and prosecuting cases related to the September 11 attack or to individuals and organizations sympathetic to the people responsible for the attack.

“And one of these is Mr. Emad Khadonry.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Khadonry has been a long-time contributor to the organization Widows and Orphans, which is a front for Hamas.”

“And how is this related to the September 11 attack?” Weymouth asked testily.

“Since September 11 we have compiled a list of all organizations that give money to known terrorist organizations like Hamas. Widows and Orphans is one of them. Under the PATRIOT ACT, he can be prosecuted as providing material aid.”

“You still haven’t told me how Hamas is connected to the September 11 attack.”

“We are not just going after Al-Qaeda, but other terrorists, too. It’s all part of the war on terror.”

“You are comparing an organization that gives money to Widows and Orphans to Al-Qaeda?”

“No, I’m comparing Hamas to Al-Qaeda,” Richards said defensively.

“How many other Americans have donated money to Widows and Orphans?” Weymouth demanded.

“I’m sure there are many, but I can’t give you the exact figure.”

“You haven’t researched that in preparation for this hearing?” Weymouth asked accusatorily. Richards shook his head. “Would you like me to answer for you?” Weymouth asked. Without waiting for his, Weymouth said, “Two thousand, six hundred and fourteen.” Richard’s face reddened. He was fidgeting with a ballpoint pen. Weymouth continued. “Those are not all within your jurisdiction, of course, but within the District of Columbia there are over 100 people who have donated to the organization since September 11.” Weymouth paused for affect. “I’m curious to know why you decided to prosecute Mr. Khadonry, as opposed to the other 100 people in the district.”

“We had confidential information detailing his involvement with the organization that went beyond contributing money. We suspected that he might be funneling money through Widows and Orphans to fund terrorist training camps.”

“Do you have proof of this?” Weymouth asked.

Richards nodded, “I do, but I can’t disclose it because it’s confidential.”

“Not any longer,” Weymouth said. The audience laughed. Richards looked like he wanted to disappear. Claudia actually felt sorry for him.

“Did you make the decision to prosecute Mr. Khadonry?” Weymouth asked. Richards hesitated. “Please answer the question,” Weymouth said again raising his voice.

He shook his head from side to side.

“Let the record reflect that the witness is shaking his head no,” Weymouth said. “So the decision was made at a higher pay grade, eh?” Weymouth asked, his voice softening.

Richards nodded again. Weymouth snapped, “I’m going to have to ask you to speak up, sir, so that everything can be recorded for the record.”

“I’m sorry,” Richards said. “I was asked to bring the case by someone high up in the Justice Department.”

Weymouth paused to let that last remark sink in. He nodded his head. “And who was that?”

“Bai Quoung, Special Assistant to the Attorney General. Or rather, he was. He has since taken an appointment at a law school somewhere. I think Georgetown.”

“Did Mr. Quoung recommend prosecuting anyone else?”

“Yes, but so far we have not finished grand jury proceedings, so the information is not public.”

Weymouth cleared his throat. He took a sip of water and returned to questioning in an angry tone. “Is it possible that your office was motivated by the fact that Mr. Khadonry has been involved in anti-war protests?”

Richards flinched. “Of course not.” A buzz filled the room. Photographers flashed pictures and reporters scribbled furiously on their notepads.

“Right,” Weymouth said. “No further questioning.”

Other members picked up where Weymouth had left off. The Democrats had a field day attacking Richards. Some of the more conservative Republicans tried to rehabilitate Richards by tossing him softball questions, but even they were hesitant to make Weymouth look bad. Angering the Chairman could result in retaliation. Chairmen were
notorious for holding up bills of members who publicly crossed them.

At 12:30 Weymouth broke for lunch. Claudia was nibbling on a cracker in the hallway when Dan tapped her arm. “Weymouth wants to conference with us.” Claudia and Dan met him in his office behind closed doors. Rita Jane left to go to the cafeteria to stand in line and order lunch for the three of them.

Weymouth was waiting in his office with his door open. No staff was present.

“I’d like to call you as a witness, Dan,” Weymouth said, dispensing with formalities. “I’d like you to talk about the sneak and peak search the FBI did on your place. They were likely looking for political affiliations of yours and it makes Martin’s claim that they don’t consider things like that seem ridiculous.”

Claudia looked at Dan who was nervously rubbing his hands on his pants. “That’s okay with you, isn’t it?” Weymouth demanded.

Dan looked at Claudia as if searching for permission and she nodded and steeled herself. “There’s something you should know, Congressman.” Weymouth’s eyebrows shot up but he didn’t say anything. “They were searching my apartment because of my relationship with Claudia. They were looking for information about her.”

Weymouth burst out laughing. Dan looked mortified, but then Claudia started laughing and Dan eventually joined in, too. When Weymouth had finally regained his composure he gasped, “How scandalous. The lobbyist for OutReach had a heterosexual affair. The media will have a field day with that.” Then his face grew serious and he looked at Claudia, “You’re not. Because of him are you?”

Claudia nodded.

“This is getting weirder by the minute,” Weymouth said.

