by Beck, Jamie
“Rowan, let’s go!” I called upstairs. “Don’t forget to make your bed!”
Perhaps a silly request, although I’d been working on him becoming more helpful.
Two minutes later, he lumbered downstairs wearing khakis and a checkered shirt, his wet hair combed into place. He ripped his thumbnail with his teeth. “I’m nervous.”
I tossed him his winter coat, faking confidence. “Officer Martinez made it sound like it wouldn’t be a big deal. Same with that public defender. It’s not a trial. The judge will probably ask a few questions and then hand down his sentence—a fine, maybe some community service. You won’t be carted off to juvie if you’re humble and show remorse.”
That shouldn’t be too hard. Rowan had plenty of regrets, although he remained bitter about how that night had changed my house rules.
“Is Dad coming?” Rowan shoved his arms through the jacket sleeves.
I slung my purse over my shoulder, grabbing my keys from the hook by the back door. “He said he’d be there.”
I never told Rowan that Dirk had called Grace. While my son hadn’t jumped at the chance to live with his father, that could change, especially with my less lenient attitude.
After pulling out of the driveway, I played Rowan’s favorite classic rock station to help him relax. Tom Petty’s “Refugee” blared while we drove, my thoughts spinning along with the tires. Nothing beat real-life consequences for teaching you about responsibility. In a backward way, this whole experience might save my son from becoming a reckless man.
I parked in the shadow of the courthouse, my stomach in a twist. “All set?”
“Not like I have a choice.” Rowan shrugged. “I just want it to be over.”
“Me too.” The anticipation of a punishment was often more painful than the penance, so I hoped for the best. “Have you texted Carter again?”
“Yeah. He’s doing leg work to get stronger. He’s not used to working out, so he gets tired fast. His back still hurts a ton, too.”
My spine arched reflexively, as if grateful to be healthy and strong. Being reminded of Carter’s constant pain put this hearing in perspective. The memory of Grace’s teary eyes in that cafeteria and my snide parting remark had kept me awake the past several nights. “I’m sorry he’s still in pain, but if he’s moving his legs, it sounds like he’ll eventually walk. Is that what he’s being told?”
“I think so. It could take a long time, though. He hates missing so much school.” Rowan made a face, shaking his head. “I think that’s the one thing he’s lucky about.”
I flicked his arm playfully after turning off the car. “He’s lucky he’s smart enough to keep up with only a tutor a couple of hours each day.”
We trotted across the cold parking lot and entered the courthouse lobby. It smelled a bit dusty, like an old library. People were milling around with gloomy expressions, but eventually we found Dirk. He didn’t smile, but he opened his arms to Rowan for a hug. My mixed feelings about him and his relationship with our son went to war, but I was glad he’d shown up for Rowan.
Dirk glanced at me over Rowan’s head, his eyes as flat as his tone. “Mimi.”
His expression remained unreadable. Perhaps a bit more somber than normal, but we were in a courthouse, so his mood might not have anything to do with his hidden agenda. Whenever I got down about my dying friendship with Grace, I focused on the fact that she hadn’t cooperated with Dirk. She’d denied protecting me as her motivation, but some part of her could never turn on me that way—or use my love for my son to hurt me.
“Good morning.” I unbuttoned my coat, suddenly sweating like my perimenopausal clients. I then frowned at the reminder of my shrinking client base.
“So what’s the deal here?” He’d worn a corduroy blazer over a plaid shirt and combed his overgrown hair back, as if dressing like a responsible parent made up for years of absenteeism. If he were truly involved, he’d know the answer because he would’ve participated in the prehearing meetings. That righteous expression proved he’d never get it, even if I pointed it out. Better I simply be glad the judge would see both Rowan’s parents taking this seriously.
“We spoke with Rowan’s public defender last week. Mr. Syme—that’s the lawyer’s name—said this would be handled as a quick procedural hearing, not a trial. He also said he didn’t anticipate any problem getting the records sealed and expunged. We should probably head into the courtroom to find him. Let’s not be late and make the judge mad.”
