The Case #2
“Marriage, of course, is more than the flashy wedding or the perfect dress or all those pictures you post on social media,” Pastor Greg said to the circle of couples.
They responded with canned laughter, just like during his sermons.
“It’s a sacred covenant. A gift from God, reserved for a man and woman to enter into chastely for the procreation of children and the continuation of His church.
It’s also an opportunity for you to fulfill your God-given roles.
A man to become a husband, a leader, and protector, and a woman to become a wife, who follows and nurtures. ”
Ryan squeezed her limp hand, and Kate fought every twitch in her face to resist scowling.
“Kate, we’re all keeping a close eye on your case,” Pastor Greg said, before they left.
“Oh, really?” she asked. “I didn’t think it would be of any interest.”
“It is for a lot of our congregation. They want their children to have a Christian-based education.” He raised an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth twisting grimly. “From what I understand, the ruling could have a major impact on how our schools receive federal funding.”
“Your schools?” Kate repeated.
Ryan grabbed her arm. “Let’s go,” he said. “Thanks, Pastor.”
“Did you hear that?” she asked him.
Ryan shrugged as they stepped outside. “You have to expect it. I don’t mind you playing in the middle, but you can’t be surprised that there are sides.”
There weren’t just sides, but a pseudo-war.
Conservative groups like the Family Defense Council and Religious Liberty Alliance financed and effectively pushed First Foundations Charter into refusing the settlement Kate initially brokered.
It was as if they wanted to make a statement, stretch the boundaries of the law, and clear the way for others to follow.
And it wasn’t as though Marcus and his students were paying for Kate’s obscenely expensive billable hours.
LGBTQ rights groups rallied behind them, raising funds for their legal fees.
It kicked up a whirlwind of media attention.
Demonstrations and cameras crowded Kate and Marcus as they climbed the steps to the courthouse.
Opening statements weren’t for another month.
All this for a meeting with the judge and pretrial motions.
It caught Kate so off guard that she stammered through an interview with the local news, not sure if she should look straight into the camera or at the reporter.
The next day, a media coach magically appeared in the conference room, sent by her bosses. Then Charlotte Pruitt, a senior partner and the only woman at the firm to achieve such a rank, opened the door. “Come with me,” she said before stalking off.
Kate braced to be berated for her poor performance.
Instead, Charlotte led her to a town car waiting outside and took her to a swank shop where security guards stood at the door and sales associates greeted them with champagne.
Charlotte scanned her up and down once, guessed her size exactly, uttered a few things to the saleswoman, and said she’d take her to a proper tailor next.
Kate followed her every command, though when she said she didn’t know if she could afford it, Charlotte rolled her eyes.
“Charge it to the firm.”
Kate gulped and nodded. As she studied herself in the mirror, she wasn’t the girl who left Deer Park or the one who feared her family. She was a lawyer. She was powerful. She was exactly who she wanted to be but had never admitted to herself.
Charlotte’s smile flashed behind her in the mirror. “You see, I don’t buy this Dorothy misses Kansas, modest little lamb act.”
Kate turned around, surprised but unperturbed by the woman’s accurate read. Charlotte sipped her champagne and nodded at the spot next to her on the couch.
“I’m onto you. I was from the start when we hired you,” Charlotte said.
“You’ve taken very specific steps. Berkeley, the clerkship, always at the top, always the best. You are a competitor.
” She raised an eyebrow. “You could’ve joined a nonprofit or the ACLU, but you chose Cortell & Griffin, where just down the hall from your admirable cause there’s a senior associate defending a corporation for false advertising and insufficient drug label warnings. ”
Kate blushed. Embarrassment hit her, not because this was who she wanted to be, but because she denied it, as if her dreams and wants were too big, too immodest, too impure.
“It’s okay to want both,” Charlotte said. “Because you can, as long as you know who you are. You decide who that is and what you want, and you take it. There’s a reason we chose you for this, Kate.”
“Why?”
“Because you know how to win.”