Claudia and Dan both nodded.

“Okay, I’ve got to think about this. The reporters may get a hold of this story and investigate until they find something. If the FBI knew about your affair it may come out.”

Neither Claudia nor Dan said anything, but she suspected he was dreading that outcome as much as she was.

“I’ll think about it some more,” Weymouth repeated. “I’m not going to call you today, Claudia, so you are free to leave. Of course, you are welcome to stay.”

“Thank you,” she said. Weymouth stood up, walked to the door, and opened it for them. “Thank you very much,” he said, shaking their hands. After they left, Weymouth closed the heavy door behind him, but Claudia thought she heard him laughing inside.

“Rita Jane, I’d like you to meet my friend, Peter LaRochelle. He’s in the corner booth.”

She hadn’t had a chance to paint seriously for months and had been trying hard to get back into a regular routine. She didn’t want to be distracted and end up in a long conversation with someone she didn’t even know.

“I’m really in a hurry to get home,” Rita Jane said. “Can it wait?”

“No,” Paul said.

“Peter’s been admiring your work,” Paul said.

“What work?” Rita Jane asked.

“This piece,” Peter said pointing to the picture of Emad’s daughter praying for her Daddy to come home from jail that Paul had hung in a corner of the restaurant.

“Thank you,” Rita Jane said.

“Do you have a minute to talk,” Peter asked.

“I’m kind of in a hurry,” Rita Jane said, but Paul glared at her, so she sat down across from Peter. A few extra minutes wouldn’t make that much difference.

Paul brought over two tall glasses of ice tea before Rita Jane had a chance to say no.

“I work for the District,” Peter said. Rita Jane nodded politely wondering why she should care what this man did for a living. “I’m an artist, actually.” That got Rita Jane’s attention. “I’m the Curator for Art in the District of Columbia Public Buildings, or CAD for short.”

“Really?” Rita Jane was curious. She had never met anyone who was both an artist and a government worker.

“I commission artists to do works of art for public buildings. There is a little known law that requires that a certain portion of all federal contracts for large public buildings must be spent on art.”

“That’s great,” Rita Jane said, still unclear what any of this had to do with her.

“I’d like you to submit a RFP to paint a mural at a soon-to-be-built community center in the Cardozo neighborhood near U Street.”

Rita Jane could hardly believe what she was hearing. She was being asked to submit a proposal to paint a public mural. This was the dream of a lifetime, but all she could think of was that in less than a month she would be a mother.

“I’m flattered. I truly am. But my partner is having a baby in less than a month. I don’t think I’d have time to submit a proposal.”

Paul, who had been eavesdropping nearby, called over, “I can help,” he said cheerfully. “You can use slides from the ‘Color of Fear’ exhibit. It will be easy.”

Peter took a business card from his suit jacket pocket and handed it to her. “Post-September 11 themes are very popular. Your ‘Color of Fear’ concept is definitely along the lines of what the committee is looking for.”

“When are the proposals due?” Rita Jane asked.

“August 1.” He stood and picked up his black attaché case. Then he took Rita Jane’s hand and brought it to his lips and kissed it. “Enchanted,” he said before departing the restaurant.

As soon as they were sure that he was safely outside, Rita Jane burst into giggles. Paul said, “He’s a bit of a fruit cake, but he’s a nice guy. He’s done a lot to promote artists in this town. It’s a good thing I had that painting on display. This may be your lucky break.”

“Do you really think I’d have time?” Rita Jane asked. Already her mind was racing with possibilities for the mural.

“It’ll be tough, but I’ll help you. I’ve got loads of free time now that Claudia’s case has settled. Besides, I owe you after all the hours you’ve put in around here.”

She felt the heat and humidity suck the energy out of her as soon as she left the air-conditioned restaurant. She chose to walk home on the well-shaded Maple Street instead of the more direct path down Carroll Avenue. With each pace, she worked out the details of the proposal in her mind. She wasn’t ready to go inside yet, wanting to savor the news a little longer and have time to process it herself.

The twins were playing in the sandbox when she arrived in the piazza. She sat down at an outdoor table and pulled out her sketchbook, happily sketching the children, who were oblivious to her. The thought occurred to her again that she should paint a mural on the wall of the children’s room. That could be like a dress rehearsal — she could paint a smaller version of the mural on the kids’ room and use that as part of her proposal submission. Now she needed a theme. She needed inspiration and help from her higher power. She finished up the sketch and wrote on the bottom, “Mural proposal,” and ripped out the sheet of paper to put into her God box.

“How boring,” Aimee said. “My parents picked a boring name, too, but at least they had the good sense to spell it differently. Kids want to be special. They don’t want to have the same name as everyone else.”

Rita Jane was sipping a very cold Corona, which was the most delicious thing she had tasted in a long time. She had been drinking only rarely, to be in solidarity with Claudia, but she couldn’t resist when Aimee offered it to her when she arrived home from work.

Rita Jane flipped through the baby name book that she had bought at the used bookstore.

