by Warren Adler
“His reaction to Mr. Waters’s visit to the school was upsetting. It was an unnecessary intrusion.”
“You were surprised at Mr. Waters’s sudden visit?”
“It seemed very odd.”
“Irrational?”
“I suppose.”
“Did it affect you at all?”
“It upset me, too, yes.”
“In the light of what you subsequently heard about Mr. Waters, as we learned earlier, have you any doubts about your decision on visitation?”
“None.”
“Now let me ask you this, Mrs. Graham. Sometime after Mr. Waters’s visit to the school, you were asked by Mrs. Waters to meet with you.”
“That is correct.”
“And you went?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“She sounded very troubled and I truly felt that she might be offering to drop this suit.”
“So you went?”
“Yes.”
“And she told you how unhappy they were and about Mr. Waters’s, well, depressed state and his self-destructive thoughts?”
“Yes.”
“And how did this affect you?”
“Badly. I began having pains. I thought perhaps it might be a miscarriage coming on. I had to stay in bed for a week.”
“Do you blame that on the aggravation of the meeting?”
“I can only assume it was because of that. It could have been a coincidence.”
“But you were aggravated by this meeting?”
“Very much so.”
“Did it leave you with any regrets, any second thoughts about your decision?”
“None.”
Peck nodded and looked up at the judge.
“No more questions, your Honor.”
He doesn’t have to go much further, Molly thought. Forte stirred beside her. She looked up at him. His eyes were burning with intensity, his lips were bloodless, his olive skin seemed darker. He moved forward, lean and spare, indicating a singleness of purpose that made her wince with fear. Please, God, she thought, don’t let him hurt her. He started abruptly, without introductions or preliminaries.
“If you had not married, Mrs. Graham, would you have allowed your former in-laws to have access to your child by their son?”
“I object to that, your Honor,” Peck said, rising. “That question is hypothetical and absurd.”
“I have no objections, counselor,” the judge said.
“Well then?” Forte prodded.
“I don’t think that’s a fair question,” Frances said, looking up toward the judge.
“I’ll put it another way, Mrs. Graham. You did not have any objections to your former in-laws’ support—physical, psychological, financial, whatever—during the brief term of your widowhood?”
“I had no choice.”
“Did you detest it? Was it so terrible?”
“I did not feel comfortable being dependent on them. No.” Frances seemed puzzled by Forte’s line of reasoning. Molly, too.
“You didn’t think that they were a bad influence on their grandchild then?”
“I wasn’t overjoyed by their influence. As I said, what choice had I?”
“Why were you unhappy with their influence?”
Frances hesitated, her eyes searching for her husband.
“They weren’t such a hot influence on Chuck.”
“Are you blaming them for your admittedly unsuccessful marriage?”
“In a way, I suppose—”
“As if you did not exist as a partner in that marriage.”
“I don’t know what you’re getting at,” Frances said.
“Nor do I, your Honor,” Peck said rising. The judge waved him down.
“I think you should make your line of questioning clearer, counselor,” the judge said. Forte nodded consent, not taking his eyes off Frances.
“But you just said you blamed your in-laws for your bad marriage.”
“I didn’t mean that. Not entirely.”
“What did you mean?”
“You have to understand. Chuck was never really mine. He was always torn. His father—his father just possessed him.”
“Exercised undue influence, is that what you mean?”
“Well,” she hesitated. “Something like that.”
“An influence that you perceived as negative?”
“In some ways, yes.”
“In what ways?”
“They were together a lot.”
“Meaning you were left out.”
“In a way.”
“That seems very vague, Mrs. Graham.”
Peck stood up again.
“I really object to this, your Honor. He’s badgering my client.”
“I’m inclined to agree, Mr. Forte.”
“I’m just trying to make a point.”
“What point?” the judge asked.
“If you let me continue, I’ll show you.”
“Go on then, counselor,” the judge said. “But gently, please. This is not a criminal trial.”
Forte turned back to Frances.
“So you felt that your father-in-law was a bad influence on your husband and would be a bad influence on your child?”
“Not exactly.” Frances began to twist her fingers. Don’t, Molly begged in her heart. But Forte was relentless. Perhaps some things are better left unsaid, she thought, hating the spectacle before her.
“Mrs. Graham.” Forte lowered his voice, appearing almost ingratiating. “Are you afraid that your father-in-law would do to Tray what you perceived he did to Tray’s father?”
“You’re twisting things.”
“But it is a factor in your decision not to allow them to visit your son, their grandchild?”
“I don’t think so. I’m not sure.”
“You’re under oath, Mrs. Graham.”
He’s only making it worse, Molly thought. What good was it to bring out all these secret antagonisms?
“Not only fear, Mrs. Graham. Perhaps there is also vindictiveness lying just beneath the surface.” He paused. “Do you think so?”
“No, I don’t,” Frances said calmly. “You’re making it sound like I’m deliberately hurting them to get even. And that’s just not true.”
