“What! What! You rilly can’t do anything?!” she screamed. I suspected that the good doctor was about one call away from euthanizing Bob. “Did you see me in the paper today?! I do things to help people. Clearly you don’t.” She slammed down the phone, grabbed her bag of tricks, and stormed into the clerks’ cave.

“What’s wrong with you?” she barked behind me. I spun around—Kate was standing directly behind my cubicle.

“Um, ah—”

“Are you sick?” In an instant the judge turned the blessing of life into an insult.

“I, um, I’m pregnant,” Kate stuttered.

“No! No! No! You look weird. I don’t have time for this!” the judge yelled.

Kate hobbled away, leaving me directly in the judge’s view.

“Sheba, get me some answers on Judge Adams now! We should be receiving Nelson’s petition for a rehearing any day now, maybe any hour. Janet! Roy!” Both appeared instantly. “Look out for the Nelson petition today. If I’m not here when it comes in, make copies and give them to Matthew and Sheila.” With that, she stormed off to the hospital.

I spent most of the afternoon Googling “Dell Nelson” and “Friedman.” The national media had picked up the story and by the time I packed up for the day, the number of search results had tripled from the morning.

As I was about to leave, Evan emerged from the back, eyes puffy. The day after Christmas, while most Americans disposed of unwanted gifts, I had spent the day at the courthouse and the evening at a Narcotics Anonymous meeting with Evan. I hoped he hadn’t already fallen off the wagon.

“What’s wrong?” I asked. “What’s going on, Evan?”

“My mom has passed. She’s gone.” Evan shook his head, as though he himself didn’t believe his words. “My aunt found her passed out, with an empty bottle of bourbon by her side. She wasn’t breathing.” He paused to process the unimaginable. “I’ve got to catch the next plane to Chicago and deal with her body, the funeral, her apartment.” He started bawling, drawing Matthew’s attention.

The two of us huddled around Evan, who bravely collected himself and headed to the airport. The minute he left, Janet’s internal (and perfectly delayed) GPS led her to the clerks’ cave: “Did I hear some commotion in here?” she cooed, arms cradling what looked like briefs.

“Evan’s mother died. He went home,” I replied angrily.

“Anyway, here are the petitions for rehearing.” She sighed with exhaustion, as if she were delivering quadruplets rather than several sheets of paper. “And by the way, in case you speak to Evan, be sure to tell him that he’s not getting paid for the days he misses.” Didn’t the Bible preach kindness?

James, Kevin, and I had nestled into our table at Friday, Saturday, Sunday, one of Philly’s most celebrated restaurants. Though pricier than Ralph’s, splurging on New Year’s Eve was an American tradition. We were still waiting for Matthew, who’d decided to join us since Heidi was in Miami with friends. Without any vacation days, Matthew was left to fend for himself.