“It’s so hard to decide when you don’t know the gender. We decided against learning the gender of the baby, though Audrey said we should find out. That way if we were disappointed we could work out our disappointment before the baby arrived.”

“If you don’t know the sex of the baby,” Frances said, “Everyone will buy you green or yellow things. If you do know, you’ll get blue or pink.”

“I like green and yellow better than pink,” Rita Jane said. “But what do you think about the question of finding out?”

“It makes sense to me,” Frances said. “I was terribly disappointed when I learned that my first child was a boy. My husband wanted one, of course, but I really wanted a daughter. Of course, I fell in love with him once he arrived and didn’t care, but it probably helped that I had some time to get used to the idea.”

“Claudia’s dead-set against finding out,” Rita Jane said.

“Claudia is still in denial that she’s pregnant,” Aimee said.

Rita Jane laughed.

By 6 o’clock the piazza teemed with people catching up with their neighbors and relaxing at the end of the workweek. The humid air felt thick as pea soup. People were stripped down to shorts and T-shirts, some fanning themselves. A few of the toddlers ran around with nothing but diapers on. Some were running through the lawn sprinkler to cool down. The thought of her own child doing that some day made Rita Jane smile.

It was nearly 7 when Claudia returned from work, walking slowly and looking, as usual, exhausted. Reflexively, Rita Jane tried to hide the beer behind her back, but Claudia saw her.

“I want one of those,” Claudia announced, pointing to her bottle. “I was going to have a glass of wine but that beer looks so good I’ll have that instead.”

While Rita Jane was thinking of what to say, Dan said, “We’ve got some O’Doul’s. It’s not bad, actually.” He reached into a cooler and opened one and handed it to Claudia. Rita Jane braced herself for Claudia’s response. Claudia had been a headstrong woman before the pregnancy, but as the due date grew closer, she became more and more irritable.

“Thanks Dad,” she said sarcastically. “You want to know what I had for lunch, too? Why does everyone think they can tell pregnant women what to do?

Dan looked shocked.

Audrey intervened. “Claudia went to the doctor today and she said that an occasional drink was fine now that she was late in her pregnancy. In fact, she thought it might help Claudia to relax.”

Rita Jane didn’t want Claudia to drink regardless of whether it was okay, but maybe a beer would put Claudia in a better mood.

“It’s true,” Dave said. This late in the pregnancy an occasional drink is not going to hurt the baby.

“In Texas,” Audrey drawled, “we believe in pregnant women drinking now and then. It helps them relax. Eases the stress.”

“That explains a few things about certain people from Texas,” Dan said.

Everyone laughed, breaking the tension.

“There’s certainly worse things than growing up to be President,” Audrey said. “I’d love my grandchild to be President.”

“I can see it now,” Dan said, “My own flesh and blood, the first President of the United States raised by a trio of gay parents, whose mother was a lesbian terrorist.”

Claudia took a long sip from the Corona and announced, “I’ve got news.”

Without waiting for her to continue, Dan interrupted, “They dismissed the case.”

Claudia nodded. “Oh my God!” Rita Jane yelled gathering Claudia up, as well as she could, in a huge hug. Claudia was immediately surrounded by her neighbors — people hugging her, patting her on the shoulder and slapping her high-fives. Rita Jane gave her a big juicy kiss.

“How do you feel?” Dave asked, always the therapist.

“Relieved, but a little sad. I feel sad for Emad. And for myself. For all we had to go through, especially him.”

“It’s not over yet,” Dan said. “Those bastards are going to regret the day they brought that case. To revenge,” Dan said, lifting his glass for a toast.

“No, to justice,” Claudia modified.

“To justice,” everyone shouted in unison.

But maybe she should worry more about the case against her. Maybe a jury would not see the facts in the same way she did. And if she was convicted, would a judge send her, a seasoned and respected lawyer, to prison, simply because she went a little out of her way to help her client? Probably not, but she had done enough jury trials and seen enough clients sentenced to know that anything could happen. Clients she had been sure would be convicted were found not guilty and clients she was sure were innocent were convicted and sentenced to long prison terms. She even had one client who had been sentenced to death.

The thing she hated more than anything, the thing that drove her to be a public defender, was her hatred of government abusing its power. When the government overreached, bringing charges against someone who was really innocent or bringing more serious charges than the facts warranted, she tried to do everything in her power to fight them. She didn’t want to do anything to assist them in their game. Now that it was her life, how could she do less than what she would do for a client? She wanted to go to trial, regardless of how much stress and disruption it caused her.

But now she had this other person-to-be to think about. Paul was right. She had no business representing Emad now anyway. She should just take the deal and get on with her life, forget about asking Emad’s opinion.

Rita Jane and Audrey definitely wanted her to take the deal, but they knew her too well to tell her so. “Whatever you think is best,” was all they would say when she asked them what she should do. They knew that if she knew that they were trying to pressure her, she would do exactly the opposite of what they wanted.

In despair, she read her horoscope looking for guidance. When it gave her none, she remembered her promise to Paul that she would talk with Emad. She called his new lawyers and asked their permission to meet with him. When they agreed she called the prison and made arrangements to visit that afternoon.

