Nothing but the Truth E-Book

Robyn Gigl

• Herausgeber: Verve Books
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Serie: An Erin McCabe Legal Thriller
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 627

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

Fans of The Good Wife and Anatomy of a Scandal will devour this edgy page-turner, as Erin McCabe discovers that getting to the truth can be deadly...

New Jersey State Trooper Jon Mazer has been charged with killing Black investigative reporter Stewart Marshall in a racially charged, headline-making murder. The evidence against criminal defense attorney Erin McCabe's new client is overwhelming. The gun used is Mazer's off-duty weapon. Fingerprints and carpet fibers link Mazer to the crime. And Mazer was patrolling Marshall's neighborhood shortly before the victim took three bullets to the chest. Mazer's argument? He's a gay officer being set up to take the fall in an even bigger story.

Mazer swears he was a secret source for Marshall's exposé about the Lords of Discipline. The covert gang operating within the New Jersey State Police is notorious for enforcing their own code of harassing women, framing minorities, and out-powering any troopers who don't play their rogue and racist games. With everyone from the governor to the county prosecutor on the wrong side of justice, Erin and her partner, Duane Swisher, are prepared to do anything to make sure Mazer doesn't become another victim.

As Erin deals with an intensely personal issue at home, and faces an uphill battle to prove her client's innocence, both she and Duane find themselves mired in a conspiracy of corruption deeper than they imagined - and far more dangerous than they feared.

A propulsive and timely thriller about murder, prejudice, and police corruption, perfect for fans of J.A. Jance, Scott Turow, Lisa Unger, and Renee James.

'Gigl writes crackling courtroom scenes and ratchets up the suspense with every chapter, but the depth with which she renders Erin, her love for (and complicated relationships with) her family and friends, is what sticks with me. The personal is political, especially now, but character and humanity are what propel this series to continued excellence' - New York Times (The Best Crime Novels of 2024)

'Gigl's courtroom scenes are terrific and are adroitly interwoven with a less public legal process in which Erin - a trans woman who wants to be registered as her child's mother - navigates a path to parenthood on her terms' - Sunday Times

'Taut and powerful. Gigl's latest legal thriller combines the very best of courtroom drama, unexpected twists and thought-provoking characters. Erin McCabe is my new favorite series character - crazy clever, quietly powerful and always compelling. Don't miss this series!' - Lisa Gardner, #1 New York Times bestselling author

'Powerfully written and completely immersive, this revealing (and heartbreaking) legal thriller had me absolutely hooked. Compelling, twisty, and utterly life-changing. Robyn Gigl's insight and compassion are unmatched, and her storytelling skill will have you turning the pages as fast as you can' - Hank Phillippi Ryan, USA Today bestselling author

'Gripping... Gigl deftly balances the fast-paced action with nuanced character development, exploring themes of identity, justice, and prejudice. It's a thought-provoking and suspenseful read that keeps readers hooked from start to finish' - GQ India

Leseprobe

Praise for Nothing but the Truth

‘Taut and powerful. Gigl’s latest legal thriller combines the very best of courtroom drama, unexpected twists and thought-provoking characters. Erin McCabe is my new favorite series character – crazy clever, quietly powerful and always compelling. Don’t miss this series!’ – Lisa Gardner, #1 New York Times bestselling author

‘Powerfully written and completely immersive, this revealing (and heartbreaking) legal thriller had me absolutely hooked. Compelling, twisty, and utterly life-changing. Robyn Gigl’s insight and compassion are unmatched, and her storytelling skill will have you turning the pages as fast as you can’ – Hank Phillippi Ryan, USA Today bestselling author

Praise for Remain Silent

‘Trans attorney Erin McCabe, the star of Gigl’s terrific New Jersey-based legal thrillers, finds herself in the crosshairs of suspicion for the murder of a politically connected financier... When Erin does end up behind bars, we see just how kick-ass a woman she is’ – CrimeReads

‘Gripping... Gigl brings authenticity and depth to her characters, gracefully presenting LGBTQ issues to a mainstream audience via a satisfying mystery plot. This series deserves a long life’ – Publishers Weekly

‘Gigl’s legal thriller is an enjoyable read with a likable protagonist, and one who represents an important and underrepresented perspective’ – Library Journal

Praise for Survivor’s Guilt

‘Robyn Gigl’s Survivor’s Guilt is so good that it may end up counting among this year’s standouts. A groundbreaking series is poised to become a definitive one’ – New York Times (Best Crime Novels of 2022)

‘Stunning… Gigl delightfully flips the usual terms of the genre with a murder victim readers are quickly drawn to hate and a murderer whom they will be rooting for. Her takes on big questions of justice, revenge, and the nature of victimhood will resonate with many’ – Publishers Weekly(Starred Review)

‘Another great merger of legal mystery and psychological thriller’ – CrimeReads

Praise for By Way of Sorrow

‘Legal eagle Robyn Gigl clearly writes from bitter personal experience. The result is an authentic and powerful thriller’ – Times & Sunday Times Crime Club

‘Emotionally resonant… Gigl is too astute and compassionate a writer to create cartoon villainy out of anti-trans attitudes… quietly groundbreaking’ – New York Times

‘A powerful legal thriller that brims with authentic detail. Intricate, intelligent and wholly compulsive, it is part classic page-turner and part complex portrayal of gender, race, privilege and prejudice. Like all the best fiction, it will start a thousand conversations’ – Kia Abdullah, author of Take It Back

‘This enthralling series debut features a twisty plot full of surprises and a cast of exciting characters – most notably tough, relatable defense-attorney Erin McCabe – all while diving into the mud of corrupt local politics. An original legal thriller that is sure to be among the year’s best’ – Edwin Hill, author of The Missing Ones

‘Robyn Gigl has delivered a compelling, provocative legal thriller like no other… Topical and fast-paced, By Way of Sorrow grabs you on the very first page with a brutal murder, and then sends you on a twist-filled thrill-ride that doesn’t let up until the startling finale. Gigl introduces a new kind of heroine with attorney Erin McCabe – she’s brilliant, resourceful, a little vulnerable and completely unique. Bravo!’ – Kevin O’Brien, author of The Bad Sister

‘A taut, engaging, page-turner with a lot of heart… A good read. McCabe’s a protagonist with a lot of depth. Two thumbs up for Gigl’ – Tracy Clark, author of What You Don’t See

For Doreen, Virginia, and Tom

PROLOGUE

He lay comatose, entangled ina web of tubes and wires. The blue flexible hose ran from the ventilator and disappeared down his throat, the rhythmic pulse of the machine forcing air in and out. His hands and arms were secured to the bed rails, and periodically the cuffs strapped to his lower legs inflated, trying to prevent a clot from forming.

