by Erin Dutton
When the judge came out, Maggie stood because everyone else did. She sat at the judge’s command. She tried to follow along as a court employee read off a list of names, and after each one, an attorney called out whether the parties were present. While she’d expected the prosecutors to be assigned to many cases today, she was surprised to find that some of the defense attorneys represented multiple defendants. The man she’d seen with Ally answered for at least seven cases, and she wondered how he could keep them all straight. She soon figured out that they were public defenders, assigned to represent those who couldn’t afford an attorney.
Sometimes, the attorneys spent several minutes talking about motions and plea agreements. Though she had trouble keeping up with what was going on in each case, she stared at the front of the room.
Only a week ago, she’d been the kind of person who enjoyed people-watching while in a crowd. And she had a feeling last-week-Maggie might have liked to try to figure out the stories of the diverse group of people around her. But present-Maggie could focus only on the fact that half of these people were likely accused of a crime, and the other half were victims—like her. She didn’t know which made her more uncomfortable.
Chapter Two
Hearing the clerk call Carey’s name sent Ally’s heart racing. She’d tried to act calm while on the phone with her mother yesterday, assuring her that she’d go to court so Carey would see a friendly face. But now, she was unexpectedly nervous about seeing him led out in an orange jumpsuit like the defendants before him. Since his arrest, he’d been in jail for five days already.
His public defender had advised them to leave him there until after his preliminary hearing. Though the suggestion sounded harsh to Ally, he wanted Carey to detox in jail. He planned to suggest that Carey go to a recovery house upon his release. He would participate in rehab while there and be closely monitored. His previous attempt at rehab hadn’t stuck, but at least this way he wouldn’t be staying at their mother’s house. She coddled him and looked the other way when he was obviously using.
Carey’s attorney addressed the judge, and he seemed to be asking for another court date. Was this for the criminal trial? She’d thought that would be months away. Earlier, she’d tried to follow along when he explained the process and thought that, after this hearing, the case would go to the grand jury for indictment. So why was the judge now talking about an opening on his calendar on Friday? Before Ally could figure out what had happened, the clerk had called another name, and Carey’s attorney slung his messenger bag over his shoulder. Ally hated that he carried the olive-drab bag that looked more suited for an undergrad. Wasn’t a reputable attorney supposed to own a nice briefcase or something?
What had happened? Ally hurried to catch up with him as he pushed through the divider and strode toward the back of the courtroom.
“Mr. Baez,” she called as he cleared the doors into the hallway. He stopped and turned. “Why didn’t my brother go before the judge?”
“Ms. Becker.” He glanced around, then took her elbow and guided her out of the way of the doors, almost into the corner of the large hallway. “I didn’t have time to tell you before the docket started. Carey has been ill, and he’s in extremely poor spirits today.”
Ally shook her head. “He’s in poor spirits? He’s in jail. Isn’t he supposed to be in a bit of a bad mood? You’re going to leave him there for four more days because he’s a little down?”
“This judge isn’t known for sympathizing with addicts who commit felonies. We need Carey on his best behavior if we’re going to get him out and transferred to the recovery program.”
Did some judges sympathize with criminal addicts? How could they get Carey’s case assigned to one of them? Ally shoved her hand into the front of her hair in frustration. She’d worried about how they would pay for treatment. But Mr. Baez had said he would help Carey apply for assistance. She wished she didn’t have to deal with all of this on her own.
“I’d hoped to convince him to agree to a plea deal. But he’s not interested. When I spoke with him earlier, he was combative and not receptive to treatment.”
“Not receptive—tell him he doesn’t have a choice.” What was the plan if he wasn’t any more cooperative in four days? Would this guy leave Carey in jail indefinitely? He seemed unprepared for anything except Carey pleading guilty. And why not? In the short time she’d sat in the courtroom, Ally had heard several attorneys advise the judge that they’d worked out a deal with the prosecutor. That seemed to be all the defense attorneys were interested in: negotiate a deal, collect your fees, and move on to the next client.
“But he does, Ms. Becker. And he has to make his own decision, or his getting treatment is a waste of time and money.”
“What are we talking about here?” Ally barked, then seeing several heads turn around her, she pitched her voice lower. “He’s probably going to prison. If primetime television is to be believed, he’ll be able to get drugs in there anyway.”
“Ms. Becker, the hearing has been reset for Friday. Try not to get ahead of yourself in predicting the outcome of a trial that we’re still months away from. Let’s take this step by step.” His voice carried a warning, but Ally didn’t know if it was truly about her presumptive conclusions. Maybe he wanted to convey that she shouldn’t imply Carey was guilty where she could be overheard.
“Mr. Baez—”
“Please, call me Jorge.”
“I’m sorry. I’m feeling a little lost here. Nothing we’ve done so far to try to help Carey has worked. That’s one reason I can’t exactly summon any optimism right now.”
“I know it’s frustrating, but you need to trust that my job is to represent Carey’s best interests and to think long-term about all possible outcomes for these charges.”