I led the way and spotted Mr. Syme near the front of the courtroom. Its cement block walls prompted a sinking feeling despite their being painted a creamy white.
At the front of the room, the judge’s bench sat up higher than everything else. Behind it a big round clock hung on a paneled wall. Commercial gray carpet muffled the sounds, and there were dividers between the lawyers’ tables and the seats for the rest of us.
Mr. Syme was talking to someone else, so I waved and then took a seat behind his table, with Rowan and Dirk filing in behind me.
Rowan’s wasn’t the only matter being heard today, so we sat through a couple of driving offenses and disorderly conduct charges. The stack of folders beside Mr. Syme proved he’d be here all morning. I imagined the mental toll of dealing with kids in trouble day in and day out, especially if handling repeat offenders. If I messed up someone’s hair—which had never happened, knock on wood—it would grow back in a matter of months. If Mr. Syme messed up, the consequences could be life-changing. I shivered and prayed he wouldn’t make mistakes this morning.
Officer Martinez entered the courtroom minutes before Rowan’s case got called. Those dark eyes scanned the courtroom until his gaze landed on me. He nodded with a polite smile and took his seat. Funny that seeing him settled me. Rowan and I got lucky with him. Some other cops might’ve been hard-nosed and pious, wanting to make examples of my son and me.
The female prosecutor looked half my age. Her thick auburn hair lay flat in a french braid. I could style it nicely to frame her heart-shaped face. Until recently, word of mouth had been all I’d needed to grow my clientele. Now I’d need to market myself more aggressively, like slipping her my card on our way out. I could offer a first-timer special. Heck, I might have to start spending Monday mornings hanging out in different places, handing out business cards.
When Rowan’s case got called, he went to stand with Mr. Syme, while Officer Martinez stood with the prosecutor.
Dirk sat forward, elbows on his knees, like he was watching a riveting football game. His voice mail to Grace stuck in my craw. Revisiting custody would require the kind of sustained effort that my ex simply didn’t have in him. His defect could work in my favor as long as I didn’t do anything to set off his temper. He hadn’t brought it up again, so maybe he’d dropped the whole idea. For the moment I set it aside and kept my eyes on our son, pressing my hands to my thighs to keep them from bouncing.
Rowan stood with his hands in his pockets and shoulders slightly rounded, his face steadily losing its color as he stared at Judge Milan, who looked like a TV-sitcom grandpa—portly and balding except for the white tufts of hair along the sides of his skull and his bushy eyebrows. After the prosecutor read the charges, the judge questioned Officer Martinez.
“You were the arresting officer?” Judge Milan glanced at the papers in front of him.
“Yes, Your Honor. I questioned the defendant on the night in question. He admitted to drinking from his mother’s supply and to providing it to friends.” Officer Martinez flicked his gaze Rowan’s way. “I’d like to add that he cooperated fully and showed contrition, which greatly aided in our investigation and led to other relevant arrests in the matter.”
I smiled, grateful for his attempt to soften the judge.
Judge Milan turned to Rowan and his lawyer. “I see you’re asking for these records to be sealed. I assume the prosecution has no objection?”
“None, Your Honor,” she answered.
“Young man, I unders
tand that someone suffered a significant spinal injury at this party, so I assume you understand the seriousness of your actions?” The judge’s bushy eyebrows pinched together, emphasizing his unforgiving tone. My stomach dropped.
Rowan paled even more. His voice squeaked, “Yes, sir. I’m sorry about what happened and have been helping Carter motivate for his physical therapy.”
“Mm.” Judge Milan shuffled the papers in his hands as if contemplating the world’s secrets. He cleared his throat and stared at Rowan. “Given your age and cooperation, I’m going to impose a fine of five hundred dollars per violation, for a total of one thousand dollars, plus twenty hours of community service overseen by the Department of Juvenile Service, and eight hours of counseling at an outpatient drug and alcohol facility to be completed by May thirty-first. We’ll seal the records, and once you fulfill your sentence and if no future charges are filed against you, your record will be expunged when you turn twenty-one.” He slammed his gavel down. “Next case.”