Monitors displayed his vitals with a glance – heart rate, respiratory rate, blood oxygen, temperature, and blood pressure. All were within normal limits now, but she knew all too well what the alarm meant when one or more fell into dangerous territory, having been in his room yesterday when his temperature spiked at 104.5.

IVs were attached to veins of all sorts, so she couldn’t even hold his hand. All she could do was sit and talk to him, hoping that, somewhere in the darkness of his drug-induced coma, he knew she was there. She reached over the bed rail and gently placed her hand on his arm.

Later, she’d quietly castigate herself, but she found herself mumbling a prayer. She hadn’t believed in God with a capital G since freshman year in high school when Brother Mathias had told her religion class that people like her were going to burn in the fires of hell for all eternity. But still, she found herself beseeching a deity she didn’t believe in to spare his life. He had to live; he just had to. After all they’d been through together, she wasn’t sure how she’d be able to go on without him.

She also remembered a promise she had made to him – a promise she knew she’d keep, but one she hoped upon hope wasn’t necessary.

The alarm startled her. She quickly jumped out of the chair to get his nurse, but the nurse was in his room before she could even make it to the door. The nurse scurried over to the monitor, grabbed for the phone, hit a button, and yelled, ‘Code blue, ICU room ten. I repeat, code blue, ICU room ten.’ The nurse turned quickly toward her. ‘Go to the ICU waiting room. Someone will come and speak to you there.’

She looked at the nurse, her eyes pleading. ‘Please save him – please!’

1

Approximately one year earlier

October 19, 2009

Russell Marshall muttered under his breath as the doorbell chimed. He flipped on the front porch light, annoyed that his sources apparently felt they could meet with him anytime they wanted. It’s fucking Monday night, for God’s sake. I have a life too.

Except the truth was, for this story he’d give up his Monday night, and Tuesday through Sunday nights as well. If everything went right, this story was going to put him on the map as one of the premiere investigative reporters in the metropolitan area. This story would open up doors – the Times, the Post – there was no telling where it might take him. No, for this story there were no limits.

Marshall pulled open the door, the chill in the fall evening air catching him by surprise. Framed in the doorway was a tall, well-built man, his hands jammed into his coat pockets.

‘Hey,’ Russell said. ‘Come on in,’ he offered, stepping back to allow the man to enter. ‘A little surprised to see you. What’s up?’

‘Yeah. Sorry to bother you, but I need to discuss something with you,’ the man responded, making his way into the foyer.

‘Sure. Come on in,’ Russell said, nodding toward the kitchen. ‘I’m just cleaning up from dinner. Can I get you anything – coffee, soda, a beer?’

‘Nah, I’m good.’

They walked into the kitchen, and Russell closed the laptop sitting on the counter.

‘So, what’s on your mind?’ he asked.

‘This,’ the man replied, taking his right hand out of his coat pocket, a 9mm Glock in his gloved hand.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ Russell said, taking a step back, panic creeping into his voice at the sight of the gun pointed at his chest.

‘Putting a stop to this nonsense.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Your article.’

‘You’ve known about the article for months. You talked to me about it. Come on, man. Let’s talk this out.’

‘Not much to talk about. I’ve watched this game play out long enough. Time to pull the plug.’

‘Sure. I can pull the article. Just don’t do anything you’ll regret.’

The man’s laugh had an ethereal quality. ‘Don’t worry. I won’t regret anything – not even a little. And, as for you pulling the article, you’re a reporter. Even if you killed it, do you really think, given who I am, I can trust you to keep the fact that I’m pointing a gun at you under wraps? You and I both know that’s not going to happen.’

Russell tried to do some quick calculations. In the dish rack was a frying pan he had just washed. If he could grab that and throw it, maybe it would be enough of a distraction so he could tackle him. He wasn’t sure he could overpower him; it was a bit of a mismatch – a forty-five-year-old, out-of-shape reporter versus a fit guy with a gun – but he didn’t have too many other options. He inched back toward the sink. ‘Let’s talk. Why… why are you doing this?’ His question really a plea, trying to buy a little more time.

‘Because,’ the man replied, and then he squeezed the trigger, the roar from the gun reverberating around the room.

The shot hit Russell squarely in the chest, knocking him backward against the sink.

‘Unfortunately for you, you’ve gotten to the truth,’ the man said. ‘And the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth isn’t good for me.’

‘Please,’ Russell gasped, his eyes wide with fear as he grabbed the counter for support, trying to stay on his feet. ‘I don’t…’

The second round struck Russell directly in his heart, causing him to stagger and collapse, his blood quickly starting to pool beneath him as he lay spreadeagle on the linoleum floor.

The man calmly walked around the L-shaped counter so he could have a clear view of Russell sprawled on the floor.

Shock was frozen on Russell’s face; his eyes were wide open, staring at the ceiling. As the man stood there watching Russell’s twitching body, he momentarily thought about doing a head shot to ensure the job was finished, but a bullet exploding the skull would likely leave a lot of back spatter. Safer to do one more into his heart.

Russell’s body bounced when the third shot hit his inert body, and there was no further movement after that.

The house sat at the end of a cul-de-sac that backed up to the Dismal Swamp, so the man was confident the gunshots would go unnoticed. He made his way to the front door and, with his gloved hand, turned off the porch light. He checked the thermostat, turning it to ‘off,’ and opened the windows in the dining area and living room. Then he returned to the kitchen, careful to avoid stepping in the blood, spreading across the floor, and opened a window near the kitchen table. He collected two of the three bullet casings and placed them in his pocket. Finally, he disconnected the laptop and tucked it under his arm.

After scanning the scene to make sure he hadn’t left any evidence, he made his way out the back door and across the backyard to the waiting woods.

2

November 20, 2009

The candles on the altar flickered, throwing strange shadows across the enormous stained-glass windows that rose up to the vaulted roof of the chapel. Erin McCabe stood among a group of people she had come to know over the last five years. Their journeys were all very different, but they were compatriots nonetheless, joined by a common thread. A thread that also knitted them to the names being solemnly read to the fifty or so people gathered in the pews near the front of the chapel.

‘From the United States – Caprice Curry, age thirty-one; Jimmy McCollough, age thirty-four; Foxy Ivy, age twenty-five; Kelly Watson, no age; Eric “Beyoncé” Lee, age twenty-one; Paulina Ibarra, age twenty-four; Mariah Qualis, age twenty-one; Carson Stevenson, age forty-seven; Jacqueline Ford, age sixty…’

As each name was read, it was displayed on a large screen. Each name a life lost, most of them young, most women of color, all of them killed in the last twelve months because they were transgender, nonbinary, or gender nonconforming. Tears rolled from the corners of Erin’s eyes. This was her third year attending the International Transgender Day of Remembrance at the Princeton Chapel, and each year was harder than the previous one, as the list of names grew longer every year. Tonight, she and her companions took turns reading each of the 163 names of the people lost.

