“Tell me,” he began, his left hand reaching across the cast iron café table over which they were sharing lunch, as they did every Monday, “what will you do without me this weekend? Entertain some other, more handsome, lucky bastard?”
Sarah laughed at his insinuation. “Are you saying there are more handsome men out there?” she asked with feigned curiosity. Smiling in a way that told her he didn’t believe for a moment that there were. “Seriously, When I’m not subjecting myself to wedding nightmares from hell, I don’t really do much of anything. I’ll probably just sit around my place and catch up on some reading. I’ll need it after this trial.”
“What trial?”
“I have a custody hearing Wednesday. I guess it hits a little close to home for me.”
“Uh, huh,” he acknowledged.
Sarah continued, tears welling in her eyes. “It’s pro bono work and it’s not that I don’t love doing it, but they’re always something to do with kids in some way or another and it gets the better of me I suppose.” Dabbing the corner of her eyes with her napkin, Sarah let a tiny sniffle slip.
“Why cry Sarah?” Ashton leaned into her. His thumb held up his chin, the two fingers holding his cigarette hovered an inch or so from his face as his ring finger slid side to side over the crease beneath his lower lip. “Emotions are easily controlled things, if you practice at it. All smoke and mirrors really,” he explained as he exhaled a puff of smoke over the inside of his thumb.
His comment piqued Sarah’s curiosity. “Does that go for all emotions?”
“I have yet to find one that someone somewhere hasn’t been able to fake.”
Honest, diplomatic, so he wasn’t necessary saying he used smoke and mirrors to portray his emotions, only that he had seen it done, but the notion he could find Sarah in the least disingenuous disturbed her. After all, they were sleeping together and that was a level of intimacy she hadn’t extended many invitations for. The attorney in her stepped forward, “You don’t think I...” she stuttered.
“Oh no,” he said emphatically crushing out his cigarette. “I didn’t mean you. What we have is transcendent. What we have is magic.” Planting a quick peck on her forehead, he excused himself from their date.
For a moment, Sarah remained at the table. The idea of returning to work appealing to her no more than the promise she had made Eldora to stop over for dinner tonight. Other attorneys would have argued she shouldn’t be out this soon before a case. She should have been home, preparing, resting. It just wasn’t Sarah’s way. She did all her preparation in advance and spent the night before a big trial making it the furthest thing from her mind. It made her feel more natural in front of the judge, less like some phony beauty pageant contestant whose answer about world peace had been so rehearsed it didn’t sound right without the ‘God bless us, everyone’ stuck on the end for full effect.
Considering her preferences, it irritated her even more than usual to have thoughts of Rona Chelli consuming her every thought as she sat alone in the café chewing on the end of a thin moss colored straw stuck in a glass half full of ice and completly bereft of any negotiable liquid. Sighing, Sarah banished those obsessive thoughts from her mind and forced herself away from the table. Standing there on the corner, she looked over at her building. In the last few weeks the place had grown more and more inhospitable. Irmscher refused to let go of there squabble over class infrastructure in the firm. Every chance he had he impressed on her just how much she’d managed to wrench the delicate balance of things with her damnable progressive thought Even all these weeks later Sarah still couldn’t manage how the disappearance of the use of a few sir names would be the unraveling of western civilization. ‘Do I really have to go back,’ she thought.
Were it no one would notice, she might just stay here. Outside this little café, enjoying the view she had watching others live their lives. A moment, just one moment away from living her own life. Just as she was letting go of her cares in exchange for concentrating on an aggressive debate going on at the table behind her. Two mid-twenty something women. The topic, lemon juice or lime juice over their fresh greens, which had less calories? Just as Sarah was really getting into the Psi Beta quality conversation, she experienced that sensation, which seemed to wash over her more frequently of late, that distinct feeling of heavy eyes upon her. No longer concerned with the latest in citrus diet tips, she fled for the safety of her secured building. Now rather than observing the strangers on the street, she was the stranger they observed.
***** ***** *****
“Ms. Williams, oh Ms. Williams,” the young girl who answered the door screeched. “Mama’s been waiting. Come on in, I’ll tell her you’re here.”
“Heaven’s child if there’s a person in the neighborhood who don’t know she’s here the way you carry on.” Eldora came from the kitchen, wiping her hands in a tea towel she’d fed through the tie of her apron. “Miss Sarah, I’m so glad you could make it. Now give Lily your sweater and have a seat. I’ll get you a glass of wine. Dinner’s near done.”
Lily took the wrap from Sarah’s shoulders. “I graduated two weeks ago, Ms. Williams. High honors, had a special gold tassel and everything. There were only 15 of us out of the whole class, out of 120 of us.”
“Remarkable Lily, I’m very proud of you.” She gave the girl a quick squeeze around the shoulder.
“Thank you Ms. Williams.” Sarah sat on the edge of a settee and the young girl sat close beside her. Reaching over, Lily placed a hand atop the pair which Sarah had neatly folded in her lap. “I couldn’t have done it without you,” here she faltered some, “without what you did for me and mama.”
Looking into her eyes, Sarah could see the deep mahogany swimming behind choked back tears. “I didn’t do much,” she said modestly. “It was your mom who was brave enough to stand up for herself, stand up for you.” She clutched the young girls hands and let herself think what things could have been like otherwise. Shaking off the bleak alternative Sarah added, “I hope you know your mother would have done anything, anything,” she reiterated, “to keep you safe.”
“And still would,” Eldora added as she came behind them and placed a solid kiss on the top of her daughter’s braided hair. “But you,” she directed her attentions to Sarah, “you did more for us both than you could ever know. It’s one thing to want out. I wanted out, for sure I did. But Miss Sarah, I don’t know that I could have gotten out without help, without your help.”
“It was my pleasure,” Sarah nodded. “As is this.” Breaking free from Lily’s grip, she reached into the external sleeve of her briefcase. “I was going to mail this,” she explained as she handed the myrtle blossom, five by seven envelope to the girl, “but, well just open it up.”
Lily looked at her mother. “Go on,” she urged.
