The Judge was digging. The only defense was a strict adherence to an appearance of openness. Sometimes it worked. “I hope that I can make Jill happy. I think I can.”

“Jill. My favorite. You know that? Of course you do. I make no secret of it. She’ll upset the applecart someday or severely disappoint me.” He looked away as he said this so that Ted could not read his eyes.

“Sir?” He decided that the Judge had already downed more than a few of these after-dinner treats—and more than a few pre- and during-libations as well. But drunk or sober, he was equally devious.

“I wish you both the best, Teddy. And I hope to hell you know what you’re getting yourself in for. Forgive me. I’m sure you do. I think the world of both of you, but never forget that I’m the damned patriarch of this clan. You are marrying Jill, but you will need to earn a place in the clan. Nothing personal. It’s our way.”

In the end, Ted had failed to find his place.

The Judge was now retired from the bench and looked a generation older than Ted remembered. He’d read that the governor had offered a two-year exemption from the mandatory retirement age but Con had turned him down to “spend more time with his family.” Knowing the Judge’s distaste for any family member other than Jill, Ted had written an entirely different scenario in his mind, one in which the stench of backroom favors, promises, and sellouts had hung about the old man like a malodorous fog. The Judge had left when he still had the chance of having a courthouse named after him in some upstate county rather than being pilloried by some muckraking young reporter who had not yet learned that dealmaking and corruption were the yin and yang of life in Albany.

“May I come in?” the old man asked.

Ted realized that he’d been staring.

“Is Jill all right?” he said, not able to imagine another reason for this apparition being on his doorstep.

“I should have called. Forgive an old man; I was afraid that you might avoid meeting with me.” He peered over Ted’s shoulder at the meager expanse of his living quarters.

“On the contrary. Curiosity would have won out over anger and resentment. Come in. I can spare you a few minutes. But I warn you, I have to leave soon.” Formal, nonconfrontational, but with limits. His ground, his rules.

“I could drop you somewhere. We could chat on the way.”