After the last name was read, they slowly returned to the pews and took their seats among the others in attendance. When they were seated, a Unitarian Universalist minister slowly climbed up to the pulpit and offered a moving prayer about love, compassion, and acceptance. When the minister finished, a singer sat down at the piano and, in a beautiful contralto, offered moving renditions of ‘Imagine’ followed by ‘I Will Remember You.’ As the final chords faded, Erin remained anchored in place, allowing the solemnity of the moment to linger, taking a few more seconds to remember those who had lost their lives, especially those who were remembered simply as ‘Name Unknown,’ a final indignity to lives tragically cut short.

After several minutes, Erin turned to the woman on her right, Rachel Stern, a retired IRS Special Agent, and gave her a hug. ‘I hope you didn’t mind that I added Jacqueline’s name to the list,’ Erin whispered, referring to Rachel’s friend Bradford Montgomery, who had also gone by the name Jacqueline Ford.

‘No. It was nice,’ Rachel replied. ‘I know Brad spent his life in the closet, but he was one of us. Although, we both know Brad’s murder was politically motivated, and not because he was trans.’

‘That doesn’t make her loss any easier,’ Erin replied, purposely switching pronouns to reflect who Brad truly was.

‘No. You’re right,’ Rachel replied, and sighed. ‘I still miss her.’

Once they slid out of the pew, Erin gave Logan Stevens a hug. Logan, a self-described biracial, pansexual, genderqueer attorney, had played a huge role in Erin’s last case, and was now dating Rachel.

Gathering their belongings, they made their way out into the unseasonably warm evening. They stood outside the chapel in the well-lit area by the walkway to Nassau Street.

‘A few of us are heading over to the Alchemist & Barrister to grab something to eat. You want to join us?’ Logan asked.

‘Sure,’ Erin replied.

‘Excuse me,’ a man called out as he approached. ‘Would you be Erin McCabe?’

‘I am,’ Erin replied, catching Rachel and Logan eyeing the man suspiciously.

‘I don’t mean to be rude, but are you the criminal defense lawyer?’ he asked skeptically.

‘Yes. I’m that Erin McCabe,’ she responded with a small grin. ‘And to answer your next question, as far as I know, I’m the only Erin McCabe who’s a criminal defense attorney in New Jersey.’

‘I’m sorry,’ the man stammered. ‘I apologize. You… well… you just look…’

‘Too young to be the infamous Erin McCabe, criminal defense lawyer,’ Logan suggested with a chuckle.

Erin tried not to blush, but at five foot five with a dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose and a slim, athletic figure, she was still blessed with a youthful appearance that belied the fact that she was a seasoned attorney with a unique backstory.

‘Is there something I can help you with?’ Erin asked.

The man rubbed the back of his neck, appearing uncertain. ‘Um, is it possible for us to speak privately? I promise I won’t keep you from your friends. I know what today is. I was inside for part of the ceremony. I only need a couple of minutes. It’s about a potential case.’

Sensing that Rachel was about to spring into special agent mode, Erin turned to her. ‘Why don’t you go on ahead with the others and save seats for Logan and me?’ she said, hoping that Logan’s presence would reassure Rachel.

Rachel gave Erin a sidelong glance, but headed off to the restaurant.

Erin studied the man. He appeared to be in his early thirties, and was significantly taller than her, so her guess was that he was close to six foot. He was a good-looking guy, well built. He was wearing a black suit, with a white shirt that was unbuttoned at the collar, exposing a gold crucifix hanging from a chain around his neck. And even though Erin didn’t sense any danger, she felt better with Logan standing next to her.

‘Is this about representing you?’ Erin asked.

‘No. Not me; I have a friend who needs help.’

Erin pursed her lips. ‘OK, but just so you know, if it’s not about representing you, the attorney-client privilege doesn’t apply.’

‘What’s that mean?’ he asked.

‘Basically, it means that whatever you tell me isn’t confidential,’ she said.

He sighed and looked down at the ground, seeming to weigh his options.

‘OK,’ he finally said. ‘I guess I don’t have a choice. But can we speak alone?’

Now it was Erin’s turn to consider her options. She had certainly pissed off enough rich and powerful people over the last four years to be wary of someone wanting to speak to her alone about representing someone else. Perhaps she was being paranoid, but as she was known to say, ‘It’s not paranoia if they’re really out to get you.’ Then there was also the issue of Logan, who Erin could sense was now in full protect mode. Erin finally landed on being cautious.

‘Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I prefer to have Logan here. Logan’s also an attorney and we sometimes work together, so anything you want to discuss with me you should feel free to discuss with them here as well.’

‘Them?’ the man repeated, looking around.

‘Yes. Logan’s genderqueer and uses they, them, theirs pronouns.’

‘Oh,’ he replied, unable to mask his confusion.

‘I apologize. I don’t know your name,’ Erin said.

‘Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t introduce myself. I’m Gabriel, Gabriel DeAngelis. But please call me Gabe,’ he replied, offering his hand to Erin and Logan in turn.

‘How can I help you, Gabe?’ Erin asked.

DeAngelis seemed to glance around to see if anyone was within earshot. ‘Like I said, it’s not for me. It’s for my… my friend. He was arrested two days ago. He’s charged with murder and he desperately needs an attorney and you come highly recommended.’

‘Nice to know someone highly recommends me,’ Erin said. ‘What’s your friend’s name and who’s he charged with murdering?’

‘My friend is Jon Mazer and he’s charged with murdering–’

‘Russell Marshall,’ Erin said, finishing the sentence.

DeAngelis took a deep breath. ‘I guess you saw it on the news.’

‘Gabe, unless I was living in a cave on Borneo, it would be pretty hard for me not to know about the case. A white state trooper shoots a Black newspaper reporter, in the reporter’s home – a reporter who allegedly was working on an exposé of the state police. I mean, the governor, state attorney general, and the superintendent of the state police have all condemned your friend as a bad apple in an otherwise stellar law enforcement agency.’

‘They’re all full of it!’ Gabe shouted.

‘I won’t argue with you about that,’ Erin said. ‘But from what I’ve read, it still sounds like the state has a pretty solid case.’

‘That’s exactly why Jon needs you. He didn’t do it. He was the one working with Marshall to expose the corruption within the state police.’

‘Look, Gabe, let me be blunt. I presume you know that I’m a transgender woman, and generally speaking, law enforcement doesn’t have a great reputation within the LGBTQ community. On top of that, my law partner, Duane Swisher, is a Black man. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you how sick and tired Black people are of being killed by white law enforcement officers.’