The guard led her into the 3-by-5-foot Plexiglas cubicle that served as the “contact” meeting room. It was difficult to maneuver with her big belly. Once in, she couldn’t easily turn around. She watched Emad’s face light up when he saw her and realized this was the first time that he had seen her visibly pregnant.

“It is so good to see you my friend,” he said, trying to shake her hand with both of his cuffed together. To her surprise, Emad looked well. Much better than he had the last time she had visited. She knew the same could not be said of her.

Claudia explained to him the “deal,” that all charges against her would be dismissed if she agreed not to resume representing Emad. She told him how reluctant she had been to ask him what to do, because she didn’t want to put him in the position of having to decide.

He nodded as she spoke and when she finished he said, “You did the right thing to tell me.” She waited for him to say more. “I think you should take the deal.” She started to protest but he interrupted her, “I’m not just saying this for your sake, I’m saying it for mine, too.”

A stab of hurt passed through her. She braced herself for more rejection. “We’re too close, you and I. We’re friends really. I think it’s better to have lawyers who I don’t care about so much. I am less guarded with them.”

“Gee thanks,” she said morosely, but she knew what he meant.

“It’s not personal. You’re a great lawyer and you’re a great person, but right now I’d like to see you focus on your baby and get out of this mess.”

She started crying and Emad looked horrified. “I hurt your feelings.” He patted her on the shoulder with his shackled hands.

“It’s not that,” Claudia said. “I cry over everything these days.”

He looked relieved. “My wife did, too,” he said.

Claudia considered trying to talk him out of it, but she knew she needed to let go. She suspected it had been difficult for Emad to be so honest with her.

“Are they doing a good job for you, these big firm lawyers?”

“They’re not as good as you, obviously,” he said.

“Right answer,” she smiled.

“There are two of them doing the work that you were doing alone. One of them is very experienced and one is very green.” He smiled. “I like the green one better. She’s not so jaded. The older one thinks he knows exactly how things are going to go in the case, but the younger one is open to ideas or suggestions I make. Plus, she’s new to Washington and she’s lonely. She comes to visit me, even on weekends. I keep telling her she needs to get a life. Sarah is starting to get jealous.” He chuckled.

Claudia wondered if maybe Emad had a crush on his young lawyer, but she was comforted by the image of the nervous young lawyer visiting her client on the weekends. The idea occurred to her that maybe she should call up the lawyer and invite her to lunch — offer to mentor her. Who are you kidding, Connors, you’d probably faint if you got in a cab to go downtown for lunch. Let go.

“You’ll be at the hearings?” Emad asked.

She nodded. “Even if my case is dismissed, I think Weymouth will still want me to be a witness.”

“Good, my lawyers are filing a motion to get permission for me to attend the entire hearing. I doubt it will be granted, but it sure would be nice to have a week or two outside of this place.”

A guard walked by and held up his right hand and mouthed the words, “Five more minutes.”

Claudia started to protest, but realized she wasn’t his lawyer anymore so her visits were restricted to half an hour.

“Are they treating you okay?” she asked.

He shrugged. “It’s like everywhere else, there are decent guards and there are — well, to be blunt — assholes. Like that one. He’s definitely a hole.”

Claudia giggled at Emad’s uncharacteristic language. At least he hadn’t lost his sense of humor.

“Some of the inmates call me the A-rab terrorist, that’s how they say it, A with a long A, rab. But some think I’m getting a bum rap. I’m not hassled much because the guards keep me in protective custody. I don’t go out to the yard with the other prisoners. I eat meals in my cell. I’m basically alone all the time.”

It was always difficult for Claudia to hear about what her client’s lives were like in jail. It was too painful. It was especially hard with a man like Emad, a gentle man who had never done a violent act in his life. He wasn’t cut out for prison life. “I wish we could get you out of here,” she said. “Have your lawyers suggested doing another bail hearing?”

“They have, but they thought maybe we should wait until after the hearings. If the U.S. Attorney’s office gets a lot of negative publicity, the judge might be more sympathetic.”

Claudia doubted that would happen, but she said, “There’s always hope,” even though she wasn’t sure she felt any.

The guard unlocked the door and announced that it was time for her to leave.

“Thank you, my friend, for everything,” he said, bowing his head and putting his hands together.

Claudia managed a sad smile and left quickly before the tears started again.

“I feel like I’m in prison. I never leave the house except to go to work or doctor’s appointments. Otherwise, I stay home and watch television, knit and sleep.”

“You’ll have to excuse my daughter,” she said to Paul. “She’s not much of a hostess these days. I brought you some ice tea. Here’s sweet tea for you, Paul, and the herbal kind for Claudia.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Paul said.

“Thanks momma.” Claudia ignored Audrey’s jab, refusing to let her mother irritate her.

Paul took a large sip then placed the glass on a coaster on the coffee table. He leaned forward and put his hands on his knees. Claudia had been waiting anxiously since his call an hour earlier telling her that he had another offer from the government. He sighed deeply then pulled out a piece of paper from a file in his briefcase. She couldn’t tell from his body language if the news was good or bad. Just get on with it. A naturally impatient person, she hated to wait and it seemed like that’s about all she did these days.

