Mom swallowed. “What does that mean?”
“The state’s attorney says they’re not necessarily objecting to you getting a reduced charge.” She closed the file. “But Chatty, anyway, is the victim.” Annie wiggled two fingers, air-quoting the word victim. “So he gets to say his two cents in court. Frankly,” she continued, “I think they’re trying to intimidate you and any other employee at the restaurant who decides to speak up against Frank Chatty. They want all of this to end, and rumor has it, they heard you’ve been talking to some of the ladies and stirring things up.” Annie smiled as if this was funny to her.
“Well, of course I’ve talked to some waitresses. I know at least two women who saw how hard he shoved me! And he’s done it before. I don’t understand why they want to work for him.”
Mom’s voice was louder than usual. I watched her reach for her moon necklace.
“The thing is,” Annie said, “to get this deal, you have to plead guilty to disorderly conduct. The prosecutor is going to read out loud what Chatty claims happened—that you shoved him, not the other way around. If you get up there and say you didn’t do it, the judge won’t give you the reduced charge and community service.”
Mom shook her head. “You want me to say I did something that I didn’t do?” Her voice was high-pitched.
“No, of course not. I’m just telling you that if you want to take advantage of this deal that guarantees you won’t go to jail, then the judge will want to hear that you are sorry and it won’t happen again.”
“How can I say I’m sorry for something I didn’t do? How can I say it won’t happen again if it never happened the first time?” Mom’s cheeks were pink.
Annie fixed her gaze on Mom. “We don’t have to do this, you know. You don’t have to take this offer.”
“But what other choice is there?” Mom said.
“We can go to trial.”
“So either I say I’m sorry and get the special deal or I have to keep coming back to court and go to trial and hope the jury believes me?”
“Those are the options,” Annie said.
I lifted my head. “But if she goes to trial and loses, won’t she go to jail?”
Annie nodded. “It’s a real possibility. There are no guarantees at trial.”
“Mom,” I said, my voice choking up.
Mom put her hand on my leg. “No, no, I want to get this behind me. Behind us,” she said. “I’ll take the deal. I’ll say I’m sorry and I’ll do the community service. I’ll do whatever I have to do.”
Annie pursed her lips and nodded. “Okay, I have a couple more clients to meet. Head over to the court. We’ll be in Courtroom C on the third floor. Have a seat there and I’ll be over shortly.”
We left the public defender’s office and walked back to the court and got in line. When we were at the front, a man yelled, “One at a time.” He wore a navy suit and a badge that read COURT OFFICER.
Inside, the court officer said, “Step through, counselor,” to a man in front of us who was wearing a long black coat. The man put his briefcase on a conveyor that brought it inside a machine like you see at the airport. Another court officer watched a screen on the other side. The attorney stepped through the metal detector.
“Next!” the court officer said to me.
I stepped through the metal detector without a hitch, but when Mom followed, it beeped.
“Do you have metal on you?” the officer asked her.
Mom took off her belt.
“Remove your earrings,” he said.
Mom stepped through again. The machine beeped.
The man pointed at Mom’s boots. “Those have metal in them?”
Mom unzipped her boots. The people behind us seemed to breathe louder. Some looked at their watches. Mom walked through in stocking feet, looking like a shrunken version of herself. The machine beeped again.
This time the officer took out a flat wand that looked like a paddle. He waved it around without touching her. When it neared her chest, it beeped again.
“It’s my bra,” Mom said. “There’s a wire in my bra.”
My face felt hot.
The officer waved her through. “Go ahead.”
Mom collected her boots and belt and jewelry.
“Next!” he shouted.
We moved to the side. As Mom got dressed, she shook her head. “No more,” she said. “I will not let them make me feel like this again.” She lifted her chin. “Come on, Ruby.”
Mom and I took the elevator to the third floor. Now, with her coat off, I realized how nice she looked. I hadn’t seen her this dressed up since DC. But even with her boots and belt and jewelry back in place, she still didn’t look like Mom. Her shoulders were bent forward. Her head, low. I knew how she felt. It was hard enough to figure out where to go and how to act. We hadn’t even gotten into the courtroom yet and I already felt tired. But I didn’t want Mom to know that, so instead I grabbed her hand and squeezed it.