‘Ms McCabe…’

‘Please call me Erin.’

‘Erin. I get it, but Jon’s not just any trooper – he’s gay. He’s the only out gay male trooper we’re aware of, and since he was outed, other troopers have put him through hell. They literally hate him.’ He bit down on his lip, closed his eyes, and exhaled. ‘Jon’s a close friend. Trust me, he didn’t do it. You have to help him.’

Erin stared at him for several seconds. ‘Based on the fact that you’re here, I’m assuming he’s in custody.’

‘Yeah. Bail’s been set at two million dollars. There’s no way he can make that.’

‘The case is in Middlesex County, right?’

Gabe nodded.

‘Not to be crass, but does he have money to pay for a lawyer?’

‘We’ll find a way.’

Erin reached into her purse and took out a business card and handed it to DeAngelis. ‘Let me talk to my partner. Do you have a card?’

He reached into his pocket, took out a card, quickly jotted something on the back, and handed it to her.

She looked at the card, then at him. ‘That’s interesting.’

‘Please don’t call my work number,’ he said. ‘I wrote my cell number on the back.’

‘Can you call me around 10:00 am Monday?’ she asked.

‘Yeah. Ten will work.’

‘OK. I’ll talk to you then.’

He turned and headed down the walkway toward Nassau Street. Once he was out of sight, they made their way down Witherspoon Street to join the others at the restaurant. ‘You going to take the case?’ Logan asked.

Erin shrugged. ‘Don’t know. At this point I don’t even know if he can afford a lawyer. Not to mention, I’m not sure how Duane will feel about the racial overtones of the case. I guess we’ll see.’

‘How about the fact that, based on what’s been in the press, his friend is guilty as sin,’ Logan asked.

‘Nah. That’s not a consideration. If Duane and I only took on clients who were innocent, we would’ve been out of business years ago.’

Logan laughed. ‘You think Gabe and Mazer are more than friends?’

‘Don’t know,’ Erin said. ‘But it would explain Gabe’s desire for confidentiality.’

‘Why?’ Logan asked.

Erin handed Gabe’s card to Logan.

Logan looked down at the card, stopped in their tracks, and screamed, ‘What the fuck! Are you shitting me? Reverend Gabriel DeAngelis, Saint Raymond’s Roman Catholic Church, Franklin, New Jersey.’

‘You can’t make this stuff up,’ Erin said.

‘Damn, woman,’ Logan said. ‘You sure do get some crazy-ass cases.’

3

November 21, 2009

Erin and her mother sat opposite each other in the booth at their favorite diner. They had just come from Erin’s final wedding dress fitting – a wedding a mere three weeks away.

‘Your dress is beautiful,’ Peg offered.

It had been a wonderful morning, but Erin could tell that her mom was putting on a brave front for her. It’d only been a little over four months since Erin’s dad, Patrick, had died suddenly, and just two weeks ago, it would’ve been his sixty-eighth birthday. Erin’s parents had met in high school, and had been married for forty-five years, so her dad’s death had rocked her mom’s world.

Although she was now sixty-seven, with her almost wrinkle-free face, and her brown hair cut in a short bob, Peg McCabe could easily pass for someone in her mid-fifties. She still worked full-time as a guidance counselor at Cranford High School and stayed in shape mainly by doing yoga. But now, for the first time in her life, she was living alone.

‘Thank you,’ Erin replied. ‘But I don’t want to talk about my dress. I don’t want to talk about my wedding. I want to talk about you.’

Peg’s eyes widened. ‘Me? Why do you want to talk about me?’

‘Because I’m worried about you, that’s why,’ Erin responded. ‘It’s only been a year since you finished treatment for breast cancer. Then out of nowhere, Dad died, and you’re still beating yourself up over the fact that you believe that you could have saved him,’ Erin fired back.

Her mother reached across the table and patted Erin’s hand. ‘Thank you for your concern, my dear. I’ll be fine.’

‘Are you seeing anyone?’ Erin asked.

‘Honey, it’s only been four months since your father died. Too soon.’

‘Sorry,’ Erin said, barely suppressing a laugh. ‘A very poorly worded question. Are you seeing a therapist or a grief counselor? You’ve been through a lot.’

Her mother smiled, apparently at her own misunderstanding of the question. ‘I talk with my friends,’ her mother said. ‘Some have been through similar things, so that helps.’

‘Mom, you’re a guidance counselor; you should know better than most that talking to a professional can be really helpful.’

‘I don’t disagree,’ Peg replied, ‘but for my generation, we just tend to muddle through. Besides, you’ve been through a lot, and I don’t see you running off to see a therapist.’

Erin smiled. ‘Actually, I’ve been seeing my therapist for almost seven years now.’

‘You have?’ her mother said. ‘How come I didn’t know that?’

‘You knew I had a therapist. I started seeing her before I transitioned,’ Erin replied.

‘Yes, but I didn’t know you were still seeing her. Why are you still seeing a therapist? Is it my fault?’ her mother asked.

‘No, Mom,’ Erin said, shaking her head. ‘The reasons I see a therapist are not because of you. And you’re doing what you always do – you’re deflecting. This isn’t about me, it’s about you.’

‘But you’ve been through a lot too. I mean, after you came out, your marriage fell apart. Your father and brother stopped talking to you for two years. Someone tried to kill you, and you feel guilty over your last conversation with your father.’

Erin’s face twisted as if she had just sucked on a lemon. ‘You left out that I recently spent three weeks in jail, where I was beaten and groped. So now that we know why I see a therapist every week, let’s talk about you.’

‘You see someone every week?’

‘Mom!’

‘What? I’m your mother. I’m allowed to worry about you.’

‘And I’m your daughter and I’m allowed to worry about you.’

Peg let out a small laugh. ‘Seems to me we’re doing far too much worrying here.’

‘Mom, I’m serious.’

‘Honey, I am too.’ Peg paused. ‘I appreciate the fact that you’re worried about me. But right now, I have to find my own way through my grief. I will. But it’ll take time. Your dad was part of my life for over fifty years. It’s hard for me to imagine my life without him, and I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to imagine it, but at some point, it’ll happen. And honestly, sometimes that scares me more than the fact that I don’t have him – moving on without him. I don’t want that, but…’ Peg chewed on her lower lip, and wiped a tear away with the back of her hand. ‘Sorry,’ she whispered.

‘Don’t be sorry, Mom,’ Erin said, fighting back her own tears. ‘Thank you for letting me in – even a little. I love you.’

‘I know you do, dear. I love you too. And trust me, there are times that the only thing that keeps me going is you, Sean, Liz, and the boys,’ she said, referring to Erin’s brother, his wife, and their sons, Patrick and Brennan. ‘But I worry about you too because I know you struggle over the way things ended between you and your father.’