“So, if you had not remarried, you might never have prohibited your former in-laws from seeing their grandchild?”
“Maybe not.”
“Then this decision not to grant the Waterses the right to visit their own grandchild was more your husband’s than your own. It was he who barred these visits.”
“No, he didn’t.” She seemed to be genuinely confused by the questioning, totally unprepared for the tack Forte was taking.
Molly’s heart went out to her. “Awful,” she whispered. Charlie did not respond, and she wondered what he was thinking.
“But if you hadn’t married, the subject might not have come up.” Forte paused for a moment and looked up at the judge. “Certainly it was not the child who wanted to have these visits stopped. He enjoyed being with his grandparents. It didn’t trouble him. Of course, nobody ever consulted him. So it must have been Mr. Graham’s decision.”
“No. It wasn’t,” Frances’s voice rose. Her cheeks flushed. “It was a joint decision.”
“Not the three of you. Not Tray?”
Peck stood up, obviously livid with rage.
“We are talking here of a minor child. It is precisely because of that that we are here.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Forte said smugly. The two lawyers faced each other silently for a moment. Then Peck sat down, and once again, Forte faced Frances.
“He, your new husband, didn’t want to be reminded of your past life, as if somehow it diminished him, made him second. Isn’t that right, Mrs. Graham?”
“This line of questioning is ridiculous, your Honor,” Peck said, as he rose to his feet once again.
“It’s obvious to me that she was corrupted by an outside force,” For
te said.
“Corrupted?” the judge said. “That’s a rather harsh characterization.”
“In a way, yes,” Forte acknowledged. “But not as accurate as the term brainwashing.”
“I also object to that, your Honor.”
“Counselor?” the judge said.
“I’m simply trying to show, your Honor, that none of the motivations for barring my clients from visiting their grandchild have anything to do with the child’s welfare per se. That adult concerns have interfered with what is a perfectly natural and life-enhancing relationship. I see no reason for an objection to that line of questioning. It was deemed appropriate by Mr. Peck to characterize my client’s wish to see his grandson as therapy.”
“He is deliberately confusing the issue, your Honor,” Peck said, jumping up. “The issue is the right of custodial parents to make decisions for their child without interference from outside sources. This is the common law interpretation. The distinguished counselor is trying to characterize the child’s adoptive father as an outside source, which is patently absurd. In the eyes of the law Mr. Graham is hardly an outside source. He is the father.”
“But the common law is superseded by the Maryland statute that grants grandparents the right of petition for visitation.”
“Petition does not mean the automatic granting of visitation rights.”
“I’m fully aware of the law, counselor,” Forte sneered.
“Not adoptive law. You’re quite weak in that regard.”
“The new statute does imply that grandparents’ rights should be considered seriously.”
“That is exactly why you are in this courtroom,” Judge Stokes interjected. “And I wish you would stop your wrangling.”
On the witness stand, Frances looked wilted, and for a brief moment, Molly was frightened that the aggravation would have some effect on the baby. She glanced at Charlie, who merely shook his head and muttered under his breath.
“It’s round the bend, babe,” he whispered.
“Out of control.”
“Damned lawyers.”
“Poor Frances,” Molly said.
“Poor us.”
“Poor everybody.”
But the lawyers continued to argue, their words echoing through the cavernous room. Then, suddenly, Judge Stokes banged the gavel. It took several bangs to get the lawyers under control.
“I am in charge here,” the judge shouted. She was visibly angry, and the cords in her neck stood out. She looked at Frances.
“You may step down, Mrs. Graham.”
Frances walked back to her seat. She was obviously shaken, and her husband rose to embrace her. He looked at Forte with naked hostility.
Forte sat down, and Molly imagined that she could hear his heart beating in his chest. His breath came in gasps, and he tapped his fingers on the table. There were many things Molly wanted to say, but she was afraid she would lose control. Instead, she just held on to Charlie’s hand and squeezed.
“I will not have these outbursts in my courtroom,” the judge said calmly. She looked at each of them in turn.
“It would seem that the presentation of this case is missing a very important ingredient.” In the long pause that followed, Molly felt her stomach do flip-flops.
“I could, of course, make it a court order. Under the laws of this state I have that right. Instead I am putting it in the form of a request.” She looked directly at Peck. “You will see to it that Charles Everett Waters the third is present in this courtroom tomorrow at ten?”
“No,” Frances cried. “I will not have that.”
The judge looked toward Forte.
“Have you any objection?” he asked Molly and Charlie. But before they could reply, he said, “Really, folks, it’s your only chance.”
“I hate the idea,” Molly said, “of putting a child through this.”
“It’s her prerogative,” Forte said enigmatically. “She’s the judge.”
“You can’t allow this,” Charlie said.
“It’s not my choice anymore, Mr. Waters.”
“But he’s only seven.”
“I didn’t want it this way, either,” Forte said. “Now it’s our only chance.”
Then it dawned on her, and she remembered Forte’s unarticulated idea in the delicatessen.
