Mary had to pretend she wasn’t nervous, so she couldn’t scratch the blotches under her high-necked white blouse. She sat in the second pew of the packed gallery with Bennie and Grady, waiting for their case number to be called. It wasn’t easy to get a restraining order, because courts are loath to restrict a person’s civil liberties without a convincing showing of threat. Mary had only gotten one or two restraining orders in her career, and even they were a long time ago-and her boss wasn’t the client. She sent up a prayer to Saint Jude, patron saint of lost causes and lawyers who were in over their heads.
The Honorable Francis X. McKenna was presiding, a bald, blocky, ruddy-faced judge in his sixties with steel-rimmed glasses and a permanently even temper. He was known to be compassionate and smart, but there was an outside chance he could deny their restraining order. There hadn’t been any physical threat to Bennie, which was usually necessary.
The courtroom was old, with a dull gray marble bench, high ceilings painted a fading cerulean blue, and a brown Emerson air conditioner that rattled in a tall, mullioned window. The bar of court was made of dull mahogany, its top rail supported by ornately carved spindles, and behind it were the mismatched wooden desks of the law clerk, court crier, and court reporter, who went about their business, filing papers and tapping away on the stenography machine, their faces professional masks. Suddenly, the judge ruled, and the court crier rose and called for case number 53263, which was one away from theirs.
Mary watched as one restraining order after another was issued to the women and children of the City of Philadelphia, each one telling its own horror story of fathers attacking children, boyfriends stalking girlfriends, and grudges taken out on beloved pets. It made her feel even worse, but she told herself that they were getting what little justice the law could offer.
She glanced over at Bennie, who smiled back at her. Bennie had gotten a million restraining orders in her day, but she hadn’t tried to interfere when Mary had fumbled her way through filling out the forms in the Clerk’s Office. But that was Bennie Rosato for you.
“DiNunzio,” Bennie whispered, patting her hand. “Have faith in yourself. I do, in you.”
Mary felt a surge of gratitude, and when the court crier called out their case number, she felt taller than she ever had before. She went to the podium, stood before the judge, and said, with pride:
“May it please the Court, I’m Mary DiNunzio, of Rosato & DiNunzio.”