Barring Complications Read online

  BARRING COMPLICATIONS

  by Blythe Rippon

  Barring Complications

  by Blythe Rippon

  Published by Ylva Publishing, legal entity of Ylva Verlag, e.Kfr.

  http://www.ylva-publishing.com

  Copyright 2014 Ylva Publishing

  Smashwords Edition

  Edited by Fletcher DeLancey

  Cover Design by Streetlight Graphics

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, events, and locations are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons or events, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Table of Contents

  Acknowledgements

  Dedication

  PART I

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  PART II

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  PART III

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  PART IV

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  PART V

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Epilogue

  About Blythe Rippon

  Other Books from Ylva Publishing

  Coming from Ylva Publishing in Fall 2014

  Acknowledgments

  The journey of this book started in the Northern California District Courtroom on July 11, 2010. I was fortunate enough to attend much of the trial about California’s Proposition 8, either in the overflow room or the actual courtroom itself. I watched as Kris Perry, Sandy Stier, Paul Katami, and Jeff Zarrillo took the stand and answered, under oath, incredibly invasive questions about their childhoods, the discrimination they had faced, and their romantic histories. These men and women bravely allowed their personal lives to be instrumentalized in the fight for gay marriage, and I will forever be grateful to them, and to Edie Windsor. This book is also inspired by deep appreciation for Judge Vaughn Walker and Justices Kennedy, Ginsburg, Sotomayor, Breyer, and Kagan.

  Turning the legal knowledge I gained in the courtroom for those two weeks (and in the Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals for a day) into a fictional story about a gay marriage case was a labor of love for me. I also had a lot of help and support. I’m grateful to MKS, who was my first friend to read my fiction writing, start to finish, and give me substantive feedback (with an excellent sense of humor, too!). Anastasia Bartzoulianou, Dawn Molloy, Vera Varela, and Lilian Shen all read early drafts and gave me insightful comments. Ingrid Diaz and Ann McMan have been wonderful mentors to me as I figure out what it means to be a fiction writer. Big thanks to MBL and AKA, my writing buddies, who always get it. My thanks also go to my editor Fletcher DeLancey, who was very thorough and taught me a lot about my writing. Maria João Valente, I’m glad you helped make all this happen. Astrid Ohletz, you are an absolutely lovely publisher, and I feel lucky to be working with you.

  JMI is my bestie and I love her to pieces: thanks for reading, and not reading, this story, as I needed, and for telling people I’m a Supreme Court expert now. My mom and dad not only provided essential enthusiasm when I told them I wanted to write fiction, they also spent hours talking with me about character development and structure. To my sons, I’m so glad you will only ever know a world where gay marriage is legal. My wife inspires me every day. She makes me laugh, hope, and try new things, and I’m even more in love with her today than I was fourteen years ago when we first kissed.

  Dedication

  To my wife: I’d marry you all over again, in every state where it’s legal, and even the ones where it’s not yet.

  – PART I –

  Victoria

  Chapter One

  “Next: United States v. Samuels. I vote yea.” Chief Justice Kellen O’Neil turned to his right.

  Alistair Douglas smiled slightly as he said yea. He turned to Eliot McKinzie, and Victoria Willoughby had the impression he was challenging McKinzie to vote affirmatively.

  “Yea.”

  Victoria concentrated on not revealing any of her inner turmoil. As every other justice of the United States Supreme Court voted yea, she set her jaw and took a slow breath. Her turn came last. As casually as she could she said yea and, affecting her best Josiah Bartlet, asked, “What’s next?” With that, all nine justices had voted unanimously to hear oral arguments in the case.

  She had known this was coming, but it didn’t prepare her for the onslaught of anxiety that swept through her and took up residence in her stomach. Since the Defense of Marriage Act in 1996, Vermont’s legalization of civil unions in 2000, and San Francisco’s guerrilla marriages and Massachusetts’s legalization of gay marriage in 2004, it was inevitable that the Court would hear a case on this issue. It wasn’t a question of if, but when—and what she would be able to do about it.

  The chief justice made a mark on the paper in front of him before shuffling it to the back of the stack. “Moving on. The habeas case, Marquez v. United States. I vote nay.”

  Alistair Douglas voted yea, and as the vote continued around the conference room, Victoria knew he was looking at her. She didn’t want to meet his eyes. She knew she would find optimism there, and she didn’t share it. Frankly, she was surprised he felt any.

  In a utopian world, when a Supreme Court justice voted to hear a case, it meant that he or she believed the lower court made the wrong decision, or that the case was of sufficient import to merit the highest court in the land creating a wider-reaching opinion on the matter. But this was the real world, where politics motivated even the most sacred of institutions. When Supreme Court Justices voted to hear a case, it signaled their confidence that their side would win. When all nine voted to hear a case, it could mean that the case would be easy and decided unanimously—or that it would be a knock-down, drag-out fight.

