by Sabrina York
Caris shook her head. “You don’t understand. I only get to see her three afternoons a week. The foster mother says she cries all the time, and she’s sick. My little girl needs me.”
He sighed. “The judge will sign off on this request within twenty-four hours. At least wait until then before you go looking for someone to help you fight the motion.”
“You won’t help me?”
He opened a faux-leather bound book, flipping through the pages quickly. Once he had the one he wanted, Murphy turned it around for her to view. “That’s my schedule for the next week.”
She looked at the completely booked pages. Each slot was filled. In many cases, even the lunch hour had an appointment penciled in. His appointments began at seven-thirty and didn’t end until six.
Before she could ask, he flipped to the next week, and then pointed to that Wednesday. “See that? The entire day is booked. I’m going to have to juggle all those appointments so I can sit beside you during the hearing.” He closed the book. “Not that I can make a difference.”
“Should I get another lawyer?”
His lip curled, and he made a production of studying her cheap blouse and jeans. “Can you afford one?”
Humiliated, Caris dropped her head. “I can’t do anything? Is that what you’re saying?”
“You can’t get her back until the custody hearing. Then the judge will set a visitation schedule and shared arrangement for you and Mr. McNeil.” Mr. Murphy’s voice softened slightly. “I’m sorry I don’t have better news. It’s a tough position to defend. You’re a young woman with no money, while he’s affluent and clearly open to the prospect of fatherhood.”
Caris’s response was cut off by a tapping at the door. The dragon lady stuck her white-tipped head through the doorway. “Your next appointment has been waiting twenty minutes, John.” She glared at Caris, and then looked at her watch. “You’ve had seven minutes.”
She didn’t bother to try negotiating for more time. Mr. Murphy couldn’t do anything for her. She scooped up her purse and followed the receptionist down the hall. After paying what she could afford—two dollars—Caris left the building and walked to the bus stop. Her stomach churned, and a trail of acid burned its way to the back of her throat. She fished in her bag for the generic Maalox and chugged straight from the plastic bottle. Her shoulders dropped as she trudged up the stairs of the bus once it came to a complete stop. Once more, she would be returning to the too-silent apartment alone. Someone else held her baby. Some other woman offered comforting arms, while Caris burned with impotent rage and cried herself to sleep every night. Her only comfort was that it would be over in two weeks. Surely, the judge wouldn’t give custody to Brendan.
Caris surveyed herself once more in the mirror of the courthouse. Each brown hair was carefully combed to curve around her face before falling to rest at her shoulders. Her shadowed green eyes were bare of makeup, as was the rest of her face. Plump lips were outlined with pink gloss—her only concession to vanity, and chosen only to balance the hint of sallowness the borrowed taupe pantsuit brought to her pale skin.
“You look fine.” Mandy touched her hand where it rested on the counter. “You can do this.”
She forced herself to nod and watched as Mandy checked her flowing black hair and lightly made-up face. To project the right image for her testimony, her roommate had chosen a conservative blue suit she bought last night. “I just want it to be over.”
Her friend nodded. “I know. I wish I didn’t have to go up there.”
“Maybe you’ll help.”
Mandy sighed and closed her small purse with a click. “I tried to dodge the subpoena…”
Caris nodded. “It couldn’t be helped.” Her stomach clenched when she thought of Mandy testifying. Her roommate’s past could only hurt Caris’s chances, but it was too late to change things now. Even moving out—if she could somehow manage to afford it—wouldn’t erase the fact she had lived with a stripper.
With a deep breath, Caris followed Mandy from the ladies’ room. They walked across the elegant foyer, heels tapping on the porcelain tiles, and slipped into Courtroom 2-A. They parted ways at the front row, where Mandy took a seat, while she continued on to the table where Mr. Murphy awaited her. She took a seat beside him, not bothering with a fake smile.
He surveyed her for a moment. “That’s the right look. Try to make your personality match the demure image.”
She nodded, too nervous to be offended by his insensitive command. “How long will this take?”
