Caul Baby by Morgan Jerkins (read any book .TXT) 📕

cocked her head to the side, and smiled. “Amara,” she said in her disarming voice that always reminded Amara of jam, the way it could spread all over anyone who heard the sound, making them feel both full and sweetened. When Jill leaned in for her usual half hug, consisting of a hand on the shoulder to pull the person in but not all the way, Amara felt a wetness to the touch that piqued her curiosity. The room temperature was mild, and the space was adequately ventilated.

“Amara, I was just telling Ethan here that the thought of you being the Manhattan District Attorney—well, that would be such progress! You don’t see many Black female district attorneys here or across the country. You’d be a maverick. But I do have to ask . . .” Robert leaned in and smirked. “Is it really true? Every paper in town is speculating but none can confirm.”

“Merlot? Chardonnay?” A waitress interjected. Robert and Jill shook their heads.

“Merlot,” Amara said. She took a large sip and said to Robert, “I am courting the idea.”

“Well, we do hope that this courting turns into something serious, Amara. You have many people in your corner, like us,” Jill added, to which Amara smiled then looked down to the handkerchief that Jill was fiercely grasping with her right fist.

“We’re going to need all the support we can get,” Ethan said. “Up in Harlem, everyone is seriously overreacting. I was shocked to see the way those people reacted to the case when the girl’s crime was so terrible.”

“Those people?” Amara asked.

“I mean, it was an impressive feat that you stood your ground, even though I bet you knew that there would be backlash.” Jill practically talked over Amara’s question to Ethan. “Throwing away a child in a garbage can.” She placed a hand over her chest. “It’s—it’s unforgivable, I’d say. No child would ever do something like that, and you were so right to have her tried as an adult.”

Amara took another large sip of her wine and nodded at the waiter to bring another glass. “It’s not a decision that I’m particularly proud of.”

Ethan stamped her foot underneath the table then laughed. “What she means is that it was a very stressful time for her. She’s not so far removed from her cases that she doesn’t have feelings.”

“Feelings, yes, of course, but you still got the job done,” Jillian said. “Murderers shouldn’t be allowed to have children.”

“Asali Givens won’t be around any more children.” Amara emphasized Asali’s full name and took a large sip.

If there was one topic that could torpedo an otherwise fine night, this was it. She did not want to discuss Asali Givens, whose name Jill had either forgotten or didn’t care to say. Discussing this kind of work at an evening party was rare, especially when it involved the prison system. If the context were different, Amara would explain that like any case, any story, the details were much more complicated than what Jill chose to summarize to fit her own judgment. But with wealthy people like Jill and Robert, the details would destroy their long-held view that the criminal justice system was actually just. The explanation would anger more than bore them. But at the base level, Amara did not want to bring a young Black girl into focus in a conversation where she was outnumbered. If Amara told Jill that she still received letters and emails from Black women across the country asking her to retroactively put the girl into the juvenile system and that she had been seriously considering it, her courting the idea of being district attorney would collapse into an afterthought.

“It was tough, for sure.” Amara nodded. “But given all the information that the office received, we had to act accordingly and make our decision.”

“You did a damn good job, Amara,” Robert said. “I hate that. You know, it really bothers me because that child could have had a good life with someone else, someone who wanted to be a mother. The point is, the baby deserved a chance at a life.” Though Amara knew that Robert was referring to Asali, her chest became sore with the guilt that overwhelmed her body.

Jill violently coughed into her handkerchief and caught the eyes of other guests who were standing on opposite sides of the room. The overhead music had gotten louder the longer she coughed. When she finished, the volume gradually descended, and she balled the handkerchief back into her fist as Amara noticed that there were dots of red speckled within the creases. Robert placed his hand over the hand that Jill used to grasp the handkerchief and that gesture signaled to Amara that they were both hiding something.

“Forgive me,” Jill said while soothing her chest. “I’ve been a little under the weather, but don’t worry. It’s not contagious. You are both fine.”

“We didn’t worry at all,” Ethan said.

Robert, who was facing the door like any good host would, raised his head, and his eyes got wider. “Would you all excuse me just a moment?” Robert proceeded toward the door with his arms outstretched toward a group of incoming guests.

Why would Robert need to help any guest get situated? Why couldn’t those guests approach the cocktail table just like she and Ethan had done? Did these guests procure some kind of favor with Robert, and if so, who were these people? She was on to her second glass of wine. She took another large sip and the slight numbness provided some relief. Ethan was right, Amara thought. She was nervous. She turned around to see two Black women standing in the doorway, but Robert’s body was blocking Amara from getting a good look at either of them. Yet when they turned the corner, she saw the side profile of the younger one and suddenly felt queasy at how inexplicably connected she felt to that woman. Maybe it was how both shared the same nose and stride. Amara blinked her eyes several times to