  And when it came to U.S. v. Samuels, a case challenging the constitutionality of DOMA’s federal ban on gay marriage, Victoria had her doubts that her side would win. She was never one to shy away from a fight, but something about this contest made her feel like a puppy thrown into the ring with trained pit bulls. She would bet her house—hell, she’d bet her brother’s house, which was bigger—that three of the Justices would never vote for marriage equality. And she couldn’t see Chief Justice O’Neil or Jamison, the swing vote, taking such a risk either. So why had every single justice voted to hear the case?

  She glanced around the justices’ co
nference room, wishing that the large mahogany table, the plush cream carpet, or the painting of John Marshall, the fourth chief justice, would provide her with an answer. Alas, they remained silent, and her gaze fell on Alistair Douglas. When he winked at her, she felt an almost hysterical laugh bubble up. Leave it to Douglas to take a moment imbued with the deepest significance, a moment where all her self-doubts as a jurist and her fears as an avowed pessimist flooded over her, and try to make it light. She smiled and shook her head at him.

  The vote on the habeas case came to her and she voted yea, along with the other liberals. The conservatives declined. At least with that case, it seemed clear where everyone stood.

  The chief placed his pen on top of the stack of papers in front of him and removed his glasses. “Well. That concludes our first Conference of the Justices for this term. My clerks will circulate a draft of the fall docket next week. Welcome back, everyone.” He grinned. “This promises to be an exciting session.”

  The justices stood and filed out of the conference room. One might think, given that most of them had worked together for years and had spent the summer in various corners of the world, that there would be chitchat about who saw which monuments, or gave which speeches, or wrote which books. Instead, silence reigned. Victoria told herself their quiet was a sign of respect for the solemnity of the moment. It was a nice fantasy—certainly better than the fact that many of them didn’t like each other, and the upcoming nine months of work would sometimes pit them against one another in deeply personal ways.

  Certainly for her, Samuels would be personal.

  She walked through the door to her wing of the Court, past the offices of her secretaries and clerks, and into her private chambers. After removing her suit jacket, she sat at her desk and picked up an empty binder. She had an entire staff that would fill it with briefs and related past cases. Other binders would join this one on a shelf dedicated to Samuels, filled with the transcripts and trial records from the district and appellate decisions.

  She knew the other justices would look to her on this case; some with distaste and some with hope. It was bizarre and a little frustrating, because she had never come out to them or anyone else besides her close family. But somehow they all seemed to know.

  She pushed the binder away. There would be plenty of time later to overanalyze and fret.

  “Swimming,” she mumbled, and grabbed her gym bag on the way out.

  * * *

  Two hours later, after swimming her usual thirty laps and taking a long, hot shower, Victoria pulled her car into the driveway of her brother’s house in Alexandria. As she walked up the path, she could hear the halting sounds of “Row, Row, Row Your Boat” coming from the piano in the living room.

  Tommy’s been practicing, she thought.

  She opened the front door quietly, knowing that once her nephew noticed her, his time at the piano would end. Her sister-in-law Diane, perched on the far side of the piano bench next to him, glanced up and smiled. Victoria put her finger to her lips and leaned against the doorway, content to observe.

  Tommy’s little fingers plodded along, and with her view of his profile she could see his brows knit in concentration. His pinky was so tiny she was surprised it had the strength to push down the keys. But he had definitely grown in her absence. The last remnants of his baby fat had disappeared, and he even looked a little skinny, with his shorts revealing lean calves and tiny ankles that swung back and forth as he finished the song. He made a flourish of lifting his hand from the keyboard and returning it to his lap.

  “Mommy, I played the whole thing! I remembered it all!”

  Diane wrapped her arms around him and kissed his forehead. “You sure did, little man. I’m proud of you.” As he wiggled with pleasure in her arms, she added, “I think there’s someone else who’s proud of you.”

  He looked up in surprise, then turned around. Victoria’s heart swelled when his face lit up, and he ran to her as fast as his five-year-old legs could carry him.

  “Aunt Tori! You’re back!”

  She ruffled his red hair as he wrapped his arms around her waist. “I missed you, buddy.”

  He looked up at her. “Why’d you go away for so long?”

  “Work,” she said, though that wasn’t entirely truthful. She squatted down to bring her eyes level with his. “When did you learn to play the piano so well?”

  “That’s what happens when you leave! I learn all sorts of new things.” He crossed his arms and tried to pout, but his smile kept creeping through.

  “Guess I’ll have to go away again. Just so you can get good and smart.”

  “Oh.” His face fell as his logic backfired on him.

