The Promise of Stardust by Priscille Sibley Page B

rate, depending on how long the case runs. Just sign here.” He shuffled a few pages and then pointed at the blank signature line.
    I drew a deep breath and picked up the pen. “Before I do, there’s one thing you need to understand. I’m not interested in your political agenda, Jake. I don’t want Elle to be anyone’s poster child.”
    â€œYou’ll change your mind before I’m done with you.”
    Jake didn’t get it. He never got it. People weren’t things to be used for the greater good as he saw it. “No,” I said. “If you represent me, the case is about this particular situation, not about your Pro-Life cause or your ambition to get into the governor’s mansion like your father.”
    â€œI’m not interested in being governor anymore. Yvette doesn’t want to be a politician’s wife, and I stopped trying to convince her years ago. My sole interest is in saving your unborn baby.” Jake tapped his index finger near the blank signature line. “I have the chops to do this. I’m an expert in constitutional law. I commute to Boston to teach First Amendment law at Harvard, for heaven’s sake. I’m a member of the Christian Legal Society. I get called on to consult on Pro-Life issues on a regular basis.”
    An odd memory snapped into my mind’s eye, something from freshman orientation when everyone asked the same three questions: What’s your name? Where are you from? What’s your major? Jake always answered in an odd way. He always said, “Jake Leahy Sutter, I am from the right wing, and I am majoring in a course that will lead me to the Supreme Court, preferably to the chief justice’s seat.”
    â€œYou always wanted to be a judge. You believe this will get you to the bench?”
    His eyes narrowed and he leaned back in his seat. “Come on. There’s no way I’m ever going to get the robes. My record is too Pro-Life. It’s a litmus issue. I refused to walk on the fence of political indifference.”
    â€œFine. Jake, do I have your word that you’ll keep the focus on Elle and the baby? Yes or no?”
    His tongue pushed at the inside of his cheek and he nodded.

   6   
Day 3
    Pro-Life advocates were already picketing the courthouse where a judge would decide my wife’s fate. No. I had to stop thinking like that. Elle’s fate was decided when she fell. I was fighting for the baby’s life—our baby’s life. The strange thing was that Elle didn’t even look pregnant. I hadn’t felt the baby kick. The baby was a blip on an ultrasound. And still I knew, if she could, she’d already be reading Goodnight Moon to her belly.
    I straightened my tie and pushed past the throngs of network reporters shoving microphones in my face.
    â€œDr. Beaulieu, how’s your wife doing?”
    â€œHer brother said she won’t survive. Would you comment?”
    A guy I’d known in high school yelled at me, “Matt, just one question about Elle.”
    â€œNo comment,” I said. They’d heard Christopher’s version. I wouldn’t provide more fodder for what should be a private matter.
    Pro-Lifers held signs on either side of the door: GIVE LIFE , DON’T TAKE IT . SAVE ELLE .
    Even though they were technically siding with me, I avoided eye contact with the activists. They were not picketing on my behalf, and certainly not on Elle’s. They came with their own agenda, and our tragedy was merely a way to promote it.
    I continued through the courthouse doors hoping that once I was inside, someone would keep the reporters and protesters away. No one did.
    Next door the federal courthouse had metal detectors, but Cumberland County District Court might be the only courthouse in the country without them. Reporters trailed me across the rotunda, yelping their information-hungry inquiries.
    Jake met me halfway to the courtroom,