Apparent Necessity
| Publication year | 2023 |
| Citation | Vol. 28 No. 6 Pg. 0031 |
| Pages | 0031 |
The Editorial Board of the Georgia Bar Journal is proud to present, "Apparent Necessity," by Hon. Lori B. Duff of Loganville, as the winner of the Journal's 32nd Annual Fiction Writing Competition.
BY HON. LORI B. DUFF
The purposes of the Fiction Writing Competition are to enhance interest in the Journal, to encourage excellence in writing by members of the Bar and to provide an innovative vehicle for the illustration of the life and work of lawyers. As in years past, this year's entries reflected a wide range of topics and literary styles. In accordance with the competition's rules, the Editorial Board selected the winning story through a process of reading each story without knowledge of the author's identity and then scoring each entry. The story with the highest cumulative score was selected as the winner. The Editorial Board congratulates Duff and all of the other entrants for their participation and excellent writing.
If a wife kills another woman to prevent sexual relations between such other woman and her husband, the killing is justified provided it was because of apparent necessity to prevent the commission of such sexual act. On the other hand, if such killing was the result of a violent and sudden impulse of passion on the part of the defendant engendered by the circumstances, it is manslaughter.... It is enough if it be apparent that the killing is necessary to prevent a planned act of sexual intercourse.
—Scroggs v. State, 94 Ga. App. 28 (1956)
Claudette Scroggs stuck a hatpin in her hair to fix her hat and carefully blotted her lipstick. This was a messy business, she knew, but Claudette was not a messy woman, and she would not have anyone thinking she was. She straightened her lace collar and stood up from her dressing table. No reason to dawdle.
She opened her dresser drawer and pulled out the pearl-handled revolver she'd tucked among her gloves and placed it in her pocketbook. She slipped on the gloves it had been hiding beneath and, unable to think of any other preparations, took a deep breath and headed out the door.
It was warm for October and Claudette wished she weren't wearing long sleeves, but she had felt the need to be covered, protected. Not that Margaret would know she was coming, or why, but she needed that layer of wool between herself and this necessity.
"In front of God and everybody," she could hear her grandmother's voice saying.
Grandmother, she told the voice, like she'd done a thousand times before. I'm only doing what I have to do. Roger won't leave her alone and she doesn't want to be left. I've asked him to stop. I've asked her to stay away. They're the ones flaunting their relationship in front of God and everybody. She fingered her engagement ring through her glove. It wasn't especially large or fancy, but it was hers. Roger had given it to her when he'd chosen her to be his wife, and followed it up with the thin band of gold when he'd promised to cherish her all the days of his life, forsaking all others.
Claudette crossed her ankles and pulled off her gloves before settling her hands on one knee. Margaret sat in a wooden chair across from her. The two women stared at each other.
Claudette straightened her neck, chin pointed at the horizon. She turned the corner at Live Oak Street, her heels clipping evenly. She wouldn't have minded if anyone had seen her, but no one seemed to be around. God knew she needed a clear path.
Finally, she saw the peeling blue paint of Margaret's porch. She walked up the three stairs, took off her right glove, rapped on the door three times with her bare knuckles. Then, after brushing the cobalt flakes from her hand, she put her glove back on.
Margaret opened the door halfway, but as soon as she saw it was Claudette, she started to shut it again. "Now Miss Margaret," Claudette said to the closing door, "I'm here to talk to you. There's no reason to be impolite."
Margaret didn't open the door, but she didn't finish closing it either.
"We need to figure out what we are going to do about Roger," Claudette said.
For a moment, Claudette was unsure if Margaret was still standing on the other side of the door. Then, Margaret said, "What's there to do? Roger's a man. You know men just like I do. They do what they want when they want to do it."
"Yes, of course," Claudette told the peeling blue door. "But you and I—we're ladies. We don't resolve things the way men do."
Claudette heard a loud, huffing sigh, then the door swung open. Margaret stood there; her threadbare flowered dress edged in cheap rick-rack. Why Roger would ever ... she stopped herself right there. This was not the time for why questions. Why was not important. There was only what was and that was what she was here to deal with.
Margaret stepped to the side and said, "Come on in, Claudette," with about as much hospitality as you'd expect from a mother scorpion.
The house was clean enough, as if a coat of Murphy's Oil Soap could hide the scuffs on the floorboards and the gouges in the cheap pine furniture. At least Claudette wasn't afraid of soiling her dress on the shabby tweed sofa when she sat on it. Roger had chosen a clean woman; she could say that much about her husband. Claudette crossed her ankles and pulled off her gloves before settling her hands on one knee. Margaret sat in a wooden chair across from her. The two women stared at each other.
"Well?" Margaret finally said, "You came here to talk to me. What is it you want to say?"
Her directness felt like violence to Claudette. Shouldn't Margaret offer her a glass of tea or lemonade before getting down to business? This conversation had to happen on Claudette's terms, not because Margaret wanted it to start right away. "It was a long walk over here, Margaret, and it is unseasonably warm. Could I trouble you for some water?" She smiled in mock obsequiousness at Margaret, as if she'd humbly asked for a great treasure.
Margaret sighed that loud, huffing sigh again, slapped her hands on her thighs, and wordlessly got up and went into the kitchen. Claudette heard the clink of some glassware, the sink running and Margaret returned with a glass of water, which she thrust in Claudette's direction. Claudette considered asking her if she had any ice cubes in the icebox, but she decided she ought not push her luck. She took the glass from Margaret and nod- ded her thanks. Margaret returned to her slat-backed chair and focused her eyes on Claudette, waiting for Claudette to state her purpose.
There was no reason to put it off anymore. "I'm going to ask you one last time to stay away from Roger."
Margaret shook her head, then started to laugh. "I told you; it isn't me. Roger comes here. Everything that happens is something Roger takes for himself. Even if I wanted to...
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