Sean felt that lump in his throat again. “She’d want you to.” He added, “I want you to.”
Ryan climbed over his little brother, who was snoring next to him. Sean and Ryan then walked shirtless and shoeless down the stairwell of the hotel and journeyed the sandy path to the beach. Abby was seven years old when they began their covert missions to the beachfront—their “sunrise escapes,” as she called them. They continued the tradition into Abby’s adulthood. Every summer, from elementary school through high school through college. And just last summer at Nauset Beach in Cape Cod.
“It’s weird without her here, isn’t it, Dad?” Ryan said. He stared out at the ocean, the sun reflecting off the water.
“Yeah, it is. I think it was a mistake dragging us here. I don’t know what got into me.”
“I’m glad we came. She’s not here, but it kinda feels like she is here, do you know what I mean? The smell of the ocean or the room at the hotel, I can’t explain it.”
Sean took in a deep breath through his nose and nodded.
“What’d you guys used to do when you’d sneak out?” Ryan asked.
Sean thought about this and his mind flashed to Abby as a little girl, goading him into the cold water where she’d jump on his back. He would bodysurf, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck, gliding through Rehoboth’s unsettlingly strong shore breaks, making sure she landed softly. Making sure she didn’t get caught in the undertow. Protecting her. His mind wandered to last summer, their final sunrise escape.
*
“No, really, I’ve studied all of the past justices—I know them all,” Abby said. The sound of crashing waves filled the air.
“All of them?” Sean said skeptically. “There’s been more than a hundred Supreme Court justices, I don’t think you—”
“Try me. Give me a clue, and I’ll guess the justice.”
Sean smiled at his daughter. The summer after her first year of law school. Like every person who’d ever studied the law, she was consumed by it. And a bit insufferable, too, with the law jokes and constant legal references. He was surprised since he thought that Abby might be immune, having grown up with the law and Supreme Court around her.
His daughter stuck out her lower lip. It worked as well in her twenties as it did when she was five.
“Okay, okay. How many hints?”
In her best game show contestant voice, Abby said, “I can name that Supreme Court justice in three hints.”
“All right. First hint, the justice was a great writer.”
“Uh, could you be more general?” She smiled, her teeth gleaming against her tanned face. “John Roberts, Elena Kagan,” she added.
“Nope, way before their time.”
Abby bunched her lips.
Sean said, “Okay, okay, hint number two: The justice was a bestselling author.”
“Sotomayor. No wait, she was after Roberts, so it must be before her time too. Come on, these are too general, give me a real hint.”
“Last hint. The justice’s picture is in the anteroom right outside the Supreme Court’s conference room. Remember when I took you there? The conference room where the justices decide their cases in secret, right next to the chief justice’s chambers.”
“Of course I remember. You let me sit at the table where they decided Brown v. Board of Education. I remember John Marshall’s portrait above the fireplace, but you’re talking about the small room at the entrance, not the conference room itself?” She scrunched her face, trying to conjure the image. “Ugh, don’t tell me you’re referring to Oliver Wendell Holmes.”
“Not bad! But what’s wrong with Holmes? He was one of the greatest writers on the court. Didn’t you learn about ‘clear and present danger’ or ‘shout fire in a crowded theater’ in Con Law? He came up with those lines. And his dissents were phenomenal. They called him ‘The Great Dissenter.’”
“He also was a pig.”
Sean threw up his hands, giving her a baffled look.
“In Buck v. Bell he upheld a mentally disabled woman being forcibly sterilized,” Abby said in disgust. “He wrote the poetic line ‘three generations of imbeciles are enough.’ Lovely. Your hero.”
With her hair blowing in the breeze, and her fiery gaze ready for a vigorous debate, there was no other word for her but exquisite.
“Come on, Abby,” Sean said. “You can’t judge a man by his one mistake.”
“Oh yes you can—if that mistake shows his true character. All the other stuff, it’s just cover.”