All Erin could do was close her eyes and nod. Her last conversation with her father was one that, try as she might, she would never forget. What made things worse was that every time Erin walked into her parents’ kitchen, the sights, the sounds, the smells brought the entire encounter back to her. It was a Sunday morning. She was going to have breakfast with her parents and then take them to her nephews’ soccer game. But the night before she had gone to her twentieth high school reunion – a reunion made slightly uncomfortable by the fact that she had gone to an all-boys high school. When she got to her parents’ that morning, her father had unloaded on her. After church a couple of his friends had let him know that his ‘daughter’ had made quite the impression at the reunion. Why couldn’t she have cut him some slack and just skipped the reunion? he had asked. He told her that he was tired of all the transgender stuff and that she embarrassed him. After a few other tense words, he had walked out of the kitchen, closing the door to the den behind him.

They’d never talk again. The long heart-to-heart she hoped to have with him – the tearful reconciliation, the warm embrace of forgiveness – none of it happened. He died. He was gone; end of story. True, her mother, brother, Liz, and Mark all told her that her father felt awful about what had happened and wanted to make it up to her, but destiny had other plans – for him, and for her.

Erin felt her mother’s arms wrap around her before she had even realized that her mother had slid into the booth next to her.

‘I wanted so much for him to be proud of me,’ Erin said, sobbing. ‘And all I’ll ever have is the image of him closing the door on me in disgust.’

‘You can’t keep doing this to yourself, Erin,’ her mother gently scolded. ‘Your dad loved you. Stop beating yourself up.’

‘I’m trying,’ Erin responded. ‘There’s one more reason I see a therapist – guilt.’

After a few minutes, her mother went back to her side of the booth and each of them sat silently, lost in their thoughts.

The waitress stopping at the booth to take their lunch order finally broke the solemnity of the moment.

‘Can I change the subject?’ Peg asked, after the waitress had headed to the kitchen with their order.

Erin gave her a weak smile. ‘Mom, one thing I’ve learned over the years is that even if I said no, you’ll do it anyway.’

Her mother shrugged. ‘I’d like to help pay for your wedding. After all, you are my daughter. The bride’s parents are supposed to pay. And thanks to your father’s life insurance, I have more than enough money.’

‘That’s very generous of you, Mom, but no, you can’t,’ Erin replied. ‘First of all, this isn’t my first marriage. Secondly, I’ve done OK over the last three years. I mean, I have a condo in Bradley Beach. We were able to put the money from the sale of Mark’s house in Clark toward the house we just bought in Cranford.’ Erin paused. ‘And, last, but not least, the bride’s parents paying is a sexist, misogynistic anachronism going back to the days when a woman’s father had to pay a dowry to get his daughter married off.’

Peg took a sip of her coffee. ‘Wow! Were you such a feminist before you transitioned?’

Erin grinned. ‘I wish I could say yes, but probably not. As they say, “Perception is reality”.’

The waitress slid their plates down in front of them, asked if they needed anything else, and was gone.

‘Can I ask a delicate question? Is anyone from Mark’s family coming to the wedding?’

‘Molly and Robin. Other than that, no,’ Erin replied, with a sigh.

Mark’s sister Molly was a sweetheart. And, as she and her civil union partner, Robin Hansen, liked to joke, as soon as Erin came along, suddenly having a lesbian couple in the family wasn’t so bad. In addition to Molly, Mark had two older brothers, Jack, the oldest, and Brian. After his brothers found out Erin was transgender, all hell had broken loose. Jack would constantly mock Mark about being gay. ‘Well, you are dating a guy,’ Jack would taunt, and he and Mark had almost come to blows over Jack’s refusal to stop referring to Erin as ‘he.’ Brian was never as blatant, but his laughing at Jack’s insults let everyone know where he stood. Things had gotten to the point where Mark’s mother told Mark that Erin was no longer welcome in her home as long as they were dating. Of course, Mark took that to mean he wasn’t welcome either. As a result, Mark had not seen his mother or brothers in over a year and Erin felt horrible. She couldn’t help but feel that their marriage would make the rift permanent.

‘Don’t blame yourself for Mark’s family,’ her mother cautioned.

‘Too late,’ Erin replied. ‘Remember what I said? I do guilt really well.’

‘Unfortunately, you’re right,’ her mother agreed. ‘It must be your Irish Catholic upbringing. But we’ve been through this several times before; you can’t let close-minded people decide how you’re going to live your life.’

‘Even if they’re your in-laws?’

‘Especially if they’re your in-laws,’ Peg replied.

There was a long silence.

‘Do you really like my wedding dress?’ Erin asked.

4

The law offices of McCabe & Swisher were located on the outskirts of the business district in Cranford, New Jersey, occupying the second floor of a former Victorian home that had been converted into an office building over twenty years ago. Erin had started her own firm almost seven years ago, after she left the Public Defender’s Office. At the time, she knew Duane because his wife, Corrine, and Erin’s then wife, Lauren, had been college roommates at Brown. Before they became partners, Duane had been an FBI agent, and probably still would be if he hadn’t been forced to resign when he was set up to be the fall guy in a leak of classified materials involving the illegal surveillance of Muslim Americans after 9/11. When he left the Bureau, he had a lot of options, but to Erin’s surprise, he had agreed to partner with her. Of course, at the time, Erin was still living as Ian McCabe. It was only a year after they became partners that Erin had come out as a transgender woman.

‘Good morning,’ Erin said to Cheryl, the firm’s receptionist, secretary, and paralegal all rolled into one, as Erin stopped to collect her messages. ‘Did you have a nice weekend?’

‘I did. How about you?’ Cheryl replied.

‘A bit of a mixed bag,’ Erin said. ‘But the good news is that I really love my wedding dress.’

‘Oh, I can’t wait to see it,’ Cheryl offered with a warm smile.

‘I assume Swish is in,’ Erin asked, referring to her partner by his nickname, which, depending on where you knew him from, derived either from his last name, or, since he had been an All-Ivy basketball player at Brown, his prowess from three-point range on the basketball court.

Cheryl gave a knowing nod before Erin continued down the hallway toward Swish’s office. It was always safe for Erin to assume that Swish was in before her because he and Cori had two children – Austin, who was now four, and their baby, Alysha, who was nine months old. Every morning Duane dropped Austin off at preschool and Alysha off at daycare, then arrived at the office by 8:15 am.

Erin stood in the doorway to his office, which, unlike the clutter and chaos of Erin’s, was always neat and orderly. ‘Hey, big guy,’ she said.

