“These girls don’t hate the county fair.”
“What’s to hate?” she replied.
“Crowds. Noise. The Ferris wheel.” There was a pause. Then, “Want to come?”
Ginny laughed aloud and texted back: “Meet you at the Ferris wheel.”
The Saybrook County Fair was a midsummer highlight for everyone in town. It was a traditional New England event complete with livestock, music, games, and food. When she was growing up, Ginny’s favorite had been the animal barn, where you could pet the farm animals and see who won best in each division. Her parents joked that they could drop her at the animal barn, then go on every ride and play every game, and she’d still be commiserating with the bunnies or baby goats when they came back to find her. Little had changed.
“You girls will love the bunny tent!” she told Julia and Pippa.
Pippa’s eyes widened. “There’s a whole tent of bunnies?”
“Technically, they share it with the chickens and turkeys. And the pigs and goats, too. But there are a lot of bunnies.”
“Some of my friends show their horses here,” Julia said, looking in the direction of the riding rings and barns. “I used to, too.”
“You can ride Radcliffe any time,” Wendell told her.
Julia just shrugged. “Thanks. But it’s different now that I’m not training and showing.”
Ginny exchanged a look with him. “Let’s get something to eat first. They’ve got the best fried chicken and corn on the cob. And a meal isn’t complete unless you also get a fresh-squeezed strawberry lemonade to wash it all down.”
Julia brightened. “I am kind of hungry.”
The four ate their way through the food tent, starting with chili dogs and corn and ending with watermelon ice cream. Pippa talked them into riding the carousel three times, until Ginny could tell Wendell felt dizzy. Julia wanted a tattoo at the henna artist’s tent, and even though Wendell made a face, Ginny elbowed him gently. “Go on. It’s not like they last.”
Grudgingly, he relented, and while they were gone, Ginny took Pippa to pet the farm animals. Twenty minutes later, Julia ran up to them with a smug look on her face.
“What’d you get for a tattoo?” Pippa asked. Julia angled her wrist so they could see: it was a small outline of a tree. The branches curved skyward like elegant arms; like something out of a fairy tale. “That’s beautiful,” Ginny said.
“Wait till you see what he got.” Julia pointed at Wendell, who was coming up behind her.
“No way!” Ginny said, laughing. “You got one, too?”
All three girls began reaching for his arms, trying to see where his henna tattoo was.
“Hey, get outta here,” he said, batting them away playfully. “Personal space!”
“Go on,” Julia urged. “Don’t be a sissy.”
Reluctantly, he pulled up his shirtsleeve, revealing a small brown animal. Pippa gasped. “A pony?”
Wendell scowled. “Not a pony! A horse. A big strong horse, like Raddy.”
Pippa was already howling with laughter. “No. It’s short and fat. It’s a pony! Wendell got a pony.”
Ginny couldn’t help it; she burst out laughing. The girls were beside themselves, and it was clear that Wendell was enjoying every second of it. In fact, she’d never seen him like this.
“Let’s go on the Ferris wheel,” she suggested. Before he could complain, the girls each grabbed one of his arms and dragged him toward it.
“You’re all going to be sorry!” he warned.
Toward the end of the night, the crowds thinned and the sky grew dark. Carnival rides and game booths blinked in neon as they made their way down the main strip. Julia, who’d gone off with some friends earlier, was meeting them at the exit gates. It was time to go home.
Pippa was so tired, Wendell had long ago picked her up and swung her over his shoulders. Now she slumped atop them, a half-eaten cotton candy in one hand, the other resting atop his head.
“There she is!” he said, pointing. Julia stood by the base of the Ferris wheel with a boy Ginny recognized from building the fence at Wendell’s house a few days earlier.
“Oh, oh,” Ginny whispered, leaning in. “Look at that.”
Wendell’s relaxed expression shifted. “Sam’s a good kid. But he’s standing too close.”
Ginny shrugged. “I think he’s fine. Besides, Julia’s the one who just reached for his hand.”
“What?” Wendell said, squinting into the distance.
“Relax, I’m kidding,” Ginny joked. She had to admit, Sam was cute. And she could tell by the awkward way they stood together that they liked each other. “To be young again,” she said softly.
When Wendell glanced at her sideways, she pretended she didn’t notice. But before they got any closer to Julia, she grabbed his hand and squeezed it, then just as quickly, she let it go.