He looked at a file on the table. “Mr. McNeil’s lawyer has five witnesses listed, plus you.” Murphy glanced at his watch. “We’ll be done by lunchtime, I’m sure. Perhaps afternoon recess, but this will certainly conclude by the end of today’s session. After all, it’s just a hearing.”
Caris tried to look knowledgeable as she fumbled with a carafe of water on the table. She poured some into a plastic cup and sipped the cold liquid. She didn’t bother to ask for Mr. Murphy’s opinion of the outcome. The set of his shoulders answered her unspoken question.
She gripped the cup tightly when she saw Brendan take his seat beside an elegantly coiffed and attired middle-aged woman with discreetly tinted reddish hair. He flashed her a mocking smile, and Caris quickly turned her gaze forward as the bailiff announced the judge’s entry. She set the glass aside and rose with everyone else, eyeing the man who would decide her baby’s fate.
He was short and balding, with evidence of a paunch under the flowing black robe. His features appeared pinched, and half-glasses rested on his large forehead. The plaque in front of him read Hon. A. Schwatzman. He settled in the chair and rapped his gavel. “Be seated.”
Caris sat tensely through the first few moments, growing even tenser as the first witness stepped forward. He was tall and handsome, and dressed in a dark suit. Dr. Anson was sworn in, and she listened with confusion to the questions flying by, until one finally made sense. Brendan’s attorney asked, “Was there any sign of a fever?”
“No.”
“No further questions.”
She held her breath as Mr. Murphy rose. “The child was in the car for nearly an hour. The temperature was twenty-seven degrees outside. Couldn’t the fever have broken during that time?”
Dr. Anson nodded. “That is possible.”
“What was the general condition of Jessica Reese?”
“Very good. She had no injuries from the accident. Her weight was at the right marker for her age, and she was alert.”
Murphy flipped a page on his notepad. “Any signs of abuse?”
“No.”
“Thank you, Dr. Anson.” Murphy returned to his seat without saying anything to Caris.
Trent was next. He came in the courtroom with the escort of a police officer. He wore the white jumpsuit from county jail since he had been unable to meet bail. She resisted the urge to sink under the mahogany table as Ms. Monroe started her interview.
“What time did Ms. Reese approach you for a ride?”
“I dunno. About three.”
“Had you been drinking?”
He nodded.
“Yes or no for the record, Mr. Jones.”
“Yes.”
“Had you been using drugs?”
“Just a little weed.”
Ms. Monroe scribbled something before continuing. “Did Ms. Reese know you were under the influence?”
“Not right away.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “Not right away? What does that mean?”
“She figured it out once we were on the way to the hospital.”
“Then what happened?”
Trent’s eyes slid over to Caris, and then back to the attorney. “I don’t remember.”
“What?”
He shrugged. “I hit my head, and I was pretty out of it. I don’t remember nothing about the accident.”
Ms. Monroe barely contained a smile. “I see.” She looked down. “What time is Jessica’s bedtime?”
“How wo
uld I know?”
“Has Ms. Reese ever had the child in your presence past a reasonable hour before?”
Trent smirked at her. “Define reasonable.”
“Keep a respectful tone.” The judge glared down at him. “Answer the question.”
“I dunno.”
Ms. Monroe seemed unruffled. “Let’s say reasonable is ten P.M.”
Trent frowned. “I’ve seen her up a few times past then, but usually ’cause she’s fussy.”
“No more questions.”
The judge turned to Murphy, who stood up. “No questions.”
When he sat down, Caris tugged on his sleeve. “What are you doing? Why aren’t you asking him any questions?”
“He can’t do anything for you, Ms. Reese. It’s best to let him disappear.”
Sighing, Caris leaned back in her seat. She had almost relaxed when they called Mandy’s name. She watched her walk up front, giving a weak smile as Mandy flashed her a discreet thumb’s up sign.
“How long have you lived with Ms. Reese?”
“About eight months.”
“How did you meet?”
Mandy’s eyes slid away, and she remained silent.
“Ms. Chase?”
“At an appointment.”
Caris bit back a groan, knowing what was coming. How had they found out?
