Between Sisters by Kristin Hannah Page B

tried to look confident; perhaps it worked. As she crossed the wooden floor, she heard her heels clacking with each step. The sound was like an exclamation mark on the sentence of her every breath.
    At the high oak bench, she stopped and looked up. It took an act of will to keep her hands open and at her sides. “Yes, Your Honor?” Her voice, thank God, sounded normal. Strong.
    The judge leaned forward to say softly, “We all know what happened last week, Meghann. That bullet missed you by inches. Are you certain you're ready to be back in a courtroom?”
    “Yes.” Meghann's voice was softer now. Her right hand was trembling.
    The judge frowned down at her, then cleared her throat and nodded. “Step back.”
    Meghann headed back to the desk. John Heinreid stepped in beside her. They'd tried dozens of cases against each other. They often shared a glass of wine and a plate of oysters after a long day in court.
    “You sure you're okay? I'd be willing to shove this back a few days.”
    She didn't look at him. “Thanks, John. I'm fine.” She went back to the table, slid into her seat.
    Her client, a Mercer Island housewife who couldn't possibly live on nineteen thousand dollars a month, stared at her. “What's going on?” she mouthed, twisting the gold chain of her Chanel handbag.
    Meghann shook her head. “Don't worry.”
    “I'll restate, Your Honor,” John said. “My client would like to stay these proceedings for a short time so that he and Mrs. Miller can obtain counseling. There are, after all, small children involved. He'd like to give the marriage every opportunity to succeed.”
    Meghann heard her client whisper, “No way,” as she planted her hands on the desk and slowly rose.
    Her mind went blank. She couldn't think of a single argument. When she closed her eyes, trying to concentrate, she heard a different voice, gruff and desperate.
It's your fault, you bitch.
Then she saw the gun pointed at her, heard an echoed blast. When she opened her eyes, everyone was looking at her. Had she flinched or cried out?
Shit.
She didn't know. “My client believes that the marriage is irretrievably broken, Your Honor. She sees no benefit to counseling.”
    “No benefit?” John argued. “Certainly, after fifteen years of living together, it couldn't hurt to spend a few hours with a therapist. My client believes that the children's welfare should be paramount here. He's merely asking for an opportunity to save his family.”
    Meghann turned to her client. “It's a reasonable request, Celene,” she whispered. “You won't look good if we fight this battle in front of the judge.”
    “Oh. I guess . . .” Celene frowned.
    Meghann returned her attention to the bench. “We'd ask for a time limit and a follow-up court date to be set now.”
    “That's acceptable to us, Your Honor.”
    Meghann stood there, a little unsteady on her feet as the details were worked out. Her right hand was still trembling and a tic had begun spasming in her left eyelid. On autopilot, she packed up her briefcase.
    “Wait. What just happened?” Celene whispered.
    “We agreed to counseling. A few months or so. No more. Maybe—”
    “Counseling? We've tried counseling—or did you forget that? We've also tried hypnosis and romantic vacations and even a weeklong couples' self-help seminar. None of it worked. And do you know why?”
    Meghann had forgotten all of that. The information that should have been at her fingertips had vanished. “Oh” was all she could manage.
    “It didn't work because he doesn't love me,” Celene's voice cracked. “Mr. Computer Software likes male prostitutes, remember? Blow jobs under the Viaduct and in X-rated theaters.”
    “I'm sorry, Celene.”
    “Sorry?
Sorry.
My children and I need to start over, not relive the same old shit.”
    “You're right. I'll fix this. I promise I will.” And she could. A phone call to John Heinreid that threatened to reveal Mr. Miller's preferred sex partners and it'd be