“Come on, Julia,” he called, waving. “Time to go.”
Ginny almost added “home” but caught herself. She wondered what the girls thought of as home these days. And she wondered what it was about tonight that had almost made her say it out loud.
All night, Ginny couldn’t help but notice the looks they drew as they walked together through the fairgrounds. Saybrook was small, and although many of the people they passed smiled and waved to them, Ginny was sure they were at the heart of a lot of chatter. What did people think when they saw her walking with Wendell and the girls? What kind of picture did they paint?
She stole a peek at Wendell now, as he carried Pippa and listened to Julia’s excited chatter, noting the fatigue at the corners of his eyes. But also something else: the crinkle of happiness.
As they walked to the truck, Wendell asked both girls if they’d had fun.
“Yeah,” Julia said, glancing back at the carnival lights. “Tonight was a good one.”
Pippa nodded groggily from Wendell’s shoulders and murmured something incoherent.
With the bright lights and noise behind them, the sound of peepers began to fill in among the shadows. In the darkness, Ginny felt the warm press of a hand in her own. She glanced up at Wendell. “Tonight was a good one,” he said.
Thirty-One Roberta
Jamie Aldeen’s call came early that morning. “The court appointed a guardian ad litem, and she’s meeting with all parties this week,” she explained, “but I could use your advice on something in the interim.”
From what she’d seen firsthand, Roberta had been truly surprised by how well it seemed to be going. Wendell was a good man with a good heart, she knew as well as anyone. But he’d shut himself off from so much for so long. Roberta had seen some wild things happen in the court over the years, but in her wildest dreams, she wouldn’t have predicted the series of events rapidly unfolding in his home. Now, hearing the concern in Jamie’s tone gave her pause. “I’m all ears.”
Roberta listened as Jamie explained her concerns. Julia’s file for emancipation was a two-part process. While her first wish was to be emancipated, her ultimate goal was to obtain custody of Pippa and to raise her. “As we’ve discussed, the emancipation is enough of a challenge. I don’t see the judge giving her full custody of her little sister. Despite her age of almost sixteen. Despite the family funds available to support them both and well. Not at age fifteen.”
Roberta had warned Julia of this very fact herself. But she’d understood why the girl wasn’t deterred. She wanted to fight for this. And she couldn’t change her age. “I share those same concerns. What have you come up with to make your case?”
“Well, the guardian ad litem has already interviewed Candace Lancaster and Wendell. She’s meeting with the girls next.”
“Have you any sense of her reports thus far?” Roberta knew they’d go to the judge, but sometimes attorneys communicated with the GALs and could discern some sense of their findings or leanings during those interactions.
“Not really. I wanted to get your sense about Mr. Combs.”
Roberta had thought Jamie w
ould be focused on Candace and making a case for the tensions at home. The lack of a former relationship. The woman’s residence overseas. Courts liked to keep the children in circumstances as close to their normal lives as possible, assuming those were safe and fit surroundings. “What do you need to know about Wendell?”
“This is personal. Please know that I plan to reach out to him directly, but I wanted to get your sense first. If the emancipation request is denied, do you think he has any interest in custody of the girls? Because from what I’ve heard from Julia, it’s been successful so far. And that was her initial wish.”
Roberta sucked in her breath. She could not speak for Wendell, of course. But she knew what Jamie was asking: she wanted to know if following this trail would be a waste of their precious time or if there was hope. “You think the children would do best with him?”
Jamie paused. “Let me put it to you this way: I think he is their best shot at staying here in Saybrook.”
Roberta had to be careful. Wendell was sacred ground. She’d known him almost his whole life. She was all he had for what might constitute family. And she’d made promises to his mother. He was not like everyone else. Wendell was as strong as they came on the outside. But on the inside, he was as fragile as Charlotte had been. And she often felt that she had to protect him from himself. What Wendell might be willing to do out of duty might not be what was best for him.
Roberta understood the intricacies of this case Julia Lancaster had looped them all into. She knew that time was critical and that the children’s options were limited. And despite her wish to remain neutral, she felt for those two girls, more than she’d ever wanted to. But her loyalties were to Wendell. “There is something you need to know.”
“What’s that?” Jamie asked.
