“I’m impressed. It belonged to my late husband. He had such a keen eye for art.”
“And what about you? Do you share his passion?”
I poured two glasses of iced tea from an ornate silver pitcher and handed one to Diane. “I appreciate art, but my passion lies elsewhere.” I gestured toward the towering bookcase that lined the far wall. “I find the written word to be the most expressive form of art.”
Diane took a moment to appreciate the vast array of literature before her. Bound volumes of classic works, historical recounts, contemporary novels, and even poetry collections filled the shelves from floor to ceiling. They were organized not by author or title, but color—a rainbow of spines that brought vibrancy to the room. “That’s quite a collection.”
“Would you believe this isn’t half of it?”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “You must be quite the reader. Do you have a favorite?”
“It’s like asking a mother to pick a favorite child. But if I had to choose one, it would beThe Great Gatsby. It's a tale of love, deception, and the façade of the American Dream. I find something new each time I read it.”
Diane nodded as she sipped her tea. “It’s been ages since I read that one. Probably not since high school English class.”
“If you enjoy reading, you’re welcome to any book you like during your stay. Speaking of which, we took the liberty of preparing the cottage for you. I hope that’s okay?”
“We?”
“Judy and I. She’s one of my dearest friends and has been staying with me since my husband passed away. A recent widow herself, she and I have become each other’s support system.”
“I’m sorry for your losses. It’s good to have someone to lean on during tough times.”
“Yes, it is,” I said, fighting a lump in my throat. “And might I add, it’s also good to have a distraction. Like your visit. I’ve been looking forward to this for quite some time.”
“I’m glad to hear you say that,” she replied. “I have been, too. Believe it or not, this is my first trip to the Outer Banks.”
“Well, you’ve picked the perfect time to visit,” I said gesturing toward the window where the rain continued to fall in sheets. “Once this storm passes, you’ll see how the fall brings out the true beauty of these shores.”
“Speaking of beautiful, is that the cottage you were telling me about?” She moved over to the window, her gaze seeking out the small structure nestled at the edge of the dunes.
“That’s it. My little home away from home. You’ll have plenty of peace and quiet there while you work. Once this storm passes, I’ll be happy to show it to you.”
“That’s very kind of you. Thank you.”
“Of course.”
Diane nodded appreciatively, her eyes taking one last sweep of the grand library before returning to me. “Tell me, was it difficult transitioning from a humble life to…this?”
I chuckled, reflecting on my journey. “Difficult? No, I wouldn’t say it was difficult. A little overwhelming, especially at the beginning, but I like to think that I took to it like a duck to water.” I led Diane toward a plush seating area near the grandfireplace. I settled onto a tufted velvet chair while she claimed the seat opposite me on a matching chaise, crossing one leg over the other. Her eyes twinkled with intrigue as she set her tea on a walnut coffee table and pulled a notepad from her satchel.
“Thanks again for agreeing to do this. When you responded to my letter, I must admit, I was a bit surprised, especially given your reputation for reticence. If you don’t mind me asking, is there a particular reason you want to do this now?”
“For starters, my career has afforded me the luxury of solitude, the privilege of distance. For years, I’ve watched people form assumptions about me, my life, this house…and I’ve let them. I’ve realized, though, that silence can be just as much a lie as any spoken words. If people are going to talk, I want them to have the right information. Now that I’m retired, I feel it’s time for me to write my own narrative. The true version of my story, not the fragmented pieces that have been stitched together by intrigued outsiders. Ultimately, I feel like this is my chance to do what I do best—to plead my case and show the rest of the world that I’m not the heartless woman they think I am.”
Diane nodded, her fingers tapping against the spine of her notepad. “That’s incredibly brave. But why me? Out of all the wonderful and accomplished writers you could have chosen, why invite me, a mere novice, into your world?”
The question hung in the air between us like a lingering mist. I leaned back in my chair, steepling my fingers. “It’s true, I’ve been approached by numerous writers—some famous, some not, all clamoring for the golden ticket into my world. But your letter… It touched me. It was genuine and heartfelt. But more than that, I wanted the truth to be told, not an embellished version designed to attract attention. You don’t know this, but I’ve tracked your career for quite some time. I’ve read your articles, admired your investigative prowess, and more importantly, respected your integrity. You have a rare giftfor listening to the undercurrents, the hidden truth between the lines. There was one article in particular, ‘The Man Behind the Mask,’ that resonated with me deeply. You wrote, ‘True power does not come from wealth or status, but from authenticity, from the courage to reveal oneself fully and fearlessly to the world.’ It was one of the few times I felt someone understood what it means to be in this position. You didn’t just focus on the superficial, the glamour, and the indulgence. You peered beneath the surface, into the abyss where the real person dwells. That’s why you’re here, Diane. I believe you’re capable of telling my story with that same integrity.”
A slow smile spread across her face. It was clear that my words had hit their mark. “I’m flattered. And I promise you I’ll do my best to capture your truth.” She took a sip of tea before going on. “You know, it’s not every day that I have the pleasure of talking with a woman of your caliber. Typically, I find myself in the company of local businessmen or politicians, but never a judge, let alone a female one.”
I laughed, finding it amusing that she thought my life so extraordinary. “I suppose it’s because we judges are usually behind the bench, not in front of a reporter’s pen. But I think it’s important to share our stories as well. And I’m honored to be your first.”
“Speaking of being honored.” Diane’s expression turned serious as she uncapped her pen. “How does it feel to be only the second female Supreme Court Justice in the state’s history?”
“It’s overwhelming, to be honest. When I started my law career, women were still a rarity in the field. To have risen to where I am now, it feels like I’ve scaled a mountain. But it’s not just about me. It’s about every young girl out there who needs the courage to be whatever she wants to be, even in a predominantly male industry. It’s also proof that no matterwhere you come from or what your circumstances are, you can rise above them and achieve great things.”
Diane’s pen danced across the paper as she scribbled my words. “I like that…that spirit of empowerment. Has that always been a driving force in your life?”