Gently, Lily slipped a finger in the corner of the back flap and carefully followed along the sharp angle accurately in order to preserve as much of the envelope as possible. Inside was a bifold sugar wafer colored card embossed with metallic blue corn script. Congratulations! written in large letters above a graduation cap with a gold tassel. It was just like the one Lily had worn in her ceremony. Scattered about the entire face were a rainbow myriad of confetti pieces and lengths of ribbon. She withdrew the card slowly, already the tears she had held back earlier beginning to stain her perfect complection with streaks of cinnamon. Opening it, she quickly flipped a loose slip of paper around to the back of the card and held it there with her index finger.
She read the preprinted message first, “The caps have all been tossed. Your gowns been tucked away. All that’s left of graduation, are your memories of the day. But what awaits you now, is a beginning grand and new. You’ve made us all so proud, that we wish the best for you.”
Before she read what Sarah had neatly printed in medium ballpoint at the bottom, Lily looked up and smiled affectionately at her friend and then her mother. “Dearest Lily, From the moment I first met you, I knew you were destine for great things. Over the years you’ve grown to surpass even my fondest dreams for you. You have become a lovely, competent, intelligent young woman and you have set high goals for yourself. I’m proud of you for that. So many kids your age have no goals for themselves or they set goals that don’t require them to reach for anything. I want you to reach for the stars and I want you to catch them. All my love, Ms. Williams”
Pulling the paper scrap forward, Lily gasped. “Ms. Williams, I can’t take this.”
Eldora plucked it from fingers as Sarah began to object. “Oh, Miss Sarah,” she cried out balancing herself with one hand on the back of the couch and the other, with the check still in it, pressed against her chest. “I can’t believe what I’m seeing, can’t believe it.”
“Believe it Eldora. And I won’t hear one more word about you not accepting that money.”
“But Miss Williams,” Sarah held her hand up to Lily.
“$2,500! $2,500! Oh Lily child, you thank Miss Sarah. This’ll be enough to get you started in college. Oh Miss Sarah, Miss Sarah!” She grabbed the woman and held her tight to her bosom as if she were another child of hers. “I don’t know how I’ll do it, but I’ll repay you, some day. Thank you, from the very bottom of my heart, thank you.”
Sarah would have thought she was nose to nose with Eldora’s appreciative heart for how firm the woman’s ribs felt against her face. At least she’d managed a quick deep breath before being captured. Eldora loosened her grip and Lily took advantage of the new freedom to throw her arms lovingly around her benefactor and shower her cheek with kisses. “I won’t let you down,” she promised. “I won’t.”
“I know you won’t Lily, you couldn’t possibly and Eldora, this is not a loan. This is my gift to Lily and I want you to let me know any time you need my help to keep her in college. I don’t want anything to interfere with this one’s success.” Taking Lily’s chin between her thumb and forefinger, Sarah looked deeply into her eyes, “There’s so much in there, so much potential. She could be anything, anything. I won’t settle for less than your fullest satisfaction.”
“I wanna be just like you Ms. Williams, just like you.”
“That’s right,” Eldora boasted like a peacock. “She’s sent her application out to the University of Chicago Law School.”
“Really?”
“Uh-huh, ma’am. I told you, I want to be just like you. I want to help other people get themselves right, like you helped us.”
Sarah embraced her firmly, feeling as proud of her as she would have her own child coming to this conclusion. This was the sort of thing that validated a human being. Most days Sarah’s job was just that, a job, a means to make money, but one day, one day long ago when her career meant something more, she had done something right. It didn’t take long hours of drafting briefs. It wasn’t late night wining and dining of contract clients. It wasn’t a heated phone call meant to renegotiate terms to one side or the other. It was one perfect, profound moment when she had shaped another heart, by doing nothing more complicated than what was right. “You won’t be like me, you know. You’ll be better,” she confirmed when the girl looked at her with solemn disappointment. “Now, I know some people at the school. I’ll make a few calls,” Sarah offered as she wiped her tears away. “You’ll get in on your own merit, that’s for sure, but I can recommend you for a few grants. Get an application for aid,” she told Eldora. “I’m sure you’ll qualify for a good portion of things. Here’s my promise.” Sarah pulled a legal pad and a pen from her case and did a bit of scribbling before handing the canary yellow sheet over to Eldora.
“I, Sarah Williams (“Grantor”),” she read, “do hereby grant unto Lillian Curtis (“Recipient”) a lump sum payment of $2,500 on a semi-annual basis. This sum payment is conditioned as follows: 1) such sum be used to pay debts associated with Recipient’s education at the University of Chicago Law School and only to pay such debts; and 2) Recipient must maintain a grade point average of no less than 3.65 for any given semester at the University of Chicago Law School. Upon receiving acknowledgment that the Recipient has met the terms and conditions of this gift, Grantor will issue a check, in the Recipient’s name toward expenses for the following semester. If at any time, the Recipient fails to comply with the terms and conditions of this gift, Recipient will not receive the promised gift, but will resume receipt of the gift upon resuming her compliance with the terms and conditions of this gift. This offer is valid for the entire term of Recipient’s education and will not cease until such time as the Recipient graduates. None of the funds promised to the Recipient are due and or payable to the Grantor, her successors or assigns and no repayment will be accepted for such funds by the Grantor, her successors or assigns.” Eldora paused without reading the closing. ‘Legally contracted by’ followed by Sarah’s signature. “What does all this mean?”
“It means, Sarah smiled. That as long as Lily maintains a 3.65 grade point average I will write her a check for $2,500 each semester. Those funds are to be used solely to further her education. I will continue to do this each and every semester that she reaches a 3.65 grade point average up until the time she graduates, and I have no doubt that she will graduate. It’s the least I can do.”
Eldora fell into a chair at Sarah’s side. “Good Lord! If I couldn’t smell the roast in my oven I’d swear I was dreaming. Miss Sarah, I can’t let you do this.”
Sarah cleared her throat and straightened her back delivering in a most professional manner, “Ms. Curtis, please be aware that what you have there is a legal binding contract between myself and Miss Curtis. As her mother and custodian, you are held liable for your daughter’s actions until such time as she turns 18, until then, if you were to refuse acceptance of the funds it would breach the contract. I would hate to sue you for breach of contract Ms. Curtis.”
Roaring with laughter, Eldora swatted her hand at Sarah before grabbing her sides and making her way to the kitchen to check the roast. As she went she mumbled, “You sure are a character, now. Never seen no one as kind and generous as you, nope. Not another like you anywhere.”
