Page 116 of When There Was You
My criticism of her is harsh. Even as a relative newcomer, I’ve come to adore this family and all they stand for. I can’t imagine blowing it all up like she did. Nor can I fathom ever abandoning my own child, but clearly my judgments are born from my own unfortunate personal experience.
The bailiff opens the door and calls our names, and we file into the small courtroom. Two tables are placed in front of the elevated bench for the plaintiff and the defendant. A half-dozen rows of seating are set up on either side of the aisle.
It’s seems ludicrous that Butch is the defendant in this case—defending his position whenDarleneis the one who did something indefensible, but she’s the one who filed the petition for custodial rights.
Butch, Darlene, and their respective attorneys take their seats. The Hamilton posse and I sit directly behind Butch.
Please let this man keep custody of his daughter.
My mind skirts to Emmy at school, none the wiser that an event of tragic magnitude—affecting her fate and those in this room—is about to go down. Maybe she’s at recess, swinging from the monkey bars, or playing hopscotch with a rock to mark her place. Maybe she’s working out a simple arithmetic problem, face scrunched in concentration. Her grandmother will be waiting when she gets off the bus if this runs longer than predicted.
An officer calls the court into session, and we all rise as the judge enters the courtroom. He addresses us all, introducing himself and the official case. Tension remains thick.
I listen with growing indignation and outright fury as Darlene’s attorney lays out their case, making her sound like a model fucking citizen who realizes—now—how much she has to offer her child and why, as her biological mother, she’s owed it…especially with the father labeled “uncooperative.”
I force my breath to slow. In and out. In and out. In and out.
Then it’s Butch’s lawyer’s turn, and she makes an excellent argument why that’s not in the child’s best interest, providing the details of Darlene’s abandonment and the ideal life Emmy leads now in the care of not only Butch, but his extended family.
The judge checks his watch three times, giving me the vibe he’s more concerned about his lunch break than the heart-wrenching case before him. It’s a big fucking responsibility and it hits me how ludicrous this whole thing is. What afarce. How can a stranger decide something so pivotal, affecting precious lives for years to come, based on thirty minutes of attorney jockeying?
With each minute that passes, I become more appalled, more worried, more livid.
The arguments end, scads of important information left unsaid. The judge looks at his watchagain, then steeples his hands.
I hold my breath as I’m sure every Hamilton does.
The judge prefaces his decision with a long string of court-speak, Virginia Code citations, and how he’s prioritizing the best interests of the child. Finally, he says the magic words.
“The father has taken sole responsibility for the upbringing and care of the child and there is no indication that Emmaline’s mother has contributed in any form since voluntarily abandoning the child. As she is essentially a stranger to the child, the court believes awarding any custodial rights would only be confusing and potentially damaging to the child. The court finds in favor of the defendant, who will continue to have sole custody.”
Our collective cries of relief rise on our side of the courtroom. Butch turns in his chair and our eyes lock. We share a quick smile before his gaze lands on his parents and sister. His attorney leans in to talk with him, and I glance at Darlene, who’s slumped forward with her head in her hands, shoulders shaking as she succumbs to tears. I’m happy about the judge’s decision but still have a smidgeon of empathy for her. Regret is a powerful emotion.
We surround Butch, sharing fierce hugs and congratulations. He throws an arm around me and our posse heads for the exit.
“Butch, wait!” Darlene calls out.
He swings her direction.
“Please let me see her. Get to know her. Please.”
A look of incredulity crosses his face. He shakes his head, not bothering to answer, and we keep walking.
“The Butch I knew wouldneverdo this!” she shrieks.
He stiffens beside me but pushes through the door.
Fifty-Seven
Mid-January, I’m in an irritated rush, arms full, racing to the corporate copier on the opposite side of our floor because the one I normally use has jammed and this project is expected in ten minutes.
I freeze when Tanya exits Don’s office…looking freshly fucked. Hair slightly disheveled, lipstick smudged, blouse partially untucked.
Her gaze narrows. “What’s your problem?” she snaps.
“Um…are you okay?”
“Never better.” She casts me a smug look and strides past.