‘Morning,’ he said with a warm smile, waving her in. Swish, who was six months older than Erin, kept himself in great shape playing in various adult basketball leagues. With his chiseled physique, dark brown skin, and a well-trimmed goatee, he had a commanding presence.

‘You seem bright and chipper this morning,’ she said, taking a seat in front of his desk.

‘For the first time since Alysha was born, both kids slept through the night. I never realized how wonderful a good night’s sleep can be.’

‘Well, I’m glad you’re feeling invigorated. Do you have time to talk about the case I called you about?’

He gave a small snort and nodded. ‘Sure. White state trooper kills Black man. Anything else we need to talk about?’

‘His friend claims he didn’t do it and that he’s being set up.’

‘His friend the Catholic priest?’ he replied, a hint of sarcasm creeping into his voice.

‘You have something against Catholic priests?’ she asked.

‘Nope. It’s got nothing to do with whom Mazer hangs out with. It’s just… look, how can I ignore the racial overtones of this case?’

‘I get the racial implications,’ she said.

‘Do you?’ he asked, his tone questioning.

She hesitated. ‘All right, let me admit that I don’t understand it from a Black person’s perspective. I don’t have that lived experience. But suppose Mazer didn’t do it. Then he’s not racist at all, but he’s being set up to take the fall by troopers who are. Shouldn’t we at least hear what he has to say? I mean, Swish, you of all people know what it’s like to be set up for something you didn’t do – in your case it was because you were Black. In Mazer’s case, it may well be because he’s gay.’

He stroked his goatee, seemingly lost in thought. ‘Would you defend someone accused of murdering a transgender person?’ he finally asked.

She leaned back in her chair. Good question, she thought. ‘I honestly don’t know. I guess it would depend on the circumstances. If they did it, I don’t think I could. If they said they were innocent, I suppose I’d have to make a judgment call.’

‘Fair enough,’ Swish said. ‘You willing to let me make the judgment call?’

She smiled. ‘Absolutely. No case is worth our friendship. If you say no, we don’t take the case, no questions asked.’

‘Deal,’ he replied.

The following afternoon, they sat at a small table in the attorney visiting room of the Middlesex County Adult Corrections Center, waiting to meet Jon Mazer. The sound of a key was followed by the clang of metal as the door was pulled open and two guards led in a shackled Jon Mazer.

Even though Erin had seen pictures of Mazer in the paper, she was still taken aback. Mazer looked like he was in his early thirties. He was every bit as tall as Swish, and looked just as solid, with close-cropped blond hair and blue eyes. It took all of Erin’s willpower not to swoon. She was embarrassed that her own implicit bias had conjured up a far different image of what a gay man would look like.

The guards deposited Mazer in the chair opposite Erin and Duane.

‘Use the phone behind you when you want out,’ one of the guards informed them, before turning and locking the door behind them.

‘Hello, Trooper Mazer. I’m Erin McCabe and this is my law partner, Duane Swisher. I wish it was under better circumstances, but it’s nice to meet you.’

Mazer closed his eyes momentarily before responding. ‘Thanks for coming. And we can dispense with the Trooper Mazer, Jon works fine,’ he said in a voice that was a rich, deep baritone and as smooth as the silk of an expensive blouse.

This guy should be in Hollywood, not the New Jersey State Police, she thought.

‘Jon,’ she began, ‘when we spoke to Gabe on the phone yesterday, we explained that in most cases we rarely ask a client if they’ve committed the crime they’re charged with because, depending on their answer, it can limit our options in presenting a defense. But we have a little problem in your case.’

‘Yeah, Gabe explained the situation to me. I get it. I’m the exception to the rule.’

Jon looked directly at Duane. ‘Look, Mr Swisher, I know what it looks like – white cop, dead Black man. It happens all too often. And here I sit, the white cop, asking you, a Black lawyer, to represent me. I understand that not only am I putting you in an awkward situation, but many people will look at it as if I’m trying to game the system – hire a Black lawyer because I’m charged with killing a Black man.’ He hesitated and sighed. ‘The truth is that when I asked Gabe to reach out, it was to hire Ms McCabe. From my perspective, being a gay man, I thought it might be helpful for me to have an attorney who’s part of the LGBTQ community. I didn’t even know that her partner was a Black man. Please don’t hold it against me, but you were never even part of the equation.’ Jon looked down at the table before looking back up at Duane with a pained expression. ‘Sorry.’

Duane gave a small chuckle. ‘Well, I’ll give you points for honesty. How about we focus on the first part of my dilemma – white cop, dead Black man?’

‘I swear to you that I did not kill Russell Marshall. I had no reason to kill him. I was helping him with a story he believed was the most important one of his career – mine as well.’

‘There’s been speculation in the press, provided by the proverbial anonymous source who is “someone close to the investigation” that Russell’s article was going to “out” you as gay, and you wanted to stop him,’ Erin suggested.

‘That’s bullshit,’ Jon responded. ‘Yes. The fact that I was gay was going to be in the article, but as part of the bigger picture to show how the Lords of Discipline were harassing women, minorities, and anyone who opposed them.’

‘Who are the Lords of Discipline?’ Duane asked.

‘Well, according to the task force the Attorney General’s Office set up a few years back, they don’t exist, but it’s a badly kept secret that they’re a group of rogue troopers, who operate clandestinely within the state police. They openly target and falsely arrest minorities. They’re also hostile to minority troopers and go after any trooper who attempts to expose them. Do an internet search. You’ll find them and the task force report.’

‘How many troopers we talking about?’ Duane asked.

‘Honestly, I’m not sure. My best guess is around thirty or forty. But in addition to the hardcore members, there’s a number of troopers, including some of the superior officers, who look the other way. I don’t have to tell you that there are all kinds of people who go into law enforcement. Most of them are decent people. But the Lords are a bunch of bigots who get their kicks using their power to abuse people and intimidating everyone else into keeping their mouths shut.’

‘Why’d they come after you?’ Erin inquired.

‘When they found out I was gay, they made my life a living hell. When I couldn’t take their abuse anymore, I filed a formal Internal Affairs complaint. Since then, their goal has been to destroy me.’ He shook his head, and motioned with his shackled hands to his surroundings. ‘As you can see, so far it’s working.’

‘Who’s the “they” you referred to?’ Erin asked.

‘The three guys I named in the complaint were Troopers David Britton, Edward Stone, and Kiernan Lyons. There were others, but those guys were the ringleaders,’ he said.

Duane crossed his arms across his chest and leaned back in his chair. ‘What happened with the IA?’

‘Dismissed as unsubstantiated. On top of that they found no evidence of the existence of the Lords of Discipline,’ Mazer replied.

‘IAs are confidential; how’d they find out you were behind it?’ Duane asked.