Frustrating didn’t even cover her emotions. As children she and Carey had been close. Their mother described five-year-old Ally creeping into Carey’s room to sleep on the floor next to his crib. The chasm in their relationship had begun only in recent years, following Carey’s injury on a job site and subsequent slide into an addiction to painkillers.
“You don’t need to come to court Friday. If I’m able to get him released to the recovery house, he’ll need to go right away.”
She shook her head. “I’ll be here. My mother will want it that way.”
“Okay, then. Please, let me know if I can do anything for either of you before then.” His words sounded sincere, though he’d already traveled several steps down the hallway away from her as he spoke.
She replayed their conversation while she rode down in the elevator, trying to align what had happened today against the legal timeline he’d explained when they’d spoken on the phone a couple of days ago. These were just preliminary hearings. His case would most likely be bound over to the grand jury, and Jorge seemed certain they would indict him. The criminal trial would be set months away. In the meantime, she had to worry about Carey getting clean and staying that way. She wanted all of this to be over, or better yet, to wake up and find it had all been a dream.
She stepped out of the lobby, breathing easier. On a good day, she didn’t like to be inside. She was happiest building furniture in her garage or raising walls and building trusses. Today, the courthouse air had felt especially stifling.
She started across the expanse of landscaped concrete outside the courthouse, intent on getting as far away as she could. She almost missed Maggie lingering near a large planter, while on the phone. Giving her privacy, Ally kept walking, but Maggie finished her call just as Ally reached her. Maggie glanced up, and Ally stopped abruptly, inelegantly caught between hurrying by and exchanging pleasantries.
“Hey. I was just asking my boss if she wanted me to pick up some lunch on my way to the office.”
Ally wanted to ask Maggie if she could take her to lunch. She glanced at her watch and amended, a late lunch. Anything to spend more time with her. But her mother was expecting her at home, and Maggie apparently needed to
get to work. Maggie fiddled with her keys, and Ally latched on to a reason to grab a few extra minutes.
“Did you park in the garage across the street?”
“Yes.” Maggie glanced in that direction, and though they couldn’t see the entrance from where they stood, apprehension filtered across her expression.
“Me too. Can I walk you to your car?” She flushed at the awkwardness in her words. She felt like a teenager asking a girl to the dance. Could Maggie tell what an idiot she was?
“Sure.” Was that relief on her face?
“Yeah? Okay.” Ally fought the urge to poke out her elbow for Maggie to take. She didn’t even know Maggie’s whole story, but Maggie brought out a protective instinct in her. She waited until Maggie started forward, then moved beside her. As she let Maggie go in front, she touched her hand to her back. Maggie flinched, and Ally dropped her arm back to her side.
“Everything go okay in there?” Maggie tilted her head toward the building they’d just left.
She shrugged. “I don’t really understand all the legal stuff.”
“Isn’t that what your brother’s lawyer is for?”
“I guess so. It would help if I trusted him, instead of feeling he’s just another overworked government cog.” They paused at the end of the sidewalk, waiting for the light to change.
“Ah, a public defender.”
“Yep.”
“Well, speaking as a government cog myself, I can confirm that we’re exhausted, under-appreciated, and underpaid. But that doesn’t mean we aren’t trying to do a good job.” The light changed, and Maggie didn’t wait for Ally as she proceeded into the crosswalk.
Ally grimaced and followed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply—”
“Yes, you did.”
“Okay. I did.”
“And that’s all right. Your brother’s future is in his hands, after all. Clearly, he means a lot to you.”
Their sleeves brushed as their arms swung at their sides, but despite Maggie’s earlier reaction, Ally didn’t step away. In fact, she wanted to move closer. Maggie was a few inches shorter, so her shoulder would fit right under Ally’s arm. She imagined their hips bumping together lightly as they walked. But, of course, she and Maggie didn’t know each other well enough for such intimacy.
“He’s my half brother. He was only ten when his dad and my mom divorced. He had a tough time after that, and I kinda knew what it was like to not have a dad, so I tried to take care of him.”
“Your father…” Maggie let the question hang in the air, but Ally knew what she was asking.
“He took off. I haven’t seen or heard from him in thirty-five years.”
“That’s rough.”
“Stairs or elevator?” Ally seized the chance to change the subject as they approached the entrance to the underground garage.
Maggie glanced between the elevators and the entrance to the stairs. She didn’t look happy about either option. “Stairs are fine. What floor are you on?”
“The second.” They entered the stairwell, walking down side by side.
“I’m on the third.” Maggie seemed bothered that they weren’t on the same floor.
Footsteps below them indicated someone on the way up, so Ally slowed and moved behind Maggie to make room. Had she not been looking directly down at Maggie, she might not have noticed the way her shoulders stiffened and how she shifted closer to the wall as soon as the man came into view. When Ally put her behavior together with her obvious nervousness at the top of the stairs, her conclusions made her sick to her stomach.
Maggie had never said what she was doing at the courthouse. But, for some reason, Ally didn’t think she was a defendant in a case. Something criminal had happened to Maggie—something that had rattled her enough to scare her in what should be a relatively safe situation. The man nodded at them as he passed, and Ally gave an answering lift of her chin. She wanted to reach out to Maggie—just a reassuring touch on the back or shoulder, but Maggie had already communicated that her touch wasn’t welcome, and she seemed to be in an even more heightened state of anxiety now.