“What kind of appointment?”
“At CASCADE.” Mandy scowled at Brendan’s attorney.
“What is CASCADE?”
“An adoption agency.”
Ms. Monroe allowed the silence to stretch for a moment. “What was Ms. Reese there for?”
“She was thinking about giving up Jess.” Mandy turned sorrowful eyes on Caris, mouthing, “I’m sorry.”
“Really? Did she change her mind?”
Mandy rolled her eyes. “Obviously.”
Ms. Monroe let the comment slide, as did the judge. “Do you know why she changed her mind?”
“She couldn’t go through with it once she held Jessica.”
“Did you go through with it, Ms. Chase?”
Mr. Murphy stood up. “Objection.”
“Overruled, Mr. Murphy.”
Caris knotted her hands together, feeling her friend’s pain from so far away. “Why are they making her answer this, Mr. Murphy?” she whispered.
“To explore her motivations, I imagine.” His tone bordered on disinterested.
“Yeah.” Mandy sagged forward. “I couldn’t raise a baby.”
Ms. Monroe tried to look sympathetic. “Do you regret your decision?”
Mandy hesitated for a long moment, and her voice was wobbly. “Yes.”
“Jessica must be a comfort for you?”
“Huh?”
“Having a baby around must be some comfort since you gave your child away.”
Mandy’s expression faltered, and she began to blink rapidly. “I love her, if that’s what you mean.”
“So, you don’t want your friend to lose custody, right?”
“Of course not. Caris is a good mother.”
“Would you do anything to help her keep Jessica?”
Mandy’s eyes searched the courtroom, clearing looking for an escape. “Uh—”
“Never mind. Just one more question, Ms. Chase.” Ms. Monroe looked at her tablet once more. “You’ve been arrested three times in the last two years. Is that correct?”
She blanched, swaying in her seat. “Yes.”
“What was the charge?”
“Prostitution,” Mandy whispered.
“I’m sorry, can you speak up, please?” Ms. Monroe’s mouth curled.
“Prostitution,” Mandy said clearly into the microphone as her face turned a bright scarlet shade.
“Has Ms. Reese ever worked with you?”
“No!”
“I see.” Ms. Monroe sat down. “No further questions.”
The judge turned his beady eyes on their table. “Mr. Murphy?”
“A moment, your honor.” Murphy turned to Caris, keeping his voice low. “I don’t want to question her. She’ll only hurt you more.”
“That’s what you said about Trent. Aren’t you going to do anything?”
He shrugged. “I didn’t choose your friends for you, Ms. Reese. I’ll try to undo some of the damage when you testify, but I don’t want to touch that witness.”
Caris sagged forward, not bothering to protest as Murphy passed on questioning Mandy. She could see a huge black hole opening before her, ready to suck her in. Already it felt like Jessica was out of reach and slipping farther away by the second.
“Marilyn Donovan.”
Caris tensed when Ms. Monroe asked for the next witness. The name was familiar, but she didn’t know why. She scrunched her forehead, trying to remember, as a woman in her late thirties took the stand. She was dressed conservatively in a gray suit and looked the picture of genteel perfection until she shot Caris a venomous look before smiling at the bailiff.
She stared at the woman until the memory popped into her mind. The Donovans had been the people who had planned to adopt Jessica before she changed her mind. What was that woman doing here?
“Do you know Ms. Reese?” Ms. Monroe asked.
“We’ve met.”
Caris’s mouth dropped open. She had never seen that woman before in her life. She turned to Murphy, who was doodling on a legal pad. “I don’t know her.”
He gave her a look, but didn’t respond as Ms. Monroe continued her questions.
“What was your relationship?”
“We had registered through CASCADE to adopt a baby. We were supposed to receive Ms. Reese’s—until she changed her mind.”
“I see. Do you know why she decided not to give up her child?”
Mrs. Donovan nodded. “She contacted us.”
Ms. Monroe’s eyebrows shot up. “I thought CASCADE was a private adoption service. How did she get your name?”