“I’ve got good news,” Paul said finally. Claudia relaxed. “At least I think it’s good news.” He paused and took another sip. Claudia stiffened again. “But I thought the last offer was good news, too, and you didn’t agree with me.”

“Yes,” Claudia said trying to keep the impatience out of her voice.

“They’re willing to dismiss the case. Outright. You don’t need to sign any affidavits.”

Claudia felt a huge weight lift off her shoulders, but knowing prosecutors as she did she asked, “What’s the catch?”

“I’m getting to that,” Paul said. “The only condition is that you agree that you will not have any more contact with Emad until this case is resolved.”

Claudia started to say something but Paul stopped her. “I know what you’re likely to say. You’re going to say that this is outrageous and you didn’t do anything wrong and he didn’t do anything wrong, and that you should be able to return to representing him, blah, blah, blah. But Emad is in good hands with his new lawyers and you’ll be busy with your baby soon. You won’t have much time to work on his case or see him.”

“But he’s my friend.” Claudia protested.

“Before you say no, I want you to promise me you’ll do one thing.”

“What’s that?” she asked suspiciously.

“Talk to Emad.”

“Of course he’ll tell me to take the deal,” Claudia said. “That’s not fair to him. I can’t put him in that position.”

“Look, you want my honest opinion? You’re about a month away from giving birth. You don’t need any more stress in your life. You should stay away from this case. You should probably stop working altogether. You’re hardly working now anyway. Maybe you should just stop altogether. You’ll at least want to take time off after the baby arrives.”

“Stop working,” Claudia fumed. “You’re out of your mind. I’d go crazy. Besides, I can’t afford to stop working.”

Paul looked at her dubiously.

Claudia felt the tears coming again and scorned her lack of self-control. “I’m beginning to think this was a big mistake,” she said, unsure exactly what she was referring to.

Paul reached over and squeezed her hand. “I don’t know what you’re upset about. Things are looking great. The protests outside the U.S. Attorneys office are continuing and the numbers are growing everyday. We finally got an editorial in the Washington Times, and even the National Journal published editorials in your favor. Most of the other media coverage is going your way, with the exception of Fox News and the religious channels. And now Weymouth has scheduled oversight hearings. In the last week I’ve been on PBS News Hour, Cross Fire, NPR, MSNBC and C-SPAN, plus a whole host of other shows I can’t keep track of.”

“I know — my mother has watched all of them. I can’t bear to. She says you’re great — very telegenic.”

“So what’s bothering you?” Paul asked kindly but with a bit of impatience in his voice.

“I don’t want to stop working. I don’t want to be a stay-at-home mom. This was the biggest case of my career and I’ll be damned if I’m going to drop it because of pregnancy or because some unethical prosecutor brings a bogus charge against me.”

Paul nodded sympathetically. “Under the circumstances, I can understand why you feel that way,” he said kindly. “But you have other considerations now besides yourself. And frankly, other things that are more important than representing Emad Khadonry. He’s already got a big firm representing him and there are several more that would love to step in if they want out.”

His words stung but she knew that he was right and it made her sad. She had spent her life fighting to be taken seriously as a woman, believing with every fiber of her being that women could be as successful as men in their chosen careers, and here she was losing out on the biggest case of her career because she was pregnant. It seemed like a personal failure somehow.

“Is this new offer because of the hearings?” Claudia asked.

“In part, but I think the daily protests have been effective, too. They’re just getting too much bad press for going after you. Let’s face it, the fact that you’re pregnant, whether you like it or not, makes you more sympathetic.”

She groaned. He took a long drink of the tea, draining the glass. “Even if you take the deal, Weymouth is going to hold the hearings. Unless they dismiss Emad’s case, which I don’t think they’ll do. Not yet anyway.”

Suddenly Claudia wanted nothing more than to take a nap. Talking about the case always made her sleepy. Her head raced with all the possible outcomes. She wanted Paul to go. He must have sensed her distress because he said, “I should get going.” As he stood to leave he said, “Do I have your word that you’ll at least discuss it with Emad.”

Claudia didn’t say anything. “Claudia,” he said, “I want you to promise me.”

“Okay, alright,” she said. “If I’m going to say no, I’ll talk to him first.”

“Thank you,” he said, giving her a quick hug before leaving.

“Hello, Dan,” he said, getting up from his desk and walking to the front of it to greet them. Instead of sitting behind his ominous desk as he had at prior meetings, he sat on an easy chair and directed the three of them to sit on the leather couch.

Dan systematically laid out Emad’s case, arguing all the ways that the prosecution was overreaching, while a very young-looking woman frantically took notes. Weymouth interrupted with questions, which Dan or Paul answered deftly. Then they laid out the case against Claudia, detailing her acts of mailing packages for her client and making the phone call to Saudi Arabia.

Claudia sat quietly on the couch, sipping a glass of water. She excused herself to go to the restroom and when she returned the congressman said to her, “I’m sorry we’ve been doing all the talking. I want to hear what you have to say. What do you think of the idea of holding an oversight hearing?”

