The judge had heard them thousands of times.
But that afternoon, they would acquire a meaning neither woman could have imagined.
The judge ended the call and entered her Mercedes.
A black government SUV was parked farther along the street.
It belonged to a judicial security team that had been assigned a temporary protective role after several concerning communications involving the judge's federal work.
The arrangement was not a permanent personal entourage.
The United States Marshals Service assessed security risks involving federal judicial officers and coordinated protective measures when warranted.
Recently, the judge had received anonymous messages criticizing her handling of the civil-rights case.
One contained language that security personnel considered threatening enough to justify additional precautions.
She had been advised to use an emergency contact protocol and notify the team of significant changes in her schedule.
She did not enjoy the attention.
She wanted to believe she could simply drive through the city without anyone worrying about her safety.
But she respected the marshals' responsibilities.
Before leaving the hotel, she sent a brief update indicating that she was stopping at a supermarket before heading to her mother's home.
The security team acknowledged the message.
Then she drove toward Buckhead.
The afternoon sunlight reflected from the glass towers and luxury storefronts lining the roads.
Traffic moved steadily.
People walked between cafés and boutiques.
The judge turned into the parking lot of an upscale supermarket she'd visited many times.
It was a large, beautifully maintained store known for fresh produce, imported foods, and carefully arranged displays.
She parked near the entrance, adjusted the skirt of her white gown, and stepped out.
Several people looked toward her.
She was aware that her clothing was unusually formal for grocery shopping.
But she had no interest in driving home, changing clothes, and making another trip across the city.
She had errands to finish.
Her mother was waiting.
And the judge had learned long ago not to organize her entire life around whether strangers approved of her appearance.
She entered the supermarket carrying her silver clutch.
Inside, a young cashier looked up.
For a moment, the employee seemed surprised by the elegant woman walking toward the produce section.
Then she smiled.
“Good afternoon.”
The judge returned the smile.
“Good afternoon.”
She selected fresh strawberries, lemons, vegetables, herbs, bread, and several other ingredients.
She examined the fruit carefully.
Her mother hated strawberries that were too soft.
She also purchased a small box of imported chocolates for her niece.