For the first time, I really look at Ruth carefully. The last time I saw her, after all, her hair was wrapped and she was wearing a nightgown. Now, she is dressed conservatively in a striped blouse and navy skirt, with shiny patent flats that are rubbed raw in one small spot each at the heels. Her hair is straight, pulled into a knot at the base of her neck. Her skin is lighter than I remember, almost the same color as the coffee milk that my mother used to let me drink when I was little.

Nerves manifest differently in different people. Me, I get talkative. Micah gets pensive. My mother gets snobbish. And Ruth, apparently, gets stiff. Which is something else I file away, because jurors who see that can misinterpret it as anger or haughtiness.

“I know it’s hard,” I say, lowering my voice for privacy, “but I need you to be a hundred percent honest with me. Even though I’m a stranger. I mean, hopefully, I won’t be one for long. But it’s important to realize that nothing you say to me can be used against you. It’s completely client-privileged.”

Ruth puts her fork down carefully, and nods. “All right.”

I take a small notebook out of my purse. “Well, first, do you prefer the term black or African American or people of color?”

Ruth stares at me. “People of color,” she says after a moment.

I write this down. Underline it. “I just want you to feel comfortable. Frankly, I don’t even see color. I mean, the only race that matters is the human one, right?”

Her lips press together tightly.

I clear my throat, breaking the knot of silence. “Remind me again where you went to school?”

“SUNY Plattsburgh, and then Yale Nursing School.”

“Impressive,” I murmur, scribbling this down.

“Ms. McQuarrie,” she says.

“Kennedy.”

“Kennedy…I can’t go back to prison.” Ruth looks into my eyes, and for a moment, I can see right down into the heart of her. “I’ve got my boy, and there’s no one else who can raise him to be the man I know he’s going to be.”

“I know. Listen, I’m going to do my best. I have a lot of experience in cases with people like you.”

That mask freezes her features again. “People like me?”

“People accused of serious crimes,” I explain.

“But I didn’t do anything.”

“I believe you. However, we still have to convince a jury. So we have to go back to the basics to figure out why you’ve been charged.”

“I’d think that’s pretty obvious,” Ruth says quietly. “That baby’s father didn’t want me near his son.”

“The white supremacist? He has nothing to do with your case.”

Ruth blinks. “I don’t understand how that’s possible.”

“He isn’t the one who indicted you. None of that matters.”

She looks at me as if I’m crazy. “But I’m the only nurse of color on the birthing pavilion.”

“To the State, it doesn’t matter if you’re black or white or blue or green. To them, you had a legal duty to take care of an infant under your charge. Just because your boss said don’t touch the baby doesn’t mean you get a free pass to stand there and do nothing.” I lean forward. “The State doesn’t even have to specify what the degree of murder is. They can argue multiple theories—contradictory theories. It’s like shooting fish in a bucket—if they hit any of them, you’re in trouble. If the State can show implied malice because you were so mad at being taken off the baby’s case, and suggest that you premeditated the death, the jury can convict you of murder. Even if we told the jury it was an accident, you’d be admitting to a breach in duty of care and criminal negligence with reckless and wanton disregard for the safety of the baby—you’d basically be giving them negligent homicide on a silver platter. In either of those scenarios, you’re going to prison. And in either of those scenarios it doesn’t matter what color your skin is.”

She draws in her breath. “Do you really believe that if I was white, I’d be sitting here with you right now?”

There is no way you can look at a case that has, at its core, a nurse who is the only employee of color in the department, a white supremacist father, and a knee-jerk decision by a hospital administrator…and not assume that race played a factor.

But.

Any public defender who tells you justice is blind is telling you a big fat lie. Watch the news coverage of trials that have racial overtones, and what will stick out profoundly is the way attorneys and judges and juries go out of their way to say this isn’t about race, even though it clearly is. Any public defender will also tell you that even though the majority of our clients are people of color, you can’t play the race card during a trial.

That’s because it’s sure suicide in a courtroom to bring up race. You don’t know what your jury is thinking. Or can’t be certain of what your judge believes. In fact, the easiest way to lose a case that has a racially motivated incident at its core is to actually call it what it is. Instead, you find something else for the jury to hang their hat on. Some shred of evidence that can clear your client of blame, and allow those twelve men and women to go home still pretending that the world we live in is an equal one.

“No,” I admit. “I believe it’s too risky to bring up in court.” I lean forward. “I’m not saying you weren’t discriminated against, Ruth. I’m saying that this is not the time or place to address it.”