Dara raises the glass. “Strength,” she says, her voice rich and full. “Wisdom. Tolerance. Justice.”
It should seem precious, wacky, New Age. Instead, it’s riveting. Who among us, no matter what we believe personally, would stand against those principles?
She tilts the glass and drinks every last drop. Then Dara glances at Judge O’Neill. “There. Was that really so bad?”
Angela walks toward the witness stand. She refills Dara’s glass—not out of habit but because she knows it will keep everyone thinking what words are being said in front of that water that might alter it, much the way having a toddler in the room acts as a deterrent for lewd conversation. “Can you state your name and address for the record?”
“Dara Weeks. I live at 5901 Renfrew Heights, Wilmington.”
“How old are you?”
Blanching, she looks at Angela. “I really have to tell you that?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Sixty-five. But Ifeelfifty.”
“How far away do you live from your daughter and Vanessa Shaw?”
“Ten minutes,” Dara says.
“Do you have any grandchildren?”
“Not yet. But . . .” She knocks the wood of the witness stand.
“I take it you’re looking forward to the prospect, then?”
“Are you kidding me? I’m going to be the best grandmother who ever lived.”
Angela crosses in front of the stand. “Ms. Weeks, do you know Vanessa Shaw?”
“I do. She’s married to my daughter.”
“What do you think of their relationship?”
“I think,” Dara says, “she makes my daughter very happy, and that’s what has always mattered most to me.”
“Has your daughter always been happy in her relationships?”
“No. She was miserable after the stillbirth, and during her divorce. Like a zombie. I’d go over to her place, and she’d still be wearing the same clothes I left her in the day before. She didn’t eat. She didn’t clean. She didn’t work. She didn’t play guitar. She just slept. Even when she was awake, she seemed to be sleeping.”
“When did that start to change for her?”
“She began to work with a student at Vanessa’s school. Gradually, she and Vanessa went to lunch, to movies, to art festivals and flea markets. I was just so glad Zoe had someone to talk to.”
“At some point did you learn that Zoe and Vanessa were more than just friends?”
Dara nods. “One day they came over and Zoe said she had something important to tell me. She was in love with Vanessa.”
“What was your reaction?”
“I was confused. I mean, I knew Vanessa had become her best friend—but now Zoe was telling me she wanted to move in with her and that she was a lesbian.”
“How did that make you feel?”
“Like I’d been hit with a pickax.” Dara hesitates. “I don’t have anything against gay people, but I never thought of my daughter as gay. I thought about the grandchildren I wouldn’t have, about what my friends would say behind my back. But I realized that I wasn’t upset because of who Zoe fell in love with. I was upset because, as a mother, I would never have picked this path for her. No parent wants her child to have to struggle her whole life against people with small minds.”
“How do you feel now about your daughter’s relationship?”