“You did it on purpose,” Molly said accusingly.
“I only provoked her. It’s her decision. Not mine. Anyway, it’s done all the time.”
“But it’s wrong,” Molly said helplessly. “He’s a child.”
“It’s also his life at stake here.”
“Can they refuse to bring him?” Molly asked.
“I could have brought a writ of habeas corpus. I deliberately avoided that action. They really have no choice. Except to bring the child.” All three looked at Peter and Frances, who seemed very upset.
“No way,” Charlie mumbled.
Peck stood up and sucked in a deep breath.
“Tomorrow at ten, your Honor.”
“I think it stinks to high heaven,” Molly said.
“Yes, it does,” Forte responded. “But then nobody calls me until it does.”
14
FRANCES combed Tray’s blond hair, defeated finally by the cowlick, which just would not stay put with water. Just like Chuck’s. She had dressed him in a white shirt and striped tie, blue blazer with gold buttons, and gray flannel pants, a replica of Peter’s outfit.
“My little man,” she whispered, pressing him as close to her as her pregnant belly would allow. He giggled and turned, putting his head against it. She stroked his back, as if that might smooth away the impending horror. No matter how hard she had tried, she could not view the situation in any other light.
“I hear him, Mommy,” Tray whispered. He had decided that when he did this, a loud response would wake the baby. “Like a whish sound.” She had explained that the baby was asleep in water, which approximated the truth. He continued to listen until, finally, she tapped him on the shoulder blades, and separated him from her.
“We mustn’t be late.”
“Where are we going, again?”
“To a courtroom.”
“Oh.”
She wondered what kind of an image that word suggested. He had seemed somewhat vague, perhaps recalling some television setting.
“Do you know what a courtroom is?” she asked gently.
“A place where people go . . .” He shrugged, obviously not quite certain.
“A place where people go to”—she searched her mind for adequate definitions—“to sort things out.” No, she thought, moved by the puzzled look on Tray’s face. “It’s a place where people go to settle disputes.”
“What’s disputes?”
“Fights. When people can’t fight their own battles.” She was still not satisfied with the explanation. Nor, obviously, was Tray.
“Are we going to see people fight?”
“Something like that.”
Not quite like that, she thought. Why was she having such a difficult time explaining it? “Because people can’t seem to settle their differences,” she began. “Other people have to judge.”
“Do I have to fight, Mommy?” Tray asked, proving the inadequacy of her answer.
“Of course not.”
“Do you?”
“Not in a physical sense.”
She felt herself getting deeper into a verbal maze.
“Is it like a game?”
“A game?” Perhaps to some, she decided. It occurred to her suddenly that there could be no sane explanation. Could she tell him that he was the object of some kind of human tug-of-war? He’d think that was a game as well. Yet, she did feel compelled to prepare him in some way. “People will ask you questions, sweetheart. Questions about your life, about us.” She hesitated. “And about Grampa and Gramma Waters.”
“Are they coming?” he asked eagerly.
“They’ll be there, of course.”
“Will they ask me qu
estions?”
“Not directly.”
“What kind of questions?”
“Oh . . .” She tried to act casual and matter-of-fact. “Questions about school, about your daddy—”
“This daddy or my other daddy?”
“Maybe both.”
He hesitated for a moment, frowning briefly, as if suddenly assailed by unpleasant thoughts. She wasn’t sure how to interpret it.
“How come we don’t see Grampa and Gramma anymore?”
“My God.” She felt herself getting more agitated. “Talk about questions.”
Sensing her tension, he shrugged and looked out of the window while she finished dressing.
Peter, too, was beside himself.
“There can’t possibly be a legal precedent for this,” he told Peck outside the courthouse, with Frances standing beside him. “You’ve got to put a stop to it.”
“Sorry,” Peck replied. “In the state of Maryland as well as many other states, the judge has an absolute right to do this either in court or in chambers.”
“But he’s only seven.”
Peck sighed with resignation.
“It is becoming increasingly common for the child to have a say in the determination of his or her own best interests if the child is competent to make a reasonable choice.”
“That’s nonsense. He’s still only seven.”
“It doesn’t matter. He can communicate. Believe me, it wasn’t my idea. I never thought it would go this far. What Forte did was muddy the waters, get the judge confused. It’s visitation. Not custody. It’s her first domestic case. Maybe she thinks she’s going to school, and calling your son is all part of her education.”
“Can’t you refuse?”
“Sure. But then you lose the case.”
“But dragging a little kid through this. It’s wrong.”
“As I said, she’s the judge and she has the power to do it,” Peck said with an attempt at sympathy. He rubbed his nose. “She might choose to see him in her chambers. The law says that both lawyers have to be present. Also a court reporter.”
“What about us?”
“That’s the whole point. The object is to get the child away from the pressures of the antagonists.”
“Antagonists? We’re his parents.”
“I told you the alternative.”
“Imagine a little kid like that with all those strange adults surrounding him. He’ll be frightened to death.”