“Honestly, the idea of it makes me tired.” She sighed deeply, looking like she might cry. “I don’t want my life to be the center of attention.” She paused again. “But I don’t want to agree to their deal just to make my life easier and to make this case go away.” Dan looked at her approvingly. “I do believe the U.S. Attorneys are abusing their power. If you think there are grounds for oversight, then you should do it. I’ll cooperate with the investigation.”

Dan and Weymouth both nodded. She continued, “The most important case to investigate is Emad’s. He’s been in prison for four months. His wife and child are frantic with worry. At least I’m out on bond.”

“I’m very disturbed by this information,” Weymouth said, pulling on his chin, a nervous habit that Dan found endearing. “I thought the charges against him seemed trumped up, but this…” His voice trailed off. “I like your attitude. You’re not in this to be a media star. You’ll make a good witness.”

“There’s one problem,” Claudia said. She patted her belly. “You must have heard I’m a pregnant lesbian terrorist? Don’t you think this will detract from Emad’s case?”

“It’s not relevant,” Weymouth said sternly. “I’ll not allow any discussion of it while I’m running the hearing. Although frankly, whether you’re a lesbian or not, people feel sympathetic toward pregnant women.”

Weymouth stood up abruptly, “I’m sorry, but I have to run to another meeting. I’ll get back to you soon,” he said to Dan. “Thank you for coming in.”

“Thank you,” the three echoed together.

They walked out of the office not saying anything. Once the gold ornate elevator doors closed behind them Dan made a fist and brought his arm down, “Yes!” he shouted. “That was great!”

They high-fived each other and Claudia looked on in amusement. “You were great,” Dan said, taking her hand. “So poised. The perfect Southern woman.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Claudia said. “I just told the truth.”

Paul shook his head, “Dan’s right, you were perfect. You clearly didn’t have an ax to grind. You didn’t want to make this a political issue. You just wanted to do the right thing.”

Paul laughed, “Who would have thought? A Republican from Mississippi holding an oversight hearing on the U.S. Attorney. Maybe there is hope for this country yet.”

“There’s queers everywhere,” Dan laughed.

“I think he has a crush on you,” Claudia said, punching Dan in the arm.

“He’s hot alright,” Dan said. “But I’m in love. Plus, he’s a little old for me. And I don’t do married men.”

* * *

When the congressman called Dan the following Tuesday to inform him that he had already contacted the Department of Justice and the U.S. Attorney’s Office, Dan wondered if maybe Claudia’s theory about Weymouth’s crush was correct.

“They want me to review some documents before deciding to hold the hearings. They said the documents would allay my concerns and explain why they are pursuing the case.”

“Yea, right,” Dan said sarcastically, and then wished he hadn’t said that. He tried a more formal approach, “It makes sense to wait until you see what they have.” God I want to see those documents, Dan thought. But he didn’t say anything else.

“I told them they had 72 hours to have the documents on my desk,” Weymouth said. “I should be able to make a decision by next week.”

Dan immediately called Paul with the news. Paul said he would call his contact at the Justice Department to see how they were reacting to Weymouth’s threat of an oversight hearing. He called Dan back right away with the surprising news that his friend didn’t know about Weymouth’s interest in the case, suggesting that the higher ups were trying to keep Weymouth’s interest in the case secret.

How was he going to wait a whole week for Weymouth to make up his mind? He felt antsy. None of his issues were moving. Nothing much was happening at all in Congress, as most members hadn’t yet returned to Washington from the Memorial Day recess. There were no interesting hearings scheduled, no demonstrations scheduled, no meetings to attend. Sure there was work he could do. There was always work to do, but like most lobbyists, he was an adrenaline junkie and it was hard for him to get anything done unless he had a huge deadline looming.

He thought about the meeting with Weymouth. Weymouth’s attention and concern dazzled Dan. Whenever he thought of all that Weymouth had done for him — or rather for the issues Dan cared about — he felt elated. He had arrived. No one could doubt his credentials as a true Washington power broker. He had the ear of the Chairman of the Judiciary Committee. He was hot stuff. His mind wandered to thoughts of Weymouth without his clothes on. This would not do. No good could come out of such a liaison. He called Dave and made a date for later that night, vowing to remain faithful to his boyfriend.

“You look great,” Rita Jane lied.

“No, really, how do I look? I feel like an oversized blueberry.”

“Honestly, you look very, how should I say, straight.”

“Is that bad?”

“No, that’s good. Blue is the perfect color to wear to a Memorial Day Parade. It’s very patriotic.” She gulped down the rest of her coffee. “Did you read this morning’s editorial? Listen to this: ‘Doesn’t this administration have better things to do than harass pregnant women?’ Isn’t that great?”

Initially Claudia had been horrified to learn about the daily protests at the U.S. Attorney’s office and had been mortified when news of her pregnancy made national news. But Dan had convinced her that she would only win her case if she had public opinion on her side. Since the daily demonstrations had begun almost a month ago, all the D.C. daily and weekly newspapers had editorialized against the Department of Justice’s decision to prosecute Claudia. Claudia was Washington’s cause célèbre of the moment.