Dirk made a “clutch” signal with his fist. No blazer would fool anyone paying attention into taking this guy seriously. I slouched as relief slackened my muscles. Mr. Syme said something to Rowan while handing him some papers. Rowan then came back to sit with Dirk and me, a relieved smile on his face. “I guess we can go after we pay the fine. Mr. Syme said he’d call later to connect us with a probation officer who’ll oversee the other stuff.”
His nonchalance made me think of how upset Grace was that none of the boys were being punished enough. “I’m glad things went well, Rowan, but you’d better appreciate how easy you got off. Carter is still in that rehab center, so don’t celebrate skating out of this.”
Rowan frowned. “Way to be a bummer, Mom.”
“I’m serious. You got arrested, fined, and sentenced. Don’t treat that like detention.”
“I know, but can we get out of here now?” He looked to his father.
“Fine,” I said. “Let’s not miss more school than necessary.”
Dirk and I stood and quietly shuffled out of the courtroom behind our son. I glanced over my shoulder to toss Officer Martinez a silent thank-you, but he was speaking with the prosecutor and didn’t notice.
Once we were in the hallway again, Dirk caught Rowan by the elbow. “I’ll pay the fine, but you have to get a job and pay me back by the end of summer, okay?”
His showing up, his outfit, and this gesture all prompted uneasy tingles—like he’d been coached to lay some groundwork for hauling me to court next. Then again, at least I wouldn’t have to come out of pocket for the fine, and right now that was a huge break.
Rowan’s gaze slid from me—he was trying not to look stunned—to his dad, and then he nodded.
Dirk took the papers from Rowan and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Come with me and we’ll get this done.”
“I’ll wait here,” I said.
With the hearing behind us, I took my first easy breath of the day. The only thing tainting it was knowing that Grace was probably up at that rehab center this morning—as she would be for weeks to come—praying that her son would walk on his own. Or she could be at a lawyer’s office, preparing civil suits against all of us. Or squeezing in both visits . . .
Footsteps and voices echoed off the courthouse’s tile floors. I took a seat on a wooden bench and checked the GoFundMe. It had reached five hundred dollars in two hours. Hopefully, we’d raise the two-thousand-dollar goal I’d set. To my surprise, Anne Sullivan commented, This is a wonderful idea, Mimi. Thank you for thinking of it, and for your consistent efforts to help the Phillipses during this time. And even Keri Bertram wrote, While this doesn’t undo the damage done, it’s a really great thing to do, Mimi. I nearly got teary. Perhaps my show of good faith would mean something to Grace, too, although a couple of grand was nothing compared with the budget funds being directed to the fields.
While I fished around my purse for some gum, Officer Martinez wandered over.
“Good morning.” He smiled at me. Up close his masculinity—the strong line of his jaw, roughened with the slightest stubble—aroused an unexpected flutter. I might’ve reacted this way in that squad car had he not been reading Rowan his rights. Even with his hair so short, it looked thick and possibly wavy. A less military-looking style would complement him more.
“Oh, hi!” I grinned, suppressing the urge to hug him for going easy on Rowan. If I were a decade younger, I might’ve been tempted to flirt—assuming I remembered how. “Thanks for helping Rowan today. I mean, it seemed like you tried to help him with that judge, anyway.”
“Just telling the truth. The job is to protect and to serve.”
“Well, I’m sure there’s been some pressure to make examples of the boys, so thanks for not throwing Rowan under the bus. It’s been a rough few weeks, so I’m grateful this went smoothly. Maybe now my son and I can start to move forward from what’s happened.”
What would that look like, though? For my business? With Rowan? With Grace?
“I hope so.” Officer Martinez nodded. “How’s the other boy—Carter—doing?”
“Slowly improving—moving his legs.” I bit my lip, holding in a sigh. “His muscles are weak from nerve damage, but there’s hope he’ll walk again. He still has a lot of back pain, though. That should lessen as the graft heals.”
“His name’s been on the weekly prayer list at our church.” Officer Martinez sat down so we were eye to eye. “And how are you coping with the fallout?”
“Me?” I looked around, feeling suddenly shy. “I’m okay.”