Maggie paused on the next landing and turned toward Ally. “This is you.”
“I’ll go down with you, then come back up.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I said I’d walk you to your car. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.” Ally gestured toward the stairs.
Maggie shrugged and headed for the next flight. As she turned away, relief flashed across her expression. Ally jogged a couple of steps to catch up and fell in beside her again. They exited the stairwell on the next floor, and Maggie led them to her car. She pulled out her key fob, unlocked her car, and turned toward Ally.
“Thanks for walking me down.” She pulled open the door, clearly dismissing Ally.
“Would you like to get coffee sometime?” Ally blurted.
Maggie tilted her head slightly. “I thought we already did.”
Ally recalled their shared table in the café. Why did that seem like so long ago? “While I’m still flattered that you chose me over newspaper guy, maybe this time we could sit together on purpose.” She saw the rejection Maggie was constructing, even before she finished speaking.
“You seem very nice and all, but I’m not really looking to get involved with anyone right now.”
Ally smiled and held her hands up, palms out. “Whoa. Me either. It’s a friendly cup of coffee. Possibly a scone or some comparable pastry. And maybe we can talk about what we are looking for.” She couldn’t resist the hint of flirtation, though she knew she would probably scare Maggie off.
“Thanks, but—”
“Don’t say no. Not yet. Just say ‘we’ll see’ and take my number. If you decide not to call me, well, I’ll find a way to go on. But if you need someone to talk to or want to share a meal or something, you’ll have it.”
“Ally—”
“Please.” She didn’t know why it mattered so much. Something about Maggie’s obvious fear in the stairwell earlier made her want to make sure Maggie had someone to call when things got dark.
Maggie sighed. “You’re not going to leave me alone until I do, are you?”
Ally shrugged and shook her head.
Maggie took out her phone, unlocked it, and handed it over. Ally typed in her number and handed it back, resisting her urge to text herself from Maggie’s phone so she’d have hers as well. After all, she didn’t want to be tagged as a stalker.
* * *
“Ma, I’m here,” Ally called as she pushed through the door to her mother’s ground-level apartment.
“Did you get my cigarettes?” Shirley Rowe barely glanced away from the television in front of her.
Ally rolled her eyes as she deposited the three plastic grocery bags hooked over her hand onto the table in the small area that passed for a dining room. The surface of the table was covered with stuff and hadn’t been used for dining in months. Shirley ate her meals sitting in the same chair she currently occupied. Ally drew a carton of cigarettes out of one of the bags and placed it on the side table next to Shirley, being careful not to spill the coffee that had probably gone cold hours ago. Ally hated cold coffee, but it still had to taste better than the cigarettes Shirley smoked back-to-back all day long.
“You should quit.” Ally didn’t bother trying to inject sincerity into her suggestion. She’d given up hoping years ago that Shirley would quit smoking. Ally’s grandfather, Shirley’s father, had died from lung cancer, but that hadn’t slowed Shirley’s pack-a-day habit.
“Did you go to court?”
“Yes, Ma.” She perched on the edge of the sofa in order to avoid immersing herself in the stale odors that permeated the fabric—smoke, greasy food, and the stuffiness of lack of cleaning and poor ventilation. Growing up, Ally had hated the smell she knew clung to her clothes when she went to school each day. In middle school, she’d secretly splashed herself with her stepfather’s cologne to cover the odor. One day, she’d gr
ossly over-doused, and her teacher held her over at lunch hour to talk to her. Ally finally broke down and explained. Even at ten years old, Ally had realized Miss Warren struggled with the cloying scent, but she pulled Ally into a tight hug anyway. Miss Warren had taken a small bottle of perfume from her purse and given it to Ally, with instructions to put on only one spray at a time so as not to overwhelm the senses.
“Did you see him?” Shirley ripped open one end of the carton and removed a pack.
“No. They didn’t bring him out. Jorge asked for a new court date.”
“Who the hell is Jorge?”
“Mr. Baez. His attorney.” Ally cringed at her mother’s distasteful expression and braced herself for the bigoted comment likely to follow. She wouldn’t have faith in Carey’s Hispanic attorney. Ally would have to bite her tongue not to point out that Jorge Baez was a lawyer and had made more of himself than either she or Carey had. “Jorge is optimistic that he can get him in that program I told you about.”
Shirley waved a hand dismissively. “He doesn’t need that. I don’t understand why he can’t just come and stay with me. I’ll make him stop taking those pills.”
Ally glanced into the U-shaped kitchen that opened to the rest of the apartment at the three liquor bottles lined up next to the toaster. Shirley liked her Tito’s and hated to run out. Ally didn’t have to wonder where Carey’s addictive tendency came from.
“This is what’s best for him.” She wouldn’t let Shirley see the doubts she’d expressed to Jorge. “Do you want me to put these groceries away?” Ally stood and picked up the bags, then headed for the kitchen without waiting. The answer didn’t matter. She knew her mother’s expectations.