“Thank you Ms. Williams, more than words can say.”
“Make me send you that check every semester and that will be all the thanks I need.” Another fast hug and she offered, “What’s say we go give your mom and hand in the kitchen.
***** ***** *****
Having Tuesday off was a blessing. Eldora’s roast with potatoes and carrots had left her feeling very sleepy when she arrived home. Not having to hear a screaming clock at some obscene hour of the morning was fabulous. In fact, as she downed her second cup of coffee that morning, Sarah made the executive decision to remain in her pajamas as her celebration of independence. Looking down she noted her blue pin striped bottoms and the white tank which modestly covered her. Two-thirds committed to the theme of the day she felt justified.
Upside down in the top drawer of the dishwasher Sarah set down the mug. So many things she’d put off and Lily had inspired her. Such a bright young girl, so motivated. It reminded Sarah very much of herself once. There was a copy of Linda Berdoll’s newest release sitting in her home office. It had been released in March and Sarah had yet to read so much as the back cover. Her closet was bulging with good pieces that she didn’t wear, and for almost a year now she had thought about cleaning it out and donating any gently used and no longer desired pieces. The kitchen floor was clean, but it had been awhile since she’d gotten on her hands and knees and bleached the grout. The carpets could almost always use vacuuming. Plenty to do, plenty to keep her mind off the trial, off Tim, off Ashton and off Jareth.
She hadn’t thought of the Goblin King once the previous day. Coincidentally she had no encounter with his essence. Too much else to be bothered with, she had supposed, to be plagued by his memory which was obviously what was making him seem so vivid to her. Sarah had lost her focus, allowed everything she’d buried to resurface. It was time to put an end to that. Time to reclaim her life.
A good purge always made Sarah feel like having a fresh start. Up the stairs, into the closet she went, five large garbage bags in hand ready to rid herself of the material things which weighed her down emotionally twice what they did physically. Business suits were the first thing to go. A few shades that had been in seasons ago established a base in the first bag. On top of that went the suits which no longer complimented her frame. Blouses, shells and camisoles based the bottom of a second bag. She’d worn them once, found them very disagreeable and they’d sat in plastic bags in her closet, the receipts dated from last spring still attached on the upper right hand corner. The third bag she used to hold the hangers, plastic bags and paper toppers.
In with the blouses, Sarah tossed some of her ‘play’ clothes. Jeans, jogging pants, t-shirts, some of her lesser used but more decent nightwear. Nothing personal, no underwear or intimate apparel. She just didn’t feel right giving those things to other people. Then on to her formal wear. Dresses, gowns, a woman’s tuxedo which she’d bought to do galas when she worked with her pro bono clients more regularly. That could go. It was horribly out of style. Ex-brides maids dresses crowned the fifth bag. In her hand, Sarah held the dress Rowan had made for her. Looking from it to the bag, she wished there’d been enough room to stuff it in there. After a few seconds of feeling the material in her hands, she decided that she couldn’t part with it. She’d turn it into something else. Erase the connection of that dress with Rowan in any way.
Neatly folding it, Sarah set it on the top of her compartmentalized shoe organizer. For a second she thought about going through her shoes, but then better decided that each and every one of the nearly five dozen pairs of footwear she owned were comfortable and utilized often enough to earn their residency. “Much better,” she declared as she stood back to survey the more roomy closet. Retrieving the bag of refuse she filled it with various under things that had out lived their usefulness. She found a pair of red slipper socks in the corner of her drawer. A long since received Christmas gift. Thinking it topped off, or more specifically, bottomed off her Independence Day ensemble. On the top shelf which ran around the entire closet about a foot and a half down from the ceiling were al sorts of what not type things. Hat boxes and hand bags. A large preservation box which contained her wedding dress. Sarah snorted at the idea she’d kept the thing. Regardless, she came to the conclusion that keeping those things outweighed any benefit that sorting through them would have provided.
Pulling the chain to switch off the light, Sarah dragged the bags out into the bedroom. One by one she sent them rolling end over end to the lower floor. Tomorrow she’d call AMVETS to pick everything up. When the last bag hit the bottom of the stairs she contemplated going back for the wedding gown. Then she thought about what she would do if she were to get remarried. She wouldn’t want someone else’s gown. She’d want something uniquely her own, something which expressed the life she was about to embark on.
The dress she’d bought to marry Tim in was elegant, but extravagant for sure. Sleeveless, she’d gone tanning in order to insure that her skin popped a brilliant bronze tone against the crisp English Ivory . The high collar banded neatly around her throat and was coated in pearls. From there a form fitted lace bodice covered her to the waist. A full skirt seemed to run in every direction from her waist, like sun rays on a June morning. A beautiful a-line wave of silk, unmarred by any sort of unnecessary decoration. About her waist a ribbon covered in pearls mimicking the throat.
Behind her a medium sized train kissed the ground, but what pushed the dress off the ordinary platform and to the extreme side of the extraordinary platform was the lace petticoat. Eight pearl buttons joined a wide section around her middle. Long sleeves covered her bare arms coming to a point on the back of her hand, where a nearly invisible band of elastic looped over her middle finger, a tear drop pearl accentuating the hand trimmed detail. The neckline was trimmed to let the collar of her dress show through, but behind her, cascading over her full skirt was seven yards of the intricate lace outlined in a bias edge. Upon closer inspection, one may have noticed the tiny pearls sewn carefully around the edge of the train, that is if anyone could have torn their eyes away from her love stained face.
She’d gotten her stylist to do a neat, clean French twist fed with baby’s breath and pearl edged hair pins. If Laney hadn’t have known better, she’d have thought the woman she helped into all these layers of lace and satin had been a model straight from the pages of Modern Bride. Laney was no slouch herself in a spaghetti strap coral number that flowed around her legs when she walked like a cloud.
Fashions were only one small part of it, the entire event went off without a hitch. If anything went wrong, Sarah didn’t know about it. No one complained, all the right songs got played, the menu was just as they had planned, the centerpieces were all fresh, the favors all had the right names and the right date. On second thought, maybe dresses didn’t always express the life the couple was about to embark on.