“I know folks can be judgmental.”
I flushed because he’d obviously heard rumors. The empathy in his eyes invited me to unload all my feelings and regrets without risking judgment. Lucky for him, being in a public space spared him that awkwardness.
When I took too long to answer, he added, “I told you before, most people I meet don’t step up like you did. I really respect that.”
My face must’ve turned bright red when his praise flooded my heart with warmth. “Thank you. It’s kind to say.”
He cleared his throat. “So listen, I was wondering, actually—now that my part in this is over—if maybe you’d like to go out sometime?”
I blinked, my heart thumping. People would have lots to say about me if I started dating the cop who arrested Rowan—the very hot, young cop. “Oh. Uh, well. I think I’m a little old for you.”
“I’m almost thirty-two.” When he grinned, a cute dimple formed on his left cheek.
Seven years younger. So much like Tony, which hadn’t worked out well for me. “I might not look it, but I’m almost forty. You might want to rethink your offer, Officer.”
Please take away the temptation.
“Call me Rodri, please. And considering your teenage son, I figured you were a few years older than me. It’s just a number. I don’t care if you don’t.”
Did I care? I had been lonely, and as nice as Rich Polanti had been, he was not the answer to my prayers, as confirmed with his “Good luck with that” text the day after our date. Rodri looked like he could answer all kinds of prayers. But the age gap . . . the gossip. If I weren’t smart, my business could take another hit.
He held up a hand. “Before you nix me based solely on numbers, come out on one dinner date.”
Being pursued by a handsome young man gave me the best feeling I’d had in weeks. It was exactly the kind of thing I would’ve loved to share with Grace over muffins at Sugar Momma’s. The very thought squeezed my heart, but I covered that pain. She’d probably raise an eyebrow at his age, but she’d admire his profession. Grace loved following rules. We’d forever debated fate versus free will. I’d never been convinced that our will dictates our future, but maybe she wasn’t all wrong.
It figured Rodri’s offer came right smack in the middle of my personal crises. Anne’s and Keri’s replies had been rays of hope that the momentum I’d gathered throughout the budget debate might be restored. Yet was that respect wor
th passing up a chance at love? “How about a friendly lunch instead of dinner?”
He sighed, resigned. “I work all week, so how about Saturday?”
“I work on Saturdays, but I’m free on Sundays.”
“Okay.” He grinned.
“It’ll have to be a Sunday when Rowan is with his father.”
From the corner of my eye, I saw Dirk and Rowan heading our way. Rodri must’ve also seen them, so he rose, tipped his head, and said, “I’ll call you.”
He nodded respectfully at Dirk and Rowan before walking down the hall and out the door.
“What did he want?” Dirk asked, staring after him.
“I was thanking him for helping Rowan.” I stood and gripped my purse strap, hoping my poker face held. “Are you all squared away?”
“Yeah,” Rowan said.
“Guess we’d better fill out some job applications after school, but let’s get you back there so you don’t miss too many classes today.” With one arm around his shoulders, I looked at my ex, pretending he’d never threatened me. “Thanks for covering the fine. Is Rowan still able to come to Annapolis this weekend?”
“If you drive him up on Friday, I’ll bring him back Sunday night.”
Rowan smiled, so of course I agreed, letting the assumption that I had nothing better to do on a Friday night go. “I’ll drop him later in the evening because I’m open until seven on Fridays.” Then again, I didn’t have a full slate of clients, not that I wanted them to learn that.
While we filed out of the courthouse, I texted Grace, still shamefaced about my bitchy parting remark. Civil suits were a necessary evil. It wasn’t personal—like the budget debate hadn’t been personal. I’d be a hypocrite to blame her for doing what she was entitled to do, so I pushed aside how it could take me under, hoping to give her a small bit of the justice she needed to move forward.
Leaving the courthouse. The judge fined Rowan $1000 and sentenced him to eight hours of drug and alcohol counseling and twenty hours of community service. We’ll make him get a job to repay the fine, which Dirk paid, if you can believe that. I know Rowan isn’t suffering like Carter, but he has learned something from this and is remorseful.