Since the story had broken about Claudia’s pregnancy people were naturally curious to learn who the “father” was. After several heated discussions among the four of them — Claudia, Rita Jane, Dan and Dave — Claudia had decided to say that there was a sperm donor who wished to remain anonymous, which also happened to be true.

They took the Metro to Union Station. The heat descended upon them as soon as they left the air-conditioned station. By the time they reached the starting point of the parade at Third and Pennsylvania Claudia’s hair was plastered to her forehead and she looked gray, but at least she had managed not to throw up.

The Quakers had suggested that Claudia walk in the parade. Ten years ago they had successfully sued the city to march in the parade arguing that war protestors should be honored as well as veterans. Since Claudia and Emad were victims of the “war on terror” it was fitting, according to Dan and the Quakers, that she participate in the Memorial Day Parade.

Dan was lecturing the assembled marchers, many of whom had been taking part in the daily protests, on the way to handle questions from reporters. Signs read, “Free Emad,” “Seven months is long enough — bring Emad home.” Sarah’s sign was a blown-up picture of Emad and Semya that said, “Bring my Papa home.” Dave handed out bunches of glossy brochures to distribute to people along the parade route.

“Our message is simple, Dan said, expounding with his hands as he spoke, “We want law enforcement, not harassment. Emad and Claudia are not terrorists. Bush and his buddies should go find some real terrorists. And stay away from the pregnancy issue. If anyone asks, say it’s not relevant.”

Rita Jane thought that Claudia’s pregnancy and impending parenthood with a lesbian partner was the issue for a lot of people, but she agreed with Dan that it was best to try to stay away from that issue. Claudia had become a poster child for both the right and left: the right thought she was committing a horrible sin and the left thought she was a hero.

Dan left the others to look for a parade organizer and she and Claudia found a spare bench in the shade. They didn’t hold hands like they normally would have, aware that others might be watching. Dan returned with a map of the parade route and a handsome man who looked familiar.

“We’re behind the peaceniks,” he said, “towards the end. Everyone, I’d like you to meet Congressman Weymouth, Chairman of the Judiciary Committee.” Dan recited everyone’s name and Weymouth made the effort to shake everyone’s hand. Dan introduced Claudia, “This is my friend who’s being persecuted. I mean, prosecuted,” and this is my good friend, Rita Jane.”

When he shook her hand, he looked right into her eyes, managing to convey warmth and concern. Of course, he was a politician, Rita Jane reminded herself. He was much better looking in person than on television. No wonder the Republicans loved him.

“Can I talk to you guys for a second?” Dan asked, pulling them away from the rest of the group and forming a huddle with the congressman. Dan was grinning from ear to ear and practically jumping up and down with excitement. “The congressman wants to learn more about Claudia’s case. He’s thinking about calling for a Congressional Oversight hearing into this prosecution.”

Claudia’s mouth dropped open. Rita Jane couldn’t read her reaction to the news. “I’m flattered,” she said.

“I’m very concerned,” Weymouth said seriously. “We should meet soon.” Looking at Dan he said, “Call my scheduler next week to arrange it.” He shook hands again. “I’m sorry I have to run off. I need to get in place before the parade starts. Very nice to meet you both.”

“Thank you, sir,” Claudia said. Once Weymouth was safely out of earshot she and Dan hugged each other, squealing with delight. “You’re amazing,” Claudia said.

“I know,” he smiled.

By mid morning the pleasant temperatures had turned oppressive. It was 90 degrees with nearly 100% humidity. The parade route afforded no shade and the air was thick and unmoving. Rita Jane hovered near Claudia, making sure that she drank fluids regularly. Along the way people occasionally asked Claudia questions or offered her a cool drink. Rita Jane accepted the drinks and made sure they were caffeine-free before she turned them over to Claudia.

They felt the first hint of a storm at around noon. At first it was just a few sprinkles that didn’t warrant an umbrella. The hair on the back of Rita Jane’s neck prickled from the electricity. Suddenly an enormous crash startled the crowd and a flash appeared that seemed to be right next to them. The sky opened up and rain dumped out, drenching them instantly. The parade was almost over and without waiting for direction from the organizers the friends took off running to the nearest shelter, the Ronald Reagan Building at Pennsylvania and 12th Street. It was a beautiful modern building used for offices and public events, especially business-related ones.

“Finally, Reagan was good for something,” Dan said after they passed through the metal detector and had shown their IDs to the guards.

“You know he gets a bad rap but a lot of decent things happened under his administration,” Aimee said.

Rita Jane was wet and tired and the last thing she wanted was to hear a protracted argument between Dan and Aimee about the merits and evils of the Reagan administration. She and Claudia dashed into the women’s room attempting to dry themselves with the electric hand dryer.