‘I’m not sure,’ Mazer said. ‘The simplest answer is that someone in Internal Affairs leaked it. But then I remembered that when I was trying to figure out what to do, I contacted one of the lawyers the union pays for, a guy by the name of Spencer Drummond. As best I can tell, when he submitted his bills to the union, he either inadvertently – or not so inadvertently – included details about why I consulted with him, and then some of the higher-ups in the union passed the information along to the guys connected to the Lords.’

Duane nodded slowly. ‘Can you afford to retain us? We each bill at three hundred dollars an hour.’

‘You have a guesstimate on what it’ll cost?’ Jon asked.

‘It’s a pure guess at this point, but if the case goes to trial, a hundred thousand,’ Duane answered.

Jon’s head snapped back. ‘Holy shit. I had no idea. I don’t have that kind of money.’

‘Not to add insult to injury, but if we need to retain experts – forensics, fingerprints, things like that – their fees are on top of that,’ Erin interjected.

‘I’m fucked,’ Jon mumbled. Then his face seemed to brighten. ‘Um – if I’m found not guilty, doesn’t Middlesex County or the state have to pay my legal fees?’

‘They do,’ Duane replied. ‘But if you’re found guilty…’

It was as if Duane had just told him there was no Santa Claus; Jon physically seemed to deflate. ‘I get it,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry I wasted your time. I appreciate you coming.’

Erin waited, but said nothing. Normally, this is where she’d jump in trying to find a way to give a client a break on their fees, but not today. She had promised Swish, this case was his call – no questions asked.

Finally, when she couldn’t take the silence any longer, she said, ‘Listen, we wish you well. Hopefully, it will work out for you.’ She reached for the phone to summon the corrections officers to end the interview.

‘How much can you afford?’ Duane asked.

She turned back, surprised by Duane’s question, and saw a look on his face that she couldn’t place.

‘I don’t know. I can probably get you twenty-five up-front, and then another twenty-five as we go along,’ Jon replied.

‘You know your bail is two million, which means, even if we get it cut in half, you’d need to come up with a hundred thousand just to secure a bail bond,’ Duane stated.

Jon choked back a laugh. ‘Yeah, well, that’s not happening. Whatever money I can get, I’d rather put toward your fee. I know I’ve only been here a few days, but it hasn’t been too bad. Every once in a while, I catch some shit from the COs about being gay, but because I’m a trooper, I’m in PC,’ he said, using the initials for protective custody, ‘so everybody pretty much leaves me alone.’

‘How soon before you’ll know if you can raise the initial twenty-five?’ Duane asked.

‘Hopefully, by later today. I can have Gabe call you.’

‘By the way, what exactly is your relationship with Father DeAngelis?’ Duane inquired.

‘We’re friends,’ he replied.

Erin raised an eyebrow, but decided not to dig further – at least for now. ‘One other thing,’ she said. ‘You don’t talk to anyone about your case. Not the guy in the next cell, not a friendly CO, and not Gabe. Got it?’ she asked.

‘Gabe wouldn’t say anything. Besides, aren’t our conversations protected by the priest-penitent relationship?’

‘No,’ Erin replied. ‘You may be friends, but I don’t think the court would classify it as a priest-penitent relationship. Do yourself a favor, Jon, and don’t talk about the case with anyone. And just so you know, any phone calls you make, other than to a lawyer, are recorded – including calls to Gabe.’

After they had returned to Duane’s car, Erin turned to Duane. ‘Do you mind telling me what just happened in there?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean, I was ready to end our visit, and suddenly you’re talking about taking the case. What changed?’

There suddenly seemed to be a fire burning behind Duane’s eyes. ‘The Lords of Discipline,’ he responded. ‘They’re there. They’re real. We didn’t know the name, but we wanted there to be a criminal investigation.’

Erin was confused. ‘I’m not following.’

Swish sighed. ‘One of the first investigations I worked on when I was with the FBI was the racial profiling of people by the New Jersey State Police. I guess they figured since I was one of the few Black agents, I’d be good for the job. They actually talked about using me undercover, riding up and down the Turnpike to see if I got stopped. Ultimately that didn’t happen, but I was involved in interviewing the people who had been stopped, and some of the troopers, most of whom refused to cooperate with the investigation. For those of us working the investigation, there was no doubt in our minds that there was an organized group within the state police that helped create the overall culture where it was common practice to stop people for driving while Black. We just didn’t know who it was – or have a name for it.’

He stopped and inhaled, as if reliving a painful memory.

‘We wanted the US Attorney’s Office to convene a grand jury to pursue charges under federal civil rights statutes and the hate crime laws based on the fact that so many people were racially profiled, falsely arrested on trumped-up charges, and a lot of them were assaulted as well.’ He paused, but only for a second. ‘It didn’t happen. The US Attorney’s Office pursued a civil lawsuit, and the investigation of whether there was a group operating within the state police got put on hold and ultimately sent over to the New Jersey Attorney General’s Office.’

‘The task force?’ Erin asked.

Swish nodded and slammed his hand against the steering wheel. ‘We had been so fucking close to finding out who ran the group,’ he said, holding his fingers millimeters apart. ‘When we were in the initial stages, there had been a trooper who had agreed to talk to us.’

‘And?’ Erin asked.

‘And because it was a potential criminal case, his lawyer came in and made a proffer about the information the trooper had, which included being able to provide us with the name of the leaders of a rogue group of troopers. In return the trooper was looking for immunity.’ Swish rubbed his goatee. ‘While the immunity agreement was being negotiated, he took his own life.’

‘Do you believe he took his own life, or did someone take it for him?’ Erin asked.

‘Don’t know. It was investigated by the Somerset County Prosecutor’s Office. Wife claimed he was despondent. Single gunshot to his temple from his duty weapon.’ Swish turned and looked at her. ‘I always thought it was suspicious.’

‘You think it was the Lords that he was going to tell you about?’ Erin asked.

‘That’s my guess,’ Swish replied. ‘What Mazer said rang true based on what we were looking at ten years ago.’

‘Are you concerned about the racial overtones in representing Mazer? I mean, you could face some tough questions,’ she said.

‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘But I don’t think Mazer did it and I’m not going to let some racist troopers hang him for it.’

‘OK then,’ she said, her look of admiration for her partner slowly morphing into a smile. ‘Looks like we have our work cut out for us.’

5

It was overcast and misty as Erin and Mark drove the ten minutes to her mother’s house to help her get things ready for Thanksgiving dinner. It was one of those days where the moisture in the air made it seem far colder than the actual temperature – a day that just seemed to chill you to the bone.