  “Tommy,” Diane called from the piano bench, “don’t try to win against your Aunt Tori. She argues for a living, you know.”

  He stuck his lower lip out even farther.

  Victoria met his gaze steadily. “Don’t do it, buddy. Don’t smile. Uh oh. I see the corners of your mouth twitching. You’re about to smile, aren’t you? Uh huh—here it comes.”

  He beamed at her and they laughed together. “You’re no fair,” he said, hugging her again.

  “Know what’s no fair? How much I love you.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense, Aunt Tori.”

  “Hmm, maybe not.” She kissed his cheek. “Where’s your daddy?”

  “He’s outside.” Tommy crossed and uncrossed his little legs.

  “Hey buddy, you gotta pee?”

  “Oh yeah!” He careened off to the restroom, leaving Victoria and Diane laughing in his wake.

  They hugged, and Diane said, “Welcome home, sweetie.”

  “What have you been feeding him? Miracle-Gro?”

  “All he eats are hot dogs these days. We’re hoping it’s a phase.” Diane closed the lid to the piano and picked up the television remote control. “How’s the book coming?”

  “I got some decent research done, and wrote the first two and a half chapters. The rest will have to wait until next recess, I imagine.”

  Diane flipped the channel to an old Eric Clapton concert, and the music piped through the speakers her husband had mounted throughout the house and backyard. Leading Victoria out the back door, she asked, “So will you go back to England next summer?”

  “Wow, trying to get rid of me already?”

  “If Tommy had his way, you’d move in. You look tired, Tori. Busy term coming up,” she said as they reached the grill.

  Victoria wasn’t quite ready to launch into that discussion, so she swatted at her brother’s back instead. “Burning dinner again?”

  Will looked up from the grill and grinned. “Missed you.” He pulled her into a hug, then stepped back and put the tongs in her hands. “You mock my cooking, the job’s all yours.”

  “Hmm, I think I’ve discovered a flaw in my plan.”

  Diane retreated to the house, calling out something about kabobs, and Victoria draped her arm around her brother’s shoulders. They were the same height, a fact which constantly irritated Will. When he was a boy, he couldn’t wait to be taller than his older sister. He vowed that as soon as he was taller, he would move all the glasses in the kitchen to the top shelf where only he could reach them. Sadly for William Willoughby, he stopped growing in high school, and Victoria loved to wear heels around him.

  The siblings stood at the grill, watching the flames dance around the slats. “How did today go?” Will asked.

  With her free hand, Victoria flipped a burger. “Fine.”

  Will nodded. “Okay. Well, if you want to talk about it, you know where to find me.”

  “Nothing to talk about, really.”

  “Please. Has a single soul in the history of the universe meant it when she said she was fine?”

  “I’m sure someone has. At some point.”

  “Not you, and not now.”

  Victoria was debating how to respond when Diane emerged from the kitchen with an overloaded tray.

  “Kabobs!” s
he announced.

  Victoria took the tray in one hand and held her other over the grill to see where the fire was hottest. Once she had assessed the situation, she carefully positioned the kabobs horizontally on the vertical slats, tweaking their placement to ensure they had equal access to the flames. When everything had been arranged to her satisfaction, she stood back to admire her handiwork.

  “All set?” Will asked.

  “All good.”

  He snatched the tongs away, plucked up the kabobs, and dropped them in random locations around the grill. Then he looked up with wide eyes, his hand over his mouth. “Oops! Did it get all messed up? Oh no!”

  Reclaiming the tongs, she snapped them in front of his face. “Looks like your nose is about to get all messed up.”

  “Please, if you think that will scare him, you have no idea what it is to live with a thirteen-month-old baby,” Diane said from her deck chair.

  Victoria laughed and let her brother retreat to the chair next to his wife. While she returned the kabobs to their proper places in neat little rows, she listened to them chat.

  “Rebecca still sleeping?” Will asked.

  “Yep. You know that means we’ll be up all night.”

  “Maybe we should wake her up.”

  “But she’s so cute when she sleeps,” Diane said.

  “Hmm. Maybe Tommy will wake her up.”

  “Sure, send our son to do our dirty work.”

  Watching the progress of the grill, Victoria called over her shoulder, “Did school start up for Tommy already?”

  “He’s two weeks in,” Diane said. “I think he’s got a new–” She faltered, interrupted by the voice coming from the outdoor speakers. None of them had noticed that Clapton had stopped playing.

  “On tonight’s edition of They’ve Got Issues: It’s an open secret that Justice Victoria Willoughby is a lesbian. Tonight, Roger Rhodes from The Atlantic and Abigail Prince from The Wall Street Journal will discuss how Willoughby’s sexual orientation will impact what we all assume will be an upcoming decision from the Supreme Court on gay marriage and DOMA. Abigail, let’s start with you.”