Since she finally convinced herself to sign the divorce papers, Sarah hadn’t thought about getting remarried, but she thought about it now. Ashton was the first man she had seen more than once since Tim and things seemed to be progressing nicely. Who knew? Maybe someday. What would a wedding between them be like? A white lace up corset top together with a short skirt, perhaps some white fishnet stockings that disappeared into the tops of some old English granny boots, white leather for sure. ‘Oh God,’ she thought, it would be just like a Billy Idol video.
Her reverie had taken her quite a distance from her original thoughts. There was more to get done today. Down the stairs she trudged. Dragging the bags back to a tiny cove beneath the stairs. Wisely, she made herself some tuna on toast before she began the floor. No sense hand scrubbing a floor and then crumbing it up again.
The scrubbing wasn’t so bad, in her continuing series of 1980's flashbacks, she felt very Daniel-san, on her knees repeatedly covering small circles of floor. Right hand sand, left hand sand. Right hand sand, left hand sand. It was actually pretty relaxing. It wasn’t until several hours had gone by and she had managed only a sad quarter of the floor grout with her trusty Clorox bleach pen gel. Wiping away a stray hair which seemed to have an unnatural, inseparable attachment to her left eye, Sarah asked herself why she didn’t have someone come in semi monthly and take care of things on her behalf. In the end, she got back to bleaching and banished the notion, deciding it would be far too much to expect anyone to live up to the definition of clean she’d set for herself.
Feeling particularly scummy after the one on one with the three inch square tiles, Sarah went up to get a nice hot shower. The day had waned away quickly, more quickly than she might have liked. Vacuuming had become a task she decided to forget about when she saw dusk approaching in the picture window. Nothing left to do now but think, think about all those things she’d sworn this morning not to think on. Most of which had already invaded her conscious earlier. Every time she closed her eyes and let the water stream over her face their was a different set of eyes came into her mind. She was quite glad to be done with her conditioning treatment.
She rushed to dry and dress herself as if someone had her under constant surveillance. Slipped on a gown, tied on a matching robe, acquired her novel, coupled it with a generous glass of wine and sat herself inside the sliding glass doors of the balcony. No one to share her apartment with, she could have easily switched on the light, but she would have rather sat there in the fading natural light, a single torpedo candle alight in an old fashion, Wee Willy Winky style handpit, for light.
It was the forth of July after all. Chicago would let loose an enormous display of Grade A fireworks when the night sky reached it’s deepest blue. For years now Sarah had watched, hoping for something in the bright array of sparks to ignite something inside her. When she was young, she could remember watching the action from the nape of her father’s neck, completely engulfed in the display. The sight of it. All those colors and shapes. Speeding vertical snakes, spanning weeping willows of sparks, popcorn sporadic bursts, mushroom blasts in every color of the imagination. Every now and again a hazy grey cloud of smoke would accumulate and dissipate in the lateral breeze. Almost as exciting as the sight, the sound. The pop which preceded the explosion, occasionally a thunderous boom followed a quick flash of white light, but of all the exciting sounds to accompany the lights, it was the whistle of a speeding bottle rocket that turned Sarah’s head the quickest. Something about the anticipation of it.
Those years had come, gone and been antiqued by now. It didn’t seem to matter how much she focused on what she knew she had felt once, she couldn’t resuscitate those emotions. Not even her one time favorite whistle brought her any joy. The book however turned out to be better than she was expecting. Sarah never did hold out much hope for sequels.
Eventually the sparks died out and the candle had burnt the full length of it stem. Dog earring the corner of the first page of a new chapter, she set the book near the stereo. With any lucky, she’d finish it before the first snow fell. Most likely it would sit so long it would gather dust and even comprehending the events which were to follow from this point would require a quick synopsis of the previous events.
A yawn, a stretch and heavy feet were ready to carry Sarah to her bed. She prayed for a dreamless sleep and the wisdom to do what’s best for the child she’d be defending in court tomorrow, “but,” she bargained, “if I can have only one, I’m happy to wake up with nightmares tonight if it means this kid doesn’t have to wake up with them for the rest of its life.”
***** ***** *****
Blue, blue was always a good choice for court days. Judges respected blue, opposing council feared it, for Sarah, it certainly fit her mood. A starched south sea cotton shirt beneath a fresh pressed cobalt suit, navy pumps, not just any pumps, her lucky trial pumps, the one’s she’d never lost a case in. One last thing, the silver Cross pen of her fathers. It was his favorite when he was alive. Sarah kept it with her when she wanted to draw on her father’s strength. In all the years he’d had it, Robert Williams had used the metallic gem to sign his most valuable things. If there was any magic left in it at all, and Sarah hoped there were, then the same mojo which always guided him to make good decisions for his family would hold up for her. ‘Oh please,’ she thought slipping it into her briefcase.
She tried a number of cases in her years as an attorney. For each she’d gone through the same ritual preparation each time. Three to four days of intensive research and drafting, bullet points carefully plotted out on her examination pads, witness lists, labeled exhibits. Then a day completely away from it. The space she needed to keep from sounding like a recording. A quick review of things while she was waiting for her case to be called, a few minutes of calming her client, reassuring everything would be fine. When the bailiff called her case, she stepped forward, switching into a mode her system converted to involuntarily.
For the Chelli case, everything had gone as usual. If anything, the fates had blessed her with a entire day at home with which to create the space she needed between her and the case. It had been a good day, much accomplished, several hundred pages of quality fiction consumed. So what was the problem today. Why did the pavement seem somehow more grey than usual? The sun shone brightly enough in a pond blue sky, but it got lost somewhere between the atmosphere and where she stood. Her head felt scattered, more so than was normal when she knew she had a case to present, but not much more than it felt as of late over all.
Regardless of the fact she didn’t necessarily believe the circumstances of her client’s accusations against her ex-husband, she would defend her on the simple merit that this man had in fact come in and taken her child. No mother in her right mind would have let something like that go, they couldn’t. No one understood that better than Sarah. “Give me the child,” she heard the wind whisper.
Whipping around, she saw no one. It was 10:30 on a work day, most people were inside the buildings she was walking passed. A mother pushing a two seater stroller came at her tearily. In the stranger’s defense, Sarah was acting a bit erratic as she chased this mystery voice. “Why are you doing this?” she asked the thin air causing the mother to increase her pace and hurry away.
