“And Blankley?” Sara said, referring to the affirmative action case Ramsey had so thoroughly decimated.
“We haven’t voted on it yet, of course, Sara, so I can’t say one way or the other how it will turn out.” The voting conferences took place in complete secrecy, without even a stenographer or secretary in residence. However, for those who followed the Court with any consistency, and for the clerks who lived in the place every day, it wasn’t too difficult to predict how votes were lining up, although the justices had surprised people in the past. Justice Knight’s depressed look made it clear, however, which way the votes were aligned on the Blankley case.
And Sara could read the tea leaves as well as anyone. Michael Fiske was right. The only question was how sweeping the opinion would be.
“Too bad I won’t be around to see the results of my research come to fruition,” Sara said.
“You never know. You came back for a second term. Michael Fiske signed up with Tommy for a third. I’d love to have you back again.”
“Funny you should mention him. Michael was also asking about your remarks at oral argument. He thought Murphy might welcome anything you were trying to put together concerning preferences for the poor.”
Knight smiled. “Michael would know. He and Tommy are as close as clerk and justice can be.”
“Michael knows more about the Court than just about anyone. Actually, sometimes he can be a little scary.”
Knight eyed her keenly. “I thought you and Michael were close.”
“We are. I mean, we’re good friends.” Sara blushed as Knight continued to watch her.
“We won’t be getting any announcements from the two of you, will we?” Knight smiled warmly.
“What? No, no. We’re just friends.”
“I see. I’m sorry, Sara, it’s certainly none of my business.”
“It’s okay. We do spend a fair amount of time together. I’m sure some people assume that there’s more there than just friendship. I mean, Michael’s a very attractive man, obviously very smart. Great future.”
“Sara, don’t take this the wrong way, but you sound like you’re trying to convince yourself of something.”
Sara looked down. “I guess I do, don’t I?”
“Take it from someone who has two grown daughters. Don’t rush it. Let it take its natural course. You have plenty of time. End of motherly advice.”
Sara smiled. “Thanks.”
“Now, how is the bench memo coming on Chance v. U.S.?”
“I know Steven’s been working on it nonstop.”
“Steven Wright is not holding up well here.”
“Well, he’s trying really hard.”
“You have to help him, Sara. You’re the senior clerk. I should have had that memo two weeks ago. Ramsey has his ammo bag filled and the precedents are completely on his side. I need to be at least equal to that if I’m going to have a shot.”
“I’ll make it a top priority.”
“Good.”
Sara rose to leave. “And I think you’ll handle the chief justice just fine.”
The women exchanged smiles. Elizabeth Knight had become almost a second mother to Sara Evans, replacing the one she had lost as a young child.
As Sara walked out the door, Knight sat back in her chair. Where she was now was the culmination of a lifetime of work and sacrifice, luck and skill. She was married to a well-respected United States senator, a man she loved and who loved her. She was one of only three women who had ever donned the robes of a Supreme Court justice. She felt humble and empowered at the same time. The president who had nominated her was still in office. He had seen her as a reliable middle-of-the-road jurist. She had not been that active politically, so he could not exactly expect her to toe his party’s line, but he probably expected her to be judicially passive, letting the solution to the really important questions fall to the people’s elected representatives.
She had no deep-set philosophies like Ramsey or Murphy. They decided cases not so much on the facts of each one, but on the broad positions each case represented. Murphy would never vote to uphold or reverse any case in favor of capital punishment. Ramsey would wither and die before he would side with a defendant in a criminal rights case. Knight could not choose her sides in that manner. She took each case, each party, as they came. She agonized over the facts. While she thought about the broader impact of the court’s decisions, she also worried about the fairness to the actual parties. It often meant she was the swing vote on a lot of cases, and she didn’t really mind that. She was no wallflower, and she had come here to make a difference.