I breathe a deep sigh and close my eyes.

“Look!” squeals a child’s voice at my ear. “Look what I have!”

I look over and find myself face to face with a blue-eyed toddler in a white pinafore. In her dimpled arms is a wreath of scarlet roses and a couple of miniature American flags. Plainly, the child has gone shopping on the graves. “You have a lot of stuff.”

“I have a lot of stuff!” says the little girl. “I found it! That’s okay!” She jumps up and down and a flag falls to the ground. “Uh-oh, flag.”

A woman in a prim linen suit rushes up and takes the child by the arm. “I’m sorry that she bothered you,” she says, flustered. “Lily, wherever did you get those things?”

Lily struggles to reach the fallen flag. “Flag, Mommy. Flag.”

“She’s no bother. She’s sweet.” I pick up the flag and hand it to Lily.

“Tank you,” Lily says, quite distinctly.

“Where do you suppose these things belong? I’d hate to put them on the wrong…places.”

“The flags go with those soldiers, in the bronze flag holders. The VFW gives them the flag holders, I think. That one over there,HAWLEY, he was in Vietnam.”

“Oh, dear. Poor man.” She turns around worriedly. “Where do you think the wreath goes?”

I take a look at it. I have no idea where it belongs. “I’ll take the wreath.”

“Thank you. I’m so sorry.” She hands it to me gratefully and hoists Lily to her hip. “Can you make sure I find the soldiers?”

“Sure. Just look for the flag holders.”

Lily howls with frustration as her mother drops the flags into the flag holders atMACARRICI, WAINWRIGHT, andHAWLEY. I give her the thumbs up.

I stand and examine the wreath. The roses are a velvety red, fastened to the circular frame with green wire. There’s even a little green tripod to make the wreath stand up. I take it and set it at the head of Mike’s grave, right underLASSITER.

On its white satin sash, it says in gold script:

BELOVED HUSBAND

I look at it for a long time.

It looks good.

36

Amonth later, I’m in my new office at Stalling amp; Webb. On the wall hangs an antique quilt that I bought in Lancaster County, from the Amish. It’s called a friendship quilt and has the names of the quilters and their best friends sewn onto spools of a dozen bright colors. The other day I read all the names. Emma Miller, from Nappanee, Indiana. Katie Yoder, of Brinton, Ohio. Sarah Helmuth, from Kokomo, Indiana. I like to think about these women, whose lives were so different from my own but who valued each other so much. That much we have in common, and it ties me to them.

I’m thinking about this as Judy sits on the other side of my new desk, an Irish farm table that cost Stalling more than an Irish farm. She sports the latest example of Kurt’s handiwork, a spiky haircut that looks like Jean Seberg’s. If only by accident, the cut brings out the richness of her blue eyes and the curve of a strong cheekbone. She looks beautiful in it, especially when she laughs. She’s a good woman; I feel blessed in knowing her. In having her in my life.

“Why are you looking at me like that, Mary?” she asks, with an amused frown.

I try to swallow the lump in my throat. How can I sayI love you? Her eyes meet mine, and for once she doesn’t bug me to say the unsayable. She knows it anyway. She wasn’t number one for nothing.

“So what do you think?” Judy asks, with a grin. She gestures to the mound of filthy men’s socks in the middle of my costly rustic desk. “I bet they expect you to wash them.”

I clear my throat. “I think it’s a good sign. They’re treating me as shitty as they treat each other.”

She smiles. “So you only lost fifty grand. Not too bad.”

“Play money.”

“Pin money.”

“Mad money.” I laugh. “You know, it was a lot less than Hart asked for. They must not have liked him. Particularly the forewoman, from Ambler. She could tell he was a pig.” I’m smelling defeat, but it doesn’t hurt half as much as I thought it would. I think this is called perspective, but I’m not sure. I never had it before.

“They should have taken notes, then you’d have grounds for appeal.” She giggles.

“Right. We’re zero for two, since we lostMitsuko. We have to be the only lawyers chastised as a team by the Third Circuit and in record time. What did they say again?”

She straightens up and tries to look judicial. “I quote-‘A bald attempt by a duo of overzealous counsel to circumvent the Federal Rules of Appellate Procedure by the deliberate inclusion of affidavits not of record.’”

“They can’t take a joke.”

“Bingo.”

We both laugh. “So we lost two, Jude. We’re doin’ good.”

“But we’re partners now. We can screw up with impunity.”

“You know, it doesn’t matter that we lostMitsuko. The Shit from Shinola Brief was a thing of beauty. Martin had to admit it, even though he was too gutless to sign it.” I shift on the needlepointed chair that Martin is lending me; every morning I have to stick my butt into an nest of tiny owlets.

“True. And even though you lost your trial, the case went in well, it really did. You handled Hart on cross, too. Didn’t ask too much, stopped at just the right time.”

“Tell me again how good my closing was. I like it when you say it was good, damn good.”

“Your closing was good, Mary. Damn good!” Judy shakes her wiggy little haircut.

“You don’t say!”

Her blue eyes glitter. “You know, you and I could be two halves of a very tough whole.”

“You want to get married?”

She grins, gap-toothed. “In a way.”

Finally I realize what she’s driving at. “You serious?”

“Yepper. You could do the trial work and I could do the paperwork. We could make a go of it, run a first-class little spinoff. A boutique practice, everyone calls it now.”

“Wait a minute, Judy. We’d get some referral work from Stalling, but I’d worry about where the business would come from.”

“You’d worry anyway. It’s in you and it’s gots to come out. We’ll start out small, for sure, but I don’t need half the money I make here. Do you?”

“Not really. I don’t have time to spend it.”

“Me neither. Even with the catalogs, there’s only so much damage you can do. Except for Victoria’s Secret.”

“Hah! What do you buy from them? You don’t even wear a bra. In our new firm you’d have to wear a bra. I won’t stand for-”

Judy throws a black sock at me, but I duck. “Joke all you want, but it’s a good idea. You could do discrimination work, but plaintiff’s side. Think about it. Do welland do good.”

“Work for the angels, huh?” The thought strikes a chord.

“There you go! You’ve represented defendants for years. You can anticipate every move, right?”

“Maybe.”

“So you want to do it? Let’s do it. Let’s just fuckingdo it!” Judy says, brimming with excitement. The woman can go from zero to sixty in two minutes. “We don’t need Stalling, Mare, we’re just two more mouths to feed here. We apprenticed for eight years, it’s our time now. Let’s go! Onward and upward!”

I look at her. She feels none of the doubt that I do. Judy loves a challenge. She climbs mountains for fun. “You think it’s that easy?”

“Yes.”

I squint at her, and she grins.

Who better to jump across an abyss with than someone who climbs mountains?says the voice.

I smile, reluctantly at first, but then it grows into laughter of its own momentum. It feels like my heart opening up. “Okay. Okay. Okay!”

“Okay!” Judy launches herself into the air, arms stretched up high, and dances around my bookshelves. “She said okay!”

I can’t stop smiling. “What should we call ourselves?”

She shakes her butt in a circle. “DiNunzio and Carrier! If not that, Bert and Ernie!”

“No, it has to be girls! Lucy and Ethel?”