“Forget about the child.”
“I can’t, don’t you understand that I can’t.” A thin sweat had broken out on her brow.
“Can’t what?” Rona Chelli asked as she descended the courthouse steps to join Sarah’s side.
The woman stammered when her client confronted her. “I can’t accept the fact that your ex-husband stole your child from you. I just can’t accept that.”
“Oh, OK, so your just practicing for the trial.”
“You don’t know how long I’ve been practicing for this trial.”
She led her to a private area where they could review their case. They were scheduled to be heard at 11:00. By ten to they were sat waiting to be called. Sarah tapped her silver Cross pen against her examination pad. In frustration, Rona plucked the pen from her hand. “I know I don’t know the first thing about lawyering, but I’m pretty sure you shouldn’t be sitting here looking nervous.”
“I’m not nervous,” Sarah defended. “I’m eager.” ‘Yes,’ she thought, ‘eager to get this over with.’
Though not as quickly as she might have liked, the bailiff called their case before the judge. “Are counsel both prepared to give opening statements?”
“Yes your honor,” Sarah replied as did her opposition.
Folding his hands, the middle aged judge leaned forward onto his bench. The salt and pepper hair that seemed to drip down passed his ears and settle over his chin and upper lip made him appear very intimidating. “Prosecution, please present your case.”
“Thank you your honor,” Sarah bowed her head slightly in his direction to denote her gratitude. “Today we gather in this courtroom with just one purpose, that purpose is to ensure the safety and security of Marina Feucht, the minor child of Rona Chelli. Why, you might ask, does a minor child need protection from its own parent? I don’t think I need to impress upon the court just how common it is in our time, to come across such an instance. Perhaps our parent’s parents saw it less, but these days it is no more shocking to hear these tales of disgrace in any daily paper than it is to read the score of the city’s most recent sporting event. We are no more phased by the bulk mail addressed plainly to ‘resident’ which captions the history of any number of abductions in a synopsis of six lines or less than we are by advertisements for sales and offers of credit. In short we have become immune to the injustices a child can be done by its own parents.
“If it please the court I mean to bring these injustices to light today. Unable to speak on her own behalf, Marina is dependant upon the court to speak for her. And so you see we are neither here for the wants and wishes of the Defendant, Mr. Feucht, nor are we here to put at ease the mind of my troubled client, who remains beside herself at the notions of what was done to her child, but we are here for this child.
“It is fact that the child was removed from her mother’s home on a regular scheduled Friday evening. This I’m sure neither side will object to. But where I’m most sure our versions of truth will differ are in the recounting of the events of that following Monday. Exhibits entered by the prosecution will evidence that calls were received by my client from the day care facility where her daughter was to be taken by Mr. Feucht. Sworn statements from several employees of the facility will show they participated in a call in which Ms. Chelli’s identity was assumed by another. Further exhibits will show that my client made numerous desperate attempts to contact her ex-husband when she believed her child had gone missing as shall a police report filed by my client with regard to the disappearance of her child.
“Mind you, the defense would be more than foolish to tell you anything other than that he and his new wife, whom you find seated obediently at his right hand side, had the express consent of his ex-wife to take their child away. But I ask you, how can we be expected to put any great merit in this presumption when, rather than merely phoning the day care to notify them that the child would be out on holiday, those professionals were told the infant was ill and unable to attend? And how many persons would have privilege as to the health of the child in the first place? Surely, with Ms. Chelli’s family out of state and Mr. Feucht’s parent’s both deceased, there would not be cause for many to have custody of the child enough to be aware of such an intimate fact.
“When a full sixteen days later, Ms. Chelli was finally made aware that her child was outside the borders of the United States...”
Sarah’s comments went on, drowned out by the until now calm Mr. Feucht, who stood fiercely his hands slammed flat against the table behind which he had been sat. “It was Canada for Christ’s sake!” he cried out. His counsel clutched his arm and whispered through gritted teeth instructions at him.
“Mr. Feucht, without embarrassing you with a brief geography lesson I would like us to agree that Canada, albeit a good neighbor, is still not a part of these United States. That is unless you’ve been made aware otherwise.”
“No, your honor.” Like a scolded child he took his seat once more.
The judge leveled his stair at the Defendant’s counsel, “I suggest you review the concept of contempt with your client.”
“Yes you honor. Our apologies to the court.”
“Go on Ms. Williams.”
“Thank you your honor,” she nodded to him again. “As I was saying, When a full sixteen days later, Ms. Chelli was finally made aware that her child was outside the borders of the United States, well any woman, with or without children of her own, would surely understand that sort of anxiety. Too beside herself in fact to press for facts at that time, my client chose instead to relish in the return of her child.
“The defense will ask you to believe their actions to be harmless, the intent only to share in their own new union with Mr. Feucht’s only child, but the evidence I have to present to you today will show a different side, a darker side. I propose to show you a man, if such a title is applicable, who under a guise of goodness, stole away with his own child in the night. Took her away from her court appointed home, away from her mother, away from all she has ever known and returned her later, not out of the kindness of his heart, not because the time he vowed had been a request had ended, but because it took those sixteen days for the officers in the investigation to find this man and force him under penalty of prison to bring the child home.”
Thus far her delivery had been infallible. Even when Mr. Feucht attempted to interrupt her, she stayed focused, calm. It was like watching something from one of those legal dramas on television. Her tone, her posture, her emphasis all working together to convey just the right attitudes. “He will deny this, deny all of this, but if our case is as unfounded as they claim then answer this for me. Why are Mr. Feucht’s visits with his daughter now subject to supervision by the court? Why has the court resigned his right to remove his daughter from the city limits of Chicago, let alone the state of Illinois, let alone the United States in whole? Why would the court waste it’s time and resources, if not to protect the rights of an innocent child who cannot speak for herself, but can only blindly trust the parent whom she thinks she should be able to trust?
“I can think of only one reason and that reason is that Mr. Feucht, regardless of what he may seem to be here in the court room today, is in fact capable of abducting his child and in fact did abduct his child that Friday, after willfully misleading his ex-wife, after willfully misleading the day care center as he will undoubtedly willfully mislead or attempt to willfully mislead this court. I wish I were wrong. For Marina’s sake I wish I were wrong, but my heart tells me I am not. Once you’ve seen the evidence I think your hearts will tell you the same, but if you think I am wrong, tell me now. Tell me now and we can all stop wasting our time and go home.”