“It’ll be okay, Mom,” I said. “When this is behind us, we can move on.” I flashed a smile. “We’ll finally find our real forever home.” I was careful not to say it would be in Washington, DC.
* * *
Inside the courtroom, I kept my arms tight at my sides. There were rows of shiny wooden benches, like pews in a church. We slid into one of them. At the front, there was a giant, solid wooden desk that sat higher than everything else. I knew the judge sat there.
To the left of the judge’s desk, a lady rifled through a pile of files. In front of the desk, a lady with headphones typed into a computer.
There was a table on each side of the courtroom facing the judge. A man stood behind one of them. “That’s the state’s attorney,” Mom said. “Annie says he’s very fair.”
People waited in line to talk to him. Some were dressed in suits, others appeared as if they’d slept in their clothes.
More people entered the courtroom. Melanie, her mom, and her little sister sat next to us. I wouldn’t look at her. I was worried she’d try to talk to me. I was worried she’d want to know why my mom and I were there.
A few rows in front of us, two men sat huddled, whispering to each other. One wore a police uniform. I recognized him as Prattle, the policeman who arrested Mom. The other man wore a plaid flannel shirt and had what looked like a white cushion wrapped around his neck. I knew he must be Mr. Chatty, the owner of Frank’s Diner. I watched Mom stare at his back, her mouth in a tight line.
“I got waffles for breakfast,” Melanie’s sister said with a sticky grin.
“Hush, Jess,” her mom said.
A court officer stood at the end of our row. “If she talks during court, you’re going to have to leave, ma’am.”
“Come on, Jess, let’s color outside.” Melanie picked up her sister and left. A man in a black suit and shiny shoes strode into the courtroom with a court officer. They were laughing and carrying on. I waited for the grouchy officer to tell them they had to be quiet or else they’d be asked to leave, too, but he never did.
Suit-man walked right up to the front of the court, cutting the line. The state’s attorney pointed toward Mr. Chatty and Officer Prattle.
Mom leaned over. “That’s Mayor Eton,” she said to me. “He’s the one who says he was at Frank’s Diner when it happened. He claims Chatty never touched me. I heard he has a daughter in your class. Dakota, maybe?”
Mayor Eton sat next to the men, joining their hushed conversation.
A nervous feeling began pulsing through my body like an electric current. From the looks on other people’s faces, they felt it, too. The skinny woman scratched. The man wearing sweats hiccupped. Mom hugged herself.
Annie strode into the courtroom through a back door. She was wearing a black suit jacket over her silky blouse. I watched her greet the state’s attorney and take a seat at the front. With her crown of braids, I thought she looked like royalty.
“The judge is about to come out!” an officer shouted. “Make sure your cell pho
nes are turned off.”
There was a loud rap on the door and a woman dressed in a long, black graduation-looking gown entered. “Open court,” she said as she took her seat.
The court officer banged a gavel. The sound made me jump. “The Superior Court is now open and in session. The Honorable Kathryn Doherty presiding. Good morning, Your Honor.”
When the judge finished telling everyone their rights, the state’s attorney stood up. “Number thirteen on the regular docket, State versus Dahlia Hayes,” he said.
I shifted my legs so Mom could get past me. She walked to the front of the courtroom and stood next to Annie at the table. I started to nod my bangs forward but I stopped myself. If I disappeared, who’d be there for Mom? If Mom can be brave enough to get through this, then so can I, I thought. I bit my lip and raised my chin.
“Attorney Ann Ralls representing Mrs. Hayes. Good morning, Your Honor,” she said.
“Good morning, Attorney Ralls.”
The state’s attorney stood. “We are here for plea and sentencing,” he said. “The victim is present and would like to be heard.”
Mom’s shoulders slumped as Frank Chatty and Mayor Eton got up and stood next to the state’s attorney.
“Mr. Mayor, surprised to see you here this morning,” the judge said to Eton.