“She was given a basic information packet about us.” Mrs. Donovan shrugged. “I suppose she tracked us down.”
“That’s not true,” Caris hissed to Murphy. “I never met either of them.”
“Shh.” Mr. Murphy held a finger to his lips.
“What did she want, Mrs. Donovan?”
“Money.” She spat the word. “She wanted a private arrangement with us.”
“What did that involve?”
“She wanted money for expenditures—entertainment, clothes, and a car.”
Ms. Monroe opened a book on her desk. “But adoptive parents are only allowed to cover medical and living expenses.”
Mrs. Donovan nodded. “Exactly. We weren’t paying her a penny more. My husband and I would have insisted on going through the agency if we had.”
Caris had grown tenser as the Donovan woman spoke, and she was perched on the edge of her seat, forcefully biting her tongue to keep from screaming.
“How much did she want?”
“Twenty-five-thousand.”
Unable to stop herself, Caris surged to her feet. “Liar! I’ve never seen you before in my life.”
“Mr. Murphy.” Judge Schwatzman pounded his gavel on the desk. “Get control of your client.”
Caris tried to shrug Mr. Murphy off, but he physically pushed her into the abandoned seat. “She’s lying.”
He ignored her assertion. “Do you want to lose custody of Jessica completely?”
She shook her head, blinking back tears.
“Then sit there and be quiet.” He turned back to the judge. “I apologize, your honor.”
The judge glared at them before indicating Ms. Monroe should continue.
Caris scowled at Brendan, who gave her a large grin. How had he arranged it? Why would that person lie for him? She sank lower into her seat, waiting for the next bombshell. Fortunately, Ms. Monroe had finished with Mrs. Donovan.
Mr. Murphy stood up. “When did you meet my client?”
Mrs. Donovan faltered. “What?”
“What date did you m
eet my client?”
“Uh, well…I don’t remember the date.”
He nodded, looking sympathetic. “How many months ago?”
Her eyes seemed to search the room frantically. “Um, six?”
He nodded again and wrote something down. “Where do you live, Mrs. Donovan?”
“New York City.”
“Did Ms. Reese come to you?”
“Yes.”
“Did she drive or fly?”
“Uh, well…I don’t know.”
Caris watched Murphy scribble gibberish on the pad. She clenched in anticipation, praying for a miracle.
“Did she arrive by taxi, or in a car? Did she walk up to your house?”
Mrs. Donovan. “I think it was a…taxi.”
“So, Ms. Reese flew over fifteen-hundred miles at seven months pregnant to ask you for more money?”
Her chin rose, and her eyes glittered. “Yes.”
He nodded. “Then I’m sure Ms. Reese’s doctor gave her a waiver to fly in the third trimester. Any airline would require it.”
Her face crumpled, and she sank lower into the chair. “Yes,” she whispered, carefully avoiding meeting anyone’s eyes.
“No more questions, your honor.”
After dismissing Mrs. Donovan, the judge said, “Ten minute recess.”
Caris followed Mr. Murphy from the courtroom, but had no opportunity to talk to him as Mandy came up to her.
“I’m so sorry, Caris. I really messed up.” Thick black lines of mascara ran down her cheeks, and her eyes were bright red.
She patted her friend’s arm. “It wasn’t your fault. His attorney…” She steered Mandy to the ladies’ room where she got her to clean her face. She was standing in front of the mirror when the door opened and Mrs. Donovan stepped inside.
Her face filled with fear when she saw Caris, and she started to back out, but another woman entered.
She took advantage of the moment to grasp Mrs. Donovan’s arm and push her onto the leather sofa in the corner. “Why are you doing this?”
The older woman’s lips trembled, but she didn’t answer.
“They’re trying to take away my baby.” Tears spilled from Caris’s dark lashes. “Why would you, someone who can’t have a child, help Brendan take mine?”
“She was supposed to be mine,” Mrs. Donovan said softly. “We’ve waited so long.” She glared up at Caris. “I had her room ready. I had announcements printed. They were addressed, stamped, and waiting to be sent. Then you changed your mind.” Bitterness laced her tone.