For all the passion she had in the delivery of her opening statement, she closed it with poise and grace. Filled with confidence, she almost dared the audience to disagree with her, making them feel foolish for thinking anyway but hers, cavalier, like they were taking lightly the fate of the world. It was as much a work of art as her movement on the dance floor.
Taking her seat next to her client, Sarah placed a protective hand over Rona’s only to have Rona pull away. Angrily she whispered firmly, “What about the other stuff? What about the bruises? What about the way he beats my daughter?”
“We’ve got no proof.” Sarah was more quiet, but equally firm. “We can get the same result this way, just trust me.”
“Trust you? I don’t even know you!”
“You knew your ex-husband, at least you thought you did, and you trusted him,” Sarah countered as the defense began it’s case. “Look what that got you.”
“What if they decide it’s not kidnaping because he’s her daddy?”
“It doesn’t matter if he’s her father. He abducted your child, we can prove that. We don’t need to resort to lying.”
“This is my child, lady. Do you have any idea what it’s like to have your child taken away?” In fact, Sarah did know exactly what it was like to have a child taken from you, but that was a secret Rona Chelli hadn’t earned the right to share. “I won’t lose her again. I won’t. I don’t care what I have to do.”
“Then we have that much in common,” Sarah assured her before returning her attention the opposing counsel’s presentation. “We both hate to lose.”
***** ***** *****
“I will,” Rona Chelli claimed as she removed her hand from the rough surface of the bible in the bailiff’s hand.
“Could you describe for me the nature of your relationship with Mr. Feucht?”
“We met in high school. We dated through college. By 22 we were married, at 30 we had Marina.”
Sarah stopped her client, “Ms. Chelli, let me be more specific. Is the relationship you have with Mr. Feucht friendly?”
“I wouldn’t call us friends, no.”
This is exactly why she wanted to meet with her before hand. “Not friends, are the two of you civil to one another or is there a lot of bickering?”
“No, we don’t yell or argue.”
“And would you say Mr. Feucht is a good father?”
“He loves Marina. Never missed a visit. He’s always early to pick her up.”
“Has there ever been a time when you allowed Mr. Feucht to take his daughter when it was not so scheduled by the court?”
“A few.”
“What were some of those occassions?”
“Vacations, visits to his brother’s place, a trip to his grandmother’s, she’s in a retirement village in Clearwater, trips to the zoo, evenings in the park when he was in our neighborhood, those sort of things.” Rona took on a look of absolute whimsy.
“Did you accompany Mr. Feucht on these outtings?”
“Maybe a few times to the park, one of the trips to the zoo.”
“Did you document these visits?”
“I kept a record, I was advised by legal aid to do so.”
“Your honor, Exhibit A.” Sarah submitted copies of the plaintiff’s records. The judge onced them over and agreed that they would be admitted. Sarah put the record in front of her client. “Ms Chelli, is this a copy of your log?”
“Yes.”
“Can you read the first entry please?”
“November 04 - David came to take Rona to the park. The three of us spent a little over an hour there.”
“And now the fifth entry please.”
“December 21 - David is spending the week between Christmas and New Year’s in Albequerque with his brother and sister in law. He has asked to take Rona. They will leave on December 27th and return January 3rd. David has asked that he be allowed to pick up Marina the evening of the 26th because their flight is very early the next day.”
“And did you agree to that plan?”
“Yes.”
“Did you evidence your agreement?”
“Yes, the attorney recommended that I do that.”
“Your honor,” Sarah pointed out handing over a stack of papers. “Exhibits B-E, letters written by Ms. Chelli agreed and acknowledged to by Mr. Feucht each thoroughly documenting Mr. Feucht’s requests to travel with his daughter. Each of those documents your honor, destinctly gives the day on which the child was given to Mr. Feucht and the day which the child was to be returned. There are terms and conditions of who is to provide the child’s supplies.” Focussing on Rona again, Sarah asked, “How often did you draft these agreements.”
“Any time he asked to take her and I wasn’t going to be with them. It’s what the attorney said I should do.”
“If only more people listened to their counsel’s advance. I commend you Ms. Chelli for your thorough documentation,” the judge interjected.
“Could you read the last entry of your log please?”
“May 31st - David wants to take Rona overnight, just to spend some extra time with her. Rather than pick her up for his regular Friday this week, I’ve agreed to let him take her tomorrow.”
“That’s the last entry?”
“Yes.”
“There is no entry for the 16th of June?”
“No.”
“Where you aware of anything significant happening that weekend?”
“He’s was getting remarried.” Rona’s lips quivered.
“Did you authorize your ex-husband to take your child on his honeymoon with his new wife.” Rona shook her head. “For the record, please make an auditory response,” Sarah advised.
“No.”
Sarah approached the witness box. “One last question Ms. Chelli, are you still in love with your husband?”
Rona looked shocked. Her fingernails dug into the wood before her, hesitant to answer, she stared around. The judge, her attorney, the court report, the bailiff, David. Theirs had not been the easiest relationship, but they worked hard, together to make things better and they did improve, enough that they talked about having a child. Eight years of working out there own snags, had made them feel comfortable enough, strong enough to want to bring a child into their life. Marina. Rona Chelli wouldn’t have said the child was the one to blame for the sudden breakdown of their marriage, but it was while she was pregnant that things began to break apart.
Wrought with morning sickness for nearly five months, Rona had not felt much like fulfilling her wifely duty to the husband she had. David said he understood, but rather than rushing home after work, as he once had, he stayed late, picked up any number of jobs that would have normally found their way to the younger men in his employ. Most times she’d be in bed before he even got home. He even missed the delivery of their child.
Fatherhood appealed to him, but only the neat, clean aspects of it. He loved to parade his dauther around his friends and associates. Little bows in her hair, pretty dresses, white patten leather shoes her tiny feet would never use. He’d rub her back to sleep and lie there for hours with her passed out on his chest, but when there was crying involved, dirty diapers involved, feeding involved, he was removed, disinterested.