He chuckled loudly, as if he and the judge had a private joke. “You never know, Judge.”
She did not smile back.
Annie looked at the table and shook her head ever so slightly.
“Mr. Chatty, did you want to be heard?” the judge said.
“Yeah, Your Honor.” He looked down. “I didn’t want it to come to this, but this lady”—he pointed at Mom—“well, it didn’t happen like what she said.”
Annie stared hard at him and I thought I heard him gulp.
“Are you wearing that cervical collar due to injuries you claim this defendant caused?” the judge asked.
Mr. Chatty touched the cushion around his neck as if he had forgotten it was there. “Yes, ma’am,” he said. “This was all her fault.”
Mom squirmed. Annie put her hand on Mom’s back and whispered something in her ear.
“If I could add something,” the mayor said.
“Are you a victim in this case, Jim?” the judge asked.
“Well, no, not exactly, but I was there and as mayor—”
“Well, I’m sorry, then,” the judge interrupted. “This is not a trial. If you’re not a victim, then no, the court does not want to hear from you.”
The mayor crossed his arms. “Well, I think—”
“Can I have the file?” the judge said to the clerk.
Mom raised her chin.
I smiled inside. I liked this judge.
She read the file. “So, Mr. Chatty, to be clear, do you object to Mrs. Hayes getting the reduced charge and probation?”
“Well, I just think, you know, someone like her who comes waltzing into town and thinks she’s going to do things her way, well, she should know that here in Fortin, you know…” He paused. “Well, she shouldn’t be flappin’ her trap about the rest of us folks who’ve been working hard here and serving this community for most of their lives.”
The judge raised her eyebrows. “Mr. State’s Attorney, do you wish to be heard?” she said.
The prosecutor flipped through a file. “It appears the defendant, Mrs. Hayes, has never been in trouble before. For these reasons we’d like to offer a substitute charge of disorderly conduct and probation.”
I breathed a sigh of relief.
The red blotches had spread to the back of Mom’s neck. But she wasn’t looking down anymore. She was looking straight at the judge, her jaw tight, as if she was working hard to keep it shut.
No, Mom, I thought. Don’t say anything!
“Attorney Ralls?” the judge said.
Please, Mom, I silently willed. Please don’t talk.
“Well, my client does not concede these allegations. Nevertheless, she does wish to take advantage of the State’s offer—”
“What does that mean, Attorney Ralls? Your client denies the charges?”
Annie turned toward my mom, who looked like she was about to burst.
“Yes, Your Honor,” Mom blurted. “I never laid a finger on him. Mr. Chatty is the one who shoved me. He shoved me hard. I had bruises … and people saw him.” She pointed at the mayor and Mr. Chatty. “They’re the ones who are lying.”
Annie turned back to the judge. “Your Honor, I think we won’t be accepting the State’s offer after all.”
NO! I wanted to scream. NO, NO, NO!
Mom threw her shoulders back.
The mayor and Mr. Chatty started whispering furiously with the state’s attorney.
“I don’t see the need for that, Your Honor,” the state’s attorney said. “We agreed to reduce the charge…” He turned toward Annie. “Have you made it clear what she is facing if she goes to trial, Counselor?”
“I’ll make it clear,” the judge said. “Ma’am, if you go to trial instead of taking this offer, and a jury finds you guilty, you will face up to one year in jail and a one thousand–dollar fine. Do you understand?”
A buzzing started in my ears, softly at first, then louder and louder, competing with the beating of my heart.
“I understand,” Mom said, her head held high. “I didn’t do anything wrong. I am willing to take that chance.”
“This will be a short trial,” the judge said. “I’m going to give you a month to prepare. We’ll start jury selection next Friday, January 21. Trial begins Monday, February 14.”
Everything seemed to move in slow motion. Mom turned and walked out of the courtroom. I got up and followed. I think the state’s attorney called the next case. Outside, Mom put her hand on my shoulder, but I wouldn’t look at her. I nodded my hair forward and disappeared.
