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with reasonable civility from there on, through the stuffed mushroom caps and the grilled trout. By the time dessert arrived, Norcross found himself in easy conversation with Claire, at work on his third glass of Chardonnay, and dizzy with benevolence toward the entire universe—with the exception of Gerald Novotny, who kept making arch comments about the American legal system, which he called “the noble protector of the overprotected.” Once, he referred to the judge’s workplace as “the United Snakes District Court,” prompting giggles from his blonde companion.
    Norcross did his best to ignore him. He knew at least as well as Novotny how imperfect the legal system was, but he did not appreciate being taunted. He’d played defense on his high school ice hockey team in Wisconsin, and Novotny reminded him of the type of cocky forward he enjoyed elbowing into the boards.
    As Anne was pouring the coffee, Claire asked Norcross whether he had any interests outside the law.
    Norcross leaned toward her and said in a low voice, “Very few people know this, but I do a terrific Donald Duck imitation.”
    Her eyes ignited with pleasure. “Fabulous! Show me.”
    He dropped his voice to a whisper. “I can’t do it in front of all these people.”
    “Course you can. Here, I’ll hold up my napkin.”
    It was a large napkin, and it created a cozy screen. With just the two of them behind it, it felt as though they were under the covers. Norcross drew the moment out. It was warm behind the cloth; Claire’s unnameable scent enveloped him.
    She cocked her head. “So?”
    “What would you like for breakfast?” Norcross asked in a bang-on duck voice.
    Claire dropped the napkin. “Amazing!”
    But at this moment, Dixwell’s voice broke in and grabbed Norcross’s attention.
    “Our good judge,” Dixwell said, leaning back in his chair and leaving his spoon sticking up like a mast in his crème brûlée, “is pointedly ignoring your slings and arrows, Gerry. I’m disappointed, I must say.” He peeped over at his wife with a prim, V-shaped smile. “I can’t imagine what’s been distracting His Lordship.”
    With some effort, Norcross tried to recall Novotny’s latest spitball at the courts, something about the mistreatment of people who couldn’t afford lawyers. But those warm seconds behind the napkin with Claire had left his mind in a fog. Who really gave a hoot about the American legal system anyway? Unfortunately, he decided to ask a question.
    “What are we doing to annoy you now, Gerry?”
    “Can I get anybody more coffee?” Anne inquired, looking with open displeasure at her husband.
    “Well, for one thing, you judges like to pretend our justice system is about justice.” Novotny reached over and dusted a crumb off Brittany’s cheek. “There, perfect.” He shone a smile on her before returning to the judge. “When its purpose is actually to maintain a protected environment for a privileged elite.”
    “Gosh, what a devastating critique,” Norcross said. “I’m speechless.” He pulled on the end of his nose and sniffed, then picked up his glass and began rocking it, examining the wine as it circulated and caught the light. He knew his response had had too much edge. Worse, his irritation at Novotny and his competitive instincts were threatening to obscure his main focus, which was Claire. At the back of his mind, he could hear his older brother Raymond’s voice, careful as ever: Don’t take the bait, Davey. Make a joke.
    “Then there’s the delightful racism, of course,” Novotny said, grinning around the table.
    Norcross envisioned the faces of his Kenyan students from the Peace Corps—so hopeful and open, so different from the faces of the crushed, mostly brown men he sentenced four or five times a week.
    “May I ask if you have any suggestions for addressing these problems, Gerry, without creating worse ones? It’s a shame, but I’m not an academic. I can’t just sit in the stands making