Then there was the day he came home, sat her down while their daughter napped. “I thought I was ready for this Ronnie, but I’m not. It’s not that I don’t love you, that I don’t love Marina, but life isn’t the same anymore. You’re a mother all the time, you’re not a wife anymore.”
Rona sat speechless tears streaming down her face, sweetly she leaned over to kiss his cheek. “I can try harder, we’ll hire a sitter a couple of days a week. Whatever it takes.”
He placed his hands softly on her upper arms and pressed her back from him dismissing her affections, “I just don’t look at you the same way anymore. I’m sorry.”
When he stood up and walked out, she just watched him leave. They’d fought enough to get to this point and she wouldn’t fight him now. As she always had, she would give him what he wanted. She had made him this way by giving into him, standing up now wouldn’t help. So she gave him the divorce, gave him the visitation that he asked for. Then she went back to being the only thing she knew how to be well, a mother.
“Ms. Chelli,” the judge asked softly attracting her attention again. He noticed how her eyes glistened. “Please answer the question.”
Before the words could fall from her lips, the tears were staining them. “Yes. I am still in love with my husband.”
Back at the defendant’s table there was a gasp from the new Mrs. Feucht. David was nudging his attorney. “Objection,” the man in the grey Joseph A. Bank blazer shouted. “Your honor, my client fails to see where this is relative to the case.”
“Your honor, it only stands to prove that Ms. Chelli has always been reasonable with her ex-husband, most likely because she remained in love with him all these months. I submit this into evidence to show that Ms. Chelli would have no reason to suddenly become unreasonable as she remains in love with him.”
“Over ruled.” Rona was distraught now. Her shoulders shook in the witness box. “In light of this witness’s current emotional state, the court will recess. Fifteen mintues.” His gavel crashed against its platform echoing in the sterile silence of the court room.
***** ***** *****
“Mrs. Feucht,” opposing counsel said gently to the fragile red head in the witness box, “I would like to thank you for testifying here today.”
Leaning into the skinny microphone before her, she softly replied, “My husband and I have nothing to hide.”
“I know Mrs. Feucht. Let’s begin, shall we? Please summarize for the court the events of June 16th.”
“My shift ends at 5:00pm. David picked me up.”
“David Feucht your husband?”
“Yes, and after my husband picked me up from work we went straight over to Rona’s place.”
“Ms. Chelli?”
“Yes.”
“And the reason you visited Ms. Chelli’s residence that evening was?”
“We were picking up David’s daughter, Marina.”
“Mrs. Feucht, are you aware of any court order in effect which governs Mr. Feucht’s visitation with his child?”
“Yes I am.”
“And have you read that court order?”
“I have.”
“Mrs. Feucht, could you, for the benefit of the court restate the terms of that order.”
“Yes. David picks up his daughter at 5:30 Friday night and we return her to day care at 8:00 am Monday morning.”
“And on this day, what time did you arrive at the Chelli residence?”
“About quarter after 5:00.”
“Were you allowed at that time to leave with the minor child.”
“Of course.”
“Mrs. Feucht, you said of course, as though you wouldn’t have thought anything of picking up Mr. Feucht’s child early. Was this something the plaintiff often permitted.”
“Regularly.”
“Every visit.”
“Not every visit. I didn’t always get out right at 5:00.”
“Could you estimate the number of visits for which you arrive early?”
“I’d say nine out of every ten visits.”
“Was there anything special about this particular visit?”
“Absolutely. We were being married the next day.”
“Was Ms. Chelli aware of your impending nuptials.
“She was. In fact we planned our wedding specifically for a weekend when we already had Marina.”
“Because Ms. Chelli wouldn’t have allowed her to attend otherwise?”
“No, Rona never objected to any extra time David wanted to spend with his daughter. We were trying our best not to impose.”
“How generous of you.” Sarah cocked her head at counsel’s compliment. “What happened after the wedding?”
“We were leaving Sunday afternoon for our honeymoon.”
“Was Marina going to accompany you for the honeymoon.”
“Yes.”
Rona leaned into Sarah, “That’s a lie.”
“Not in her mind,” Sarah replied
“Mrs. Feucht, what arrangements were made regarding Marina’s visit?”
“We were to be allowed to keep Marina for the full two weeks of our honeymoon. We picked her up just before the rehearsal dinner and would have her for a total of eighteen days.”
“Did you make any arrangements with her day care facility?”
“David had asked me to call earlier in the week and let them know she wouldn’t be in. If you call early enough, they are able to pull her from the roster and you’re not charged for the days.”
“And you failed to make that call?”
“I was preoccupied with the wedding.”
“Did you ever call the facility?”
“Monday morning. I called in, told them I was David’s wife and that we were taking Marina to the hospital for a high fever.”
“Was that the truth Mrs. Feucht.”
“No,” she whimpered.
“What is the truth Mrs. Feucht?”
“Marina was fine. The emergency gave me the opportunity to have her out of day care without any penalty.”
“Was it just the penalty you were worried about?”
“No,” the new Mrs. Feucht dabbed at her eyes. “We had just gotten married. The last thing I wanted was to upset my husband by having him find out I hadn’t done what he had asked. I panicked. In hind sight it was the wrong thing to do.”
“We’ve all made mistakes Mrs. Feucht.” Opposing counsel took a tiny sip of water from the tall glass on the edge of the table where Mr. Feucht watched on. “And how was your honeymoon?”
“Horrible. Two nights before we were to come home, the police knocked on our hotel room door. They came in and said they were taking Marina. As you can guess, my husband was very upset. Neither of us understood what was happening. They ripped her out of her crib and took her away. It was the middle of the night.” She was weeping again. “They left us with nothing but papers saying we should contact a lawyer.”
“Did you finish out your honeymoon?”
“No, we paid the penalties to the hotel and headed home immediately.”
“Mrs. Feucht is there anything you’d like to say to Ms. Chelli?”
Sarah bolted form her chair, “Objection your honor. Counsel knows better.”
“Sustained,” the judge concurred. “I’m sure counsel only temporarily forgot himself.”
“Surely your honor. I merely wanted to demonstrate Mrs. Feucht’s remorse for the misunderstanding.”
“So noted,” the judge said sternly, “now may we proceed.”
“No further questions.”