Claudia’s dress clung to her wet skin, forming an outline of her swollen belly and protruding naval. Rita Jane felt the familiar twin emotions of regret and jealousy, chalking them up to being tired, hungry and soaking wet. She missed her mom and wished she could talk about the pregnancy with her. Her parents were trying to be supportive, but no matter what they said or did, Rita Jane knew the pregnancy didn’t make them happy. She had invited them for the Memorial Day barbecue that afternoon, but doubted they would come.

The rain was over almost as soon as it had begun. The parade had broken up from the shower and crowds were heading to the Mall to feed the ducks in the reflecting pond or eat picnic lunches near the Lincoln Memorial. The TLC crowd headed back home for the annual Memorial Day Kick-Off-the-Summer barbecue, which, like the Columbus Day event, was filled with food, drinks, games and political speeches.

By the time they returned, the party was in full swing and the air, thick with the smell of grilled meat. Rita Jane led Claudia to a plastic lawn chair to get her off her feet. She handed Claudia a chilled bottle of sparkling water and asked, “Can I fix you a plate?”

“I want chicken,” Claudia said, to Rita Jane’s surprise. “No, make that ribs. I want ribs. No, I want chicken and ribs,” she laughed at herself. “I shouldn’t but that’s what I feel like eating so I’m going to declare this a guilt-free day. There must be a rule that allows pregnant vegans who have been suffering from morning sickness for months to eat meat if they want to.”

Audrey said, “Baby girl, you’ve got to give in to those cravings. It’s your body telling you that you need to eat something. When I was pregnant with you I used to crave beets.” She laughed and put her hands on Claudia’s shoulders. “I hate beets. You couldn’t get me to eat a beet if it was the only food and I was starving. But with you I ate beets. As soon as you were born, I was back to hating beets.”

Rita Jane laughed. “I for one am glad to see you crave anything. You don’t eat enough as it is. If you want to eat ribs, I’ll eat them, too. Paul will be thrilled.”

Rita Jane was surveying the buffet table for the healthiest options when Audrey tapped her shoulder. “Are those your parents over there?” Without waiting for an answer, Audrey ran over and hugged them both. “You must be the Spencers,” she said in her thick Texas drawl. “It’s mighty nice to meet you. You have such a charming daughter and I am so happy to meet you.” She pumped Martin’s hand several times and embraced Leigh again. “We have so much to talk about. We’re going to be grandparents. Is this your first time?” She didn’t wait for an answer, knowing the answer already. “Me too. I can hardly wait.”

Rita Jane was grateful for Audrey’s enthusiasm, which balanced her parents’ despair. But she appreciated that her parents had made the effort to come to the picnic, which couldn’t have been easy for them. She wondered if Audrey and her parents would find something to talk about.

“Audrey Connors this is Martin and Leigh Spencer. Mom, Dad, this is Claudia’s mom, Audrey.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Leigh said stiffly.

“I’ll check in with Paul to see if there’s anything I can do,” Dr. Spencer said, leaving the women alone.

The atmosphere relaxed with the doctor’s departure. Even Leigh seemed happy to see her husband go.

“How are you?” Leigh asked Claudia as if she wanted to know the answer, not just as a way to make conversation. “Rita Jane tells me you’ve been awfully sick.”

Claudia nodded. “I haven’t taken well to being pregnant.”

Audrey interrupted, “Who would with all the stress you’ve been under.”

Leigh nodded agreement. Claudia shrugged.

“I think she’s going to have a boy,” Audrey announced. “I was hardly sick at all with Claudia but her two brothers made me wish I was dead most of the time.” She laughed. No one said anything. Rita Jane racked her brain for something to say, but Claudia beat her to it.

“Leigh what was your pregnancy like?” she asked. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

Leigh’s face lit, happy with the memory. “Of course I don’t mind. I was a little sick at first, although nothing like you, and then I felt great and then I got to the point where I couldn’t wait for the baby to get out.” She smiled. “We wanted to have more, but I never got pregnant again,” she said wistfully. “I wanted to adopt, but Martin didn’t. But we were so lucky to have Rita Jane. She was healthy and happy and has been such a joy to us.” Leigh looked embarrassed. “Now I sound like a boasting mother.”

“You should be proud, she’s a lovely girl. I mean woman,” Audrey corrected herself.

Martin returned with a tray of drinks and Paul carried a large platter of grilled chicken and ribs. Claudia took a piece of each and devoured them as though she hadn’t eaten in weeks.

They ate without serious conversation enjoying the food and the warm evening. The doctor didn’t say much. Audrey and Leigh kept the conversation going with Leigh telling Audrey all the Washington sights that she “had to see.” Rita Jane ate her meal, steadfastly trying to ignore her father’s stony silence, urging herself not to say anything to make the situation worse. Just when she thought she couldn’t take another minute of his judgment, he picked up his drink and said, “I’d like to toast the chefs. Thank you for the excellent meal.”

Everyone joined in agreement. He paused as though deciding whether to say anything further then added, “And a toast to the new baby and its mother. Here’s to a healthy pregnancy.”

As everyone raised their glasses, Rita Jane saw tears roll down Claudia’s cheeks. Leigh smiled at her and she felt her loneliness dissipate, like fog lifting off the water as the sun rises.