I remember that old dog like it was yesterday.

He looked up at Ida German, who stood on the other side of the fence staring at him. He rose, looking a little embarrassed. It was a long time ago, Ms. German.

The woman smelled perpetually of beef and onions, as did her house, Fiske knew. A widow for nearly thirty years now, she moved slowly, her body shrunken, squat and thick. Her long housecoat covered veiny, splotched legs and bloated ankles. But at nearly ninety years old, her mind was still clear, her words crisp.

Everythings a long time ago with me. Not with you. Not just yet. Hows your momma?

Holding her own.

Ive been meaning to get over there to see her soon, but this old body just doesnt have the get up and go it used to.

Im sure shed love seeing you.

Your daddy went out a while ago. American Legion or VFW, I think.

Good, Im glad to see hes getting out. And I appreciate you keeping him company.

Isnt any fun being alone. Ive outlived three of my own children. Hardest thing in the world for a parent to do is bury their babies. Aint natural. Hows Mike? Dont see him much.

He keeps pretty busy.

Who wouldve thought that chubby-cheeked little tow-head wouldve gone on to do what hes done? Mind-boggling, if you ask me.

Hes earned it. Fiske stopped for a moment. That had just slipped out. But his brotherhadearned it.

You both have.

I think Mike hit it a little higher than I did.

Huh. Dont you go believing that. Your daddy brags about you a mile a minute. I mean, he talks about Mike too, but youre the king of the hill with him.

Well, he and Mom brought us up right. Sacrificed everything for us. You dont forget that. Maybe Mike had, but he never would, Fiske told himself.

Well, Mike had three fine examples to follow. Fiske looked at her curiously. That boy worshiped the ground you walked on.

People change.

You think so, do you?

A few drops of rain started to fall. You better get back inside, Ms. German, it looks like it might pour.

You know you can call me Ida if you want.

Fiske smiled. Some things dont change, Ms. German.

He watched her until she made it inside. The neighborhood wasnt nearly as safe as it had once been. He and his father had installed deadbolts on her doors, sash locks on her windows and a peephole in her front door. The elderly carried a bulls-eye on them when it came to crime. Fiske looked down once more at Bos grave, the vision of his brother crying his eyes out over a dead dog cemented in his mind. ["C12"]CHAPTER TWELVE

How are you, Mom? Michael Fiske touched his mothers face. It was early in the morning and Gladys was not in a good mood. Her face darkened and she pulled back from his touch. He looked at her a moment, deep sadness in his eyes as he saw the open hostility in hers.

I brought you something. He opened the bag he carried and pulled out a gift-wrapped box. When she made no move to open it, he did so for her. He showed her the blouse, her favorite shade of lavender. He held it out to her, but she wouldnt take it. It was like this every time he came to visit. She would rarely talk to him, her mood always foul. And his gifts were never accepted. He repeatedly tried to draw her out in conversation, but she refused. He sat back and sighed. He had told his father about this, that his mother absolutely refused to have anything to do with him. But his old man was powerless to change things. No one could control who Gladys was nice to. Michaels visits had grown less and less frequent because of it. He had tried to talk to his brother about it, but John had refused to discuss it with him. His mother would never treat John that way, Michael knew. To her, he was the golden child. Michael Fiske could be elected the president of the United States or win the Nobel Prize, and in her eyes he would still always be second to his older brother. He left the blouse on the table, gave his mother a quick kiss and left. Outside, the rain had started to come down. Michael pulled up the collar on his trench coat and got back in his car. He had a very long drive ahead of him. The visit to his mother was not the only reason he had driven south. He was now headed to southwest Virginia. To Fort Jackson. To see Rufus Harms. For a moment, he debated whether to stop and see his brother. John had not returned his phone call, which was no surprise. But the journey he was about to undertake had some personal risk to it, and Michael wouldnt have minded having his brothers advice and perhaps presence. But then he shook his head. John Fiske was a very busy attorney and he didnt have time to run around the state chasing wild theories of his younger brothers. He would just have to deal with it alone. *����*����* As she often did, Elizabeth Knight rose early, did some stretching exercises on the floor and then ran on the treadmill in the spare bedroom of her and her husband Senator Jordan Knights Watergate apartment. She showered, dressed, fixed some coffee and toast and looked over some bench memos in preparation for oral argument next week. Since it was Friday, the justices would spend part of the day in conference, where they would vote on cases they had already heard. Ramsey ran the conferences on a tight schedule. To her disappointment, there was little debate at these meetings. Ramsey would summarize the salient points of each case, cast his vote orally, and wait while the other justices did the same. If Ramsey was in the majority, which he usually was, he assigned the opinion. If he wasnt, the most senior associate justice in the majority, usually Murphy ideological opposites, he and Ramsey rarely if ever voted the same way would assign the opinion. As Knight finished her coffee, she thought back over her first three years on the Court. It had been a whirlwind, really. Because of her gender, she was automatically seen as not only a champion of womens rights but also of causes that many women traditionally supported. People never considered this stereotyping, although it was a blatant form of it, Knight knew. She was a judge, not a politician. She had to look at each case separately, just as she had done as a trial court judge. And yet, even she had to own up to the fact that the Supreme Court was different. The impact of its decisions was so far-reaching that the justices were forced to go beyond the four corners of each case and look at the effect of the decision on everyone else. That had been one of the hardest things for her to do. She looked around the luxurious apartment. She and her husband had a good life together. They were routinely touted as the capitals number one power couple. And in a way they were. She carried that mantle as well as she could, even as she combated the isolation that each justice had to endure. When you went on the Court, friends stopped calling, people treated you differently, were careful, guarded in what they said around you. Knight had always been gregarious, outgoing. Now she felt much less so. She clung to her husbands professional life as a way to lessen the impact of this abrupt change. Sometimes she felt like a nun with eight monks as her lifelong companions. As if in answer to her thoughts, Jordan Knight, still dressed in his pajamas, came up behind her and gave her a hug. You know, theres no rule that says you have to start every day at the crack of dawn. Snuggling in bed is good for the soul, he said. She kissed his hand and turned to give him a hug back.

I dont recall you being a late sleeper either, Senator.

We should both make a concerted effort to do it, I think. Who knows what it could lead to? Ive heard sex is the best defense against aging.

Jordan Knight was tall and heavily built, with thinning gray hair and a tanned face scored with lines. In the inequitable way of the world regarding the physical appearances of men and women, he would be considered handsome even with the wrinkles and the extra pounds. He cut quite a figure on the pages of thePostand local magazines, and on national TV shows where even the most experienced political pundits were often overwhelmed by his wit, experience and intelligence.