Turning to Sarah, the judge asked, “Will there be a cross examination?”
“Yes, thank you your honor.” Sarah approached the witness box. “Mrs. Feucht you claim Ms. Chelli was aware of your arrangement to take her daughter to Canada.”
“She was.”
“I see,” Sarah cleared her throat, Placing a copy of the previously submitted exhibits before the witness, she asked, “Is that your husband’s signature?”
“It is.”
“Mrs. Feucht, please take a moment to review the exhibits I just handed you.” Sarah waited patiently. After a few moments, Mrs. Feucht looked back toward her. “Do you understand the information which you’ve just read.”
“Yes.”
“And in your opinion, what is the purpose of those letters, collectively?”
“They’re visitation arrangements made between Rona and my husband.”
“Would you agree they were thorough?”
“I suppose.”
“When did you begin seeing Mr. Feucht?”
“In January of this year.”
“And when were you first exposed to his daughter?”
“Shortly thereafter.”
“Please define shortly, Mrs. Feucht. Was it a month?”
“More like a week and a half or so.”
Sarah smiled, “Very good, then can we agree at least, that those documents which pertain to visitation which you have witnessed since becoming involved with Mr. Feucht are accurate.”
“Yes.”
“Why was no documentation provided for this alleged visitation?”
“Your honor,” counsel for the Feucht’s interrupted. “I have a copy of the agreement as it pertains to this visitation.”
“Bailiff, please, bring me his evidence.”
“Your honor, I have not been made aware of this piece of evidence.”
He looked it over briefly and handed it to Sarah who examined it as well. “Mrs. Feucht, can you explain why Ms. Chelli’s signature does not appear on this agreement?”
“She refused to sign until after David did. We couldn’t get it back to her before we left. There was a lot to be done and we forgot. Rona’s never given us a problem before, we figured she wouldn’t now.”
“Why didn’t you bring it when you came to pick up Marina?”
The woman on the stand stumbled, “I was coming from work and didn’t have it on me.”
“Let me ask you this Mrs. Feucht, take a moment to compare these documents,” Sarah held the new evidence next to a cascading collection of her client’s evidence. “Notice the format of all of my client’s letters. Would you say that they are fairly form driven?”
“I don’t understand.”
“They are all alike, but for dates, times, locations.”
“They are.”
Sarah’s questions were coming more and more hastily, by design, to force the witness to answer quickly, not giver her time to think things up. “And the letter your attorney just submitted, does it seem like the others?”
“Yes.”
“Come now Mrs. Feucht. David will pick up Marina on the 7th of March at 5:30pm and return her on the 9th of March by 8pm during which time he will have access to supplies which I have provided him. The purpose of this visit is that his brother will be in town and he wishes to see his niece. I will not accompany Marina on this visit. Is that not significantly different from Mr. Feucht will have his daughter from 5:30 on Friday the 16th for the entire span of his honeymoon. The purpose of this visit is so that he may have his daughter with him for his wedding. Mr. Feucht will provide supplies. Do you still stand by your answer ma’am?”
“I do.”
“Is it true Mrs. Feucht, that you called the day care center pretending to be Marina’s mother?”
“No I told them I was David’s wife.”
“Can you have children of your own Mrs. Feucht?”
“Objection your honor,” opposing counsel shouted, “irrelevant.”
“Counsel?” the judge questioned Sarah.
“Please your honor, it would stand to show that Mrs. Feucht had motive to abduct my client’s child.”
“I’m sorry Mrs. Feucht. Over ruled, please answer the question.”
“It has never been confirmed.”
“Have you engaged in unprotected sex?”
“Your honor,” opposing counsel pleaded. “This line of questioning is unreasonable.”
“I’ll allow it. Please answer the question.”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“The last six years with my ex-husband and the last four months with my current husband.”
“And you have never been pregnant?”
“No.”
“Is it true that Ms. Chelli brought a motion against you to have her daughter’s visitation with you restricted.”
“It is.”
“Your honor may I read from the transcripts of the family court hearing?”
“You may.”
“I love David and I accept his child. Marina is a beautiful innocent victim in all this and I care for her as if she were my very own. Is that your statement Mrs. Feucht?”
“It is.”
“And when you were married to Mr. Feucht, did you think of Marina as your daughter.”
“Even before then.”
“Even before then,” Sarah repeated, very interested in the phrase. “And so you wanted Marina with you for the event. You wanted your husband’s child to share that day. You wanted to become wife and mother. So once the license was signed and the I do’s exchanged, the two of you took Mr. Feucht’s child without the consent of Ms. Chelli, to share in not only your honeymoon, but your future. Isn’t that true?”
“No.”
“You wanted the child you couldn’t have.”
Shaking with sobs, she replied, “No.”
“You had no intention of bringing the child back had the police not found you did you?”
“Your honor counsel is badgering this witness. Mrs. Feucht is not on trial,” opposing counsel cried out.
“Sustained, please watch your questioning Ms. Williams.”
Something inside her snapped when she turned to look at Mr. Feucht. He was no longer a tall dark and handsome man. Rather Sarah’s anguish saw a casually draped feral blonde with a smirk bending his lips. There was no longer a nameless, faceless infant at hand, but a small, lost boy whose face was as familiar to Sarah as her own. She narrowed in on Mr. Feucht. “Did he take the child?”
“No.”
“Were you with him when he took the child?”
“We picked her up together.”
The judge’s gavel went wild, but Sarah didn’t hear him. “You took him. You took him far away and locked him up and intended to make him your own. Give me back the child! Give me back the child!” She screamed over and over into Mr. Feucht’s face until at last the judge ordered the bailiff to restrain and remove Ms. Williams.
“You wanted my daughter?” Rona Chelli shouted. “My daughter has a mother. You’ll never be her mother.”
“Order in the court! Order in this court!” the judge shouted continuing to hammer his gavel. “Ms. Chelli, this case is recessed for today. You need to seek new counsel, docketing will assign you a new court date. You have ten days to acquire new counsel. In the interim Mr. Feucht, your visitation is to remain supervised by the appropriate officials. That’s all.” The final hammer of his gavel echoed through the court room, down the hall to the holding cell where Sarah held her shoulders rocking back and forth on the cot wondering what the hell had just happened.