* * *
On the ride home, the roar of the Fiesta’s engine competed with the pounding in my head. It gave me an excuse to pretend I couldn’t hear anything Mom said. “Can you believe that man having the nerve to wear that collar around his neck when he knows I did no such thing to him!” she said. “Well, I’ll show him.” I couldn’t tell if she was talking to me or trying to convince herself. I crossed my arms.
“I need to stop by Rucki’s to see if Mr. Saleem needs help this evening,” she shouted as we neared Main Street.
I gazed out the window.
Mom yelled louder. “It’ll only take a minute but I want to get as many hours in before I have to take off time for the trial.”
I made my mouth a tight line. Trial. Another thing I never agreed to.
“Can you believe the judge set the trial for Valentine’s Day?” she said. “I guess she’s not much of a romantic, huh?”
I couldn’t believe Mom was talking about going to trial as if it were a chore she needed to check off her to-do list. I wanted to scream, YOU CAN END UP IN JAIL, MOM!
She glanced sideways at me. “So you’re not going to talk to me?”
I looked at my watch: it was noon. The kids would be at the ski mountain by now.
“Ruby, I had to do it … and not only for me. I did this for you, too.”
That almost got me to talk. YOU DID NOT DO THIS FOR ME!
“What kind of mother would I be if I let you see me cower to those … well, they’re liars. That’s what they are.”
You’d be a mom who actually acted like a mom! I wanted to say. Even when it seemed like she was there, she wasn’t. Not really. Ever since DC, it had been like I was the mother—making dinner, cleaning up while she went to bed early. I was tired of doing all the work but getting no say in what we did or where we went.
Mom pulled into a parking space in front of Rucki’s. “I want you to meet Mr. Saleem.”
Even though she had turned the car off, my ears were still ringing. I didn’t budge.
“You can’t stay here. It’s freezing.” Mom’s voice had an edge. “Let’s go.”
> A large poster was pasted onto the front door of Rucki’s:
SIXTH-GRADE WAX MUSEUM
MONDAY, FEBRUARY 14, AT 6:00 P.M.
FORTIN MIDDLE SCHOOL AUDITORIUM
PLEASE JOIN US FOR THIS ANNUAL TOWN TRADITION.
“Hmmm,” Mom said. “Looks like Valentine’s Day will be a big day for both of us.”
Not for me, I thought.
A bell tinkled as we stepped inside. Rucki’s smelled of baking bread and strong coffee. Opera music played. Bins lining one wall were filled with carrots, sweet potatoes, and onions. Wide, wooden floorboards had been polished to a shine. A long counter ran across the back. A few small tables with chairs were arranged in a corner next to a wall with shelves filled with containers of maple syrup, jams, and fudge.
“Mr. Saleem?” Mom called.
Suddenly, Ahmad popped up from behind the counter.
“Good afternoon. May I help you, please?” Ahmad pushed his glasses up with his fist. “Hello, Ruby. You are not skiing, either?”
Mom turned to me with a smile I did not like. “Do you two go to school together?”
A tall, bald man entered through a swinging door in the back. He limped as he made his way toward us.
“Mrs. Hayes, how did everything go for you today?” he said.
I ducked into the chip aisle.
“Well, it’s a long story, Mr. Saleem. How about I fill you in later?” she said. “Sorry I am here so late. Is there anything I can do to help this afternoon?”
“This is perfect timing,” Mr. Saleem said. “I have many deliveries. You are here with your car?”
“Yes, of course.” Mom turned, looking for me. “Ruby? Ruby, come here.”
I slunk out holding a bag of Doritos, my hair in full protection mode.
“Ruby, this is Mr. Saleem.” Mom stepped toward Ahmad and held out her hand. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Dahlia Hayes, Ruby’s mother.”
Ahmad stared at her extended hand.
Mr. Saleem said something sharp to Ahmad in another language. Mom lowered her hand. Her cheeks tinged pink.
“I must apologize for my nephew,” Mr. Saleem said. “In our country it is not custom for a man to shake hands with a woman. Ahmad thinks he is older than he is.”
Ruby in the Sky Page 6