Thanksgiving had always been Erin’s favorite holiday. She enjoyed the focus on food and family, without the shopping, wrapping, and holiday parties that crowded the December calendar. But Erin’s love of Thanksgiving had been put on hold after she transitioned. For the first two years after her transition, faced with a father and brother who refused to acknowledge her, she had spent Thanksgiving alone. Then, three years ago, as her brother’s attitude toward her had softened as a result of the efforts of Liz, Patrick, and Brennan, her mother had convinced her to come for Thanksgiving dinner. Despite knowing that her father still wasn’t ready to accept her, she had given in and gone to her parents, only to have her father refuse to deal with her as Erin. Leaving in tears, she had once again spent the day alone. It wasn’t until a month later, the day before Christmas Eve, when she had been shot, that her father realized he needed to come to terms with Erin for who she was. But even then, their relationship had its ups and downs. The last down occurring the final time they spoke.

Erin stole a glance at Mark as he drove and not for the first time marveled at how her journey had brought her here. This wasn’t her first marriage; she had been married once before, to Lauren. But when Erin came out as transgender, their marriage fell apart. Erin understood why. There was no rancor. Lauren simply wasn’t a lesbian and didn’t want to be married to another woman. Even Erin banking her sperm before she transitioned in hopes that the prospect of having children could save their marriage had been futile. But had anyone told her before she transitioned that someday she’d be marrying a man, she would have told them that they were insane. Yet here she was. She remembered being surprised when she realized she was attracted to Mark. True, he was handsome, with his jet-black hair that somehow was always stylishly messy, a sexy stubble, and green eyes, and a fit, six-foot frame, but it had still taken her a while to acknowledge that looking at a handsome man stirred something in her. It had taken her even longer to accept that she was bisexual.

Peg McCabe stood at the end of the dining room table, holding a glass of white wine. ‘I’ve never done this, so bear with me,’ she began. ‘Every year, as far back as I can remember, Pat would start our Thanksgiving dinner by giving a toast. But since this is the first year he’s not with us, I decided I wanted to give the toast.’ She paused, looking around the table at each of them. ‘Pat and I have been blessed with an incredible family. Like any family, we’ve had a few bumps, but whether you called him Dad, Grandpa, or Pat, he loved each of you with all his heart. So, here’s to Patrick Sean McCabe. Thank you for everything you’ve given to each of us over the years. We miss you and love you.’ She raised her glass, then took a sip.

‘To Dad,’ Sean said, as he clinked his wineglass against Liz’s glass. Everyone around the table took turns tapping everyone else’s glass and wishing each other a happy Thanksgiving.

‘By the way,’ Peg said, as the food was passed around the table, ‘since your father is no longer here, this is my last year hosting Thanksgiving dinner. One of you will have to take over now.’

Sean smiled. ‘Mom, we know you too well. We’ll be here next Thanksgiving.’

‘I agree with Sean,’ Erin said, holding up her glass. ‘Here’s to the first annual last Thanksgiving dinner at Mom’s. May there be many more.’

‘I’m thinking we’ll still be here for the thirtieth annual last Thanksgiving dinner,’ Sean offered as he went over to their mom and gave her a hug.

‘Oh sweet Lord, no,’ Peg replied. ‘That would make me ninety-seven!’

‘Here’s to ninety-seven,’ Erin said as they all managed to laugh and enjoy dinner and each other’s company.

Later, as Erin lay in bed, that moment weighed on her. She never thought of her parents as mortals, but the absence of her father forced her to think of mortality – always a difficult concept. But she had grappled with mortality before – when her mom was diagnosed with cancer, when people had died during her cases – but the one wrestling match with death that always haunted her like the ghost of Christmas past was her own. Like so many transgender people, she had sometimes felt that the world would be a better place if she wasn’t in it. The urge to spare the people she loved the indignity of being associated with a transgender person made death seem so attractive. They’d never know. She’d be gone and her secret would be gone with her. No one would know she had taken her own life, not if she staged a horrible car accident. She knew where, and she had narrowed down the when. Then Lauren opened the mail one day and found a new life insurance policy – a two-million-dollar life insurance policy. Lauren had saved her. Lauren had called the therapist Erin saw sporadically, who in turn had called Erin and threatened to have her involuntarily committed unless she got to her office immediately. The rest, as they say, was history.

The day after Thanksgiving, Erin and Mark made their way into Jersey City to have dinner with Molly and Robin, who lived in a two-bedroom condo on Third Street. With parking spaces in Jersey City sometimes harder to find than a unicorn, they took Erin’s Mazda Miata instead of Mark’s Jeep – much easier to squeeze in between cars.

‘It’s nice of your sister to invite us for dinner,’ Erin said as she negotiated the narrow side streets.

‘Yeah, I wonder what’s up,’ Mark said. ‘I mean, yes, it’ll be nice to see my sister, but I’m wondering what she wants to talk to me about.’

‘Do you think maybe she’s trying to broker a truce between you and your brothers?’ Erin asked, wondering if there was still a chance for a rapprochement before the wedding.

‘I don’t know. But there’s something going on,’ he added.

‘I guess we’ll find out,’ she said, shooting him a smile.

Both Molly and Robin were foodies who, like Mark, loved to cook, and dinner was amazing. They cooked up a mini Italian feast, with an antipasto followed by tortellini and clams in a broth, then a main course of lamb osso buco accompanied by a Caesar salad. Over dinner they talked about Mark and Erin’s upcoming wedding, and the discussion at the Simpson household on Thanksgiving. Erin could tell that Molly was sugarcoating things as best she could, but even covered in sugar, the bitterness of Mark’s mother and brothers was unmistakable. Molly apologized several times, but Mark told her he and Erin wanted to know how they felt.

After they finished Robin’s delicious tiramisu, and were having coffee, Molly put her finger to her lip. ‘I guess it’s time we talk about why we asked you over,’ Molly began.

‘Other than it’s always great to see you,’ Robin added.

‘Yes,’ Molly said, blushing at her faux pas. ‘Let me start with the easy part,’ Molly continued. She reached over and held Robin’s hand. ‘Robin and I have decided we’d like to start a family,’ she said, her face beaming.

‘That’s wonderful,’ Erin said.

‘How?’ Mark asked.

Molly smiled at her brother’s confusion. ‘We’ve been to a number of doctors to discuss artificial insemination, and we also consulted with two amazing lawyers. And as long as one of us is inseminated under the care of a doctor, the person who is the sperm donor is not legally the father and has no parental rights. And here’s the best part – we can both be listed as the parents on our baby’s birth certificate because we’re in a civil union.’

‘Wow! That’s fantastic,’ Erin said.

‘Yeah. We’re thrilled,’ Molly said.

‘Sounds like you’ve really done your homework,’ Erin remarked. ‘Um, can I ask a sensitive question?’

‘Sure,’ Molly replied.