While Charlotte meant her academic and career achievements, Kate thought of softball.
She thought of captaining their small, scrappy team to a national championship.
She’d worked tirelessly, willing them to the top, but she also hadn’t done it alone.
None of it would’ve been possible without Abby during that magical senior season.
Abby crushing home runs, Abby lightening the team’s mood, lifting Kate at her lowest, and encouraging her to reach her highest. Perhaps that’s why it wasn’t the new suits or long months of preparation that steadied Kate ahead of the trial. It was another letter.
Dear Kate,
I apologize for the delay in this long overdue letter.
By now, you know that I’m okay. I’m so incredibly sorry that you had to worry.
I asked Isla to tell you where I was as soon as I could, but my phone access has been restricted, and truthfully, when I got it back, I didn’t think calling was the best for either of us. I’m writing to you 90 days sober.
Rehab, as you might expect, has left plenty of time for self-reflection, therapy, talking about feelings.
All of my favorite things. I’ve had to face a lot of guilt and shame, my lesser qualities, my tendency to isolate or self-destruct when shit gets hard.
I’ve also spent plenty of time reckoning with how that affected you.
In AA, we have twelve steps, and making amends with those we’ve hurt is a big part of them. I owe you more than a letter, but I’d like to start here.
I’m sorry for the times I pushed you away when you were the only one who showed up.
I’m sorry for all you put in me, and I couldn’t give back.
I’m sorry for the times I caused fights on the field and off it, for the times I ran and made you fearful, for the times I selfishly couldn’t get past myself to be more for you.
I always wanted to give more and be more.
I just couldn’t figure it out. No one really showed me how. But I’m trying now.
I fell in love with you back in college because you’re the kindest, realest, smartest person I know.
The crazy thing is, everyone knows you’re all these things, but it doesn’t make them jealous or covet.
I think that’s what it means to be a light in the world.
To simply give when everything else is dark.
You’ve given me so much of that light, taught me about it, shown me what it means. I never meant to dim it.
It’s no excuse, but I often doubted why someone with as much to give as you chose someone as empty as me.
You were a light that shined in me and showed me something in myself.
Something that I always wanted to be. The problem is that I rarely gave you light in return.
Didn’t know how to make mine glow without you.
I like to think I’m figuring that out now.
Just maybe, one day, I’ll have some light to shine in you too.
We pray and talk a lot about God or a higher power here.
Believe it or not, I’ve even given the Bible a shot.
Too much time on my hands obviously. I’ve told you before, God never made much sense to me.
I believe more wholeheartedly in the Church of Softball, but you’re right.
They are strikingly similar in that requirement of surrender.
In bowing to the unknowable. The Serenity Prayer almost sounds like an ode to the game itself.
“God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.” Is that not the field’s mantra?
I gave the Book of Job a try. I still don’t completely understand it, though I do feel bad for that poor bastard.
Perhaps I see myself in his suffering. He even has three annoying friends to pull him from the rut.
His plea for death, his misery, losing everything, only to keep going against his will resonates too.
I think the part I like the most, the one I understand best, is the epilogue.
“The Lord blessed the latter days of Job more than his earlier ones.” I pray that it’s the same for us.
That your days ahead are better than what I’ve put you through.
That you get everything you deserve and the things I couldn’t give you.
I pray for it. If you only knew how often I talk to God about you.
As for me, I’m trying to take life slower. I always told you I never imagined a future for myself or knew what I wanted.
But now I at least know a few things that I want to be. I want to be someone who doesn’t need saving. Someone who doesn’t have to say sorry as often. Someone who one day might be worthy of someone like you. Though I doubt I’ll ever find another you.
I love you, Kate. I always have. You’re always going to be the one. But I also know that doesn’t mean I get to have you.
I hope you’re happy in your marriage and career and that one day I’m a wistful memory, an old teammate, a long-lost friend. And maybe we’ll even be able to smile about it.
Don’t forget to breathe.
Love,
Abby