“Very well, Dr. Hermandez. When will Bob be ready to come home?”

“It’s actually Fernandez, not Hermandez. And Judge, we’ve told you. He’s not at all in good shape. He’s very old and weak. I think it may be weeks, months maybe. I can’t tell you much more than that.” This was not the right answer.

“Well a lot of good you people do. To call yourselves doctors! I have a Juris Doctor, and I could probably do a lot more than you!” She put her small head in her wrinkled hands. In spite of myself, I felt sickeningly sorry for her. Bob was all she had.

From what I had heard, in addition to having been an accomplished archaeologist, he was an extraordinary person. When other judges asked about him, they seemed genuinely concerned. And judging from the one picture Friedman had of him in her office, he had honest eyes. Sometimes I’d inspect that picture after the judge went home, succumbing to my need to understand the insanity of the woman for whom I toiled. I kept thinking something in that picture would jump out at me, revealing a fellow sociopath, providing some sort of explanation for their marriage. But no, it never did. Seemed that he just loved her, which was crazy in and of itself. The paradigmatic nice guy in love with the toxic bitch. It was no wonder she didn’t want him to go away. He was the only person in the world who loved her. Hell, he was the only person in the world who liked her. And yet, instead of being by his side, she was at work yelling at anyone and everyone she could. Anger was the only thing she knew. It was comfortable, easy, natural even.

“Janet. Janet. Shut my door. Shut it now!” The judge was on the brink of a breakdown and couldn’t handle her peons witnessing anything remotely emotional.

Matthew came out from behind the door next to my cubicle. “Why doesn’t she just go to the hospital?” It was a very good question, but we both knew the answer.

“Matthew, she can’t deal. It’s too painful for her. I feel bad for her. It just makes me so—”

“Sad. It makes you sad,” Matthew interrupted. “Well, I personally don’t feel sad for someone who isn’t at the hospital with her dying husband.” He stormed off toward the bathroom.

Matthew had recently admitted that he, too, engaged in intricate dialogues with himself in the bathroom. I’d started noticing that everyone around the chambers talked to themselves. The judge did it vocally, unabashedly. Roy whispered sweet anachronisms to himself. Janet was more of a walk-and-mutterer. Anytime she’d get up to do anything I’d hear soft slices of hate quickly escaping from her chapped frosted lips. At least Matthew and I had the good sense to take it to the toilet.