Roberta hesitated. Wendell’s losses were his business. Just as the way he handled them was. Over the years, he’d made that very clear to her. If they were to stay friends, she had to respect his privacy, and he respected hers. For many years, this approach had served them both well. She would not trespass against him now. But she did need to share one thing. “Wendell is a veteran, as you already know. And he has suffered more loss than most in his thirty-nine years. His involvement with these girls is a surprise. But his loyalty runs deep. Whatever you ask of him, be aware that every man has his limitations.”
Jamie listened without interruption and took a moment after, when Roberta finished. “I understand,” she said. “Let me please clarify one thing. Do you think any of that makes him unfit?”
Roberta held her breath. She thought of the old medical doctrine: “First, do no harm.” And then she thought of Wendell. Of his losses and the years of therapy he’d undergone. The deep circles under his eyes and the sleepless nights that she knew he endured to this day. “That’s not for me to decide,” she said finally. “But I ask you to weigh it against any requests that are made of him on behalf of the Lancasters.”
When she hung up the phone, Roberta’s head throbbed. What had she just done?
She took two pills from the ibuprofen bottle in her medicine cabinet, tossed them back, and lay on the couch with a cold washcloth across her forehead. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to help Jamie Aldeen, a lawyer she both admired and trusted. Or those poor Lancaster girls, who deserved every bit they could get. As a judge, she’d taken an oath: “To faithfully and impartially discharge all the duties incumbent upon me under the Constitution and laws of the United States. So help me God.” And in her mind, she’d failed.
* * *
It had been almost a decade since Roberta had walked away from her appointment as judge of the Housatonic Valley probate court but when she allowed her mind to drift back to the painful months leading up to her retirement, it seemed like yesterday.
Edith Warren’s application for sole custody of her two grandchildren had brought Jenny Bruzi, her daughter, Layla, and her son, Dominic, to Roberta’s court. But it was Austin Hicks, the biological father of little Dominic, who had held her attention.
There had been incidents of domestic disturbance between the adults, and Roberta had explored all evidence and findings from reports related to those events. But the matter at hand for her to hear was the custody of the children, and removing two children from the custody of a parent was no small matter. There had to be a compelling reason to do so.
After interviewing the family members during the initial hearings, Roberta had concerns. She addressed those concerns using every tool available to her.
She’d ordered that DCF visit the family weekly and that Austin Hicks and Jenny Bruzi apply for jobs; another hearing was scheduled for four weeks later to hear updates.
Austin had found and maintained a job at a local auto parts center, where he worked the cash register and stocked shelves. He had taken only two sick days. He made his rent payments on time. According to DCF, there were groceries in the refrigerator, if not all the healthiest kinds. Layla was in a special program called Head Start, and her attendance was intermittent. Jenny was quick to blame the lack of a car: there was one vehicle for the household, and she claimed Austin needed it to work. When asked why she could not drop him off at work, since it was often for eight-hour shifts, then pick him up, thereby allowing her use of the car, she would look to him and remain silent. This was where Roberta’s red flares began to spark. She didn’t like it when a person questioned in her courtroom deferred to another, often woman to man. It was a sign of a power struggle, of a person’s fear to speak freely for herself. Roberta made note of these, and many other details, in her file. She watched Austin Hicks like a hawk, but she watched Jenny Bruzi even more closely. It was what Jenny did not say that caught her attention.
Edith Warren had a lot to say. But none of it was proving useful to Roberta’s attempt to build any kind of case for what the grandmother was requesting of the court. Mrs. Warren was convinced Austin Hicks was a threat to her daughter and grandchildren, and as the judge presiding over the matter, Roberta made every effort to delve into those concerns and determine their warrant. During the final hearing, she pressed Mrs. Warren for details.
“To your knowledge, has Mr. Hicks ever physically or verbally caused distress to either child?” She waited as Edith Warren considered this. Even if it was something as seemingly benign as taking a child’s hand too roughly or yelling, as she knew many parents did at some point, Roberta wanted to hear it. In her position, she counted on the people who came through her courthouse doors to provide the details, no matter how small. That was their job. Hers was to sift through them all and decide whether or not they were relevant. And right now, if what Mrs. Warren was claiming held any water, Roberta needed something to go on.
But Edith Warren could not produce any evidence of distress. “No, ma’am.” She shook her head sadly. “All’s I can tell you is that he don’t like little Layla. And if he’s around her when he gets angry, like he does more and more, I can see him going for her. Something real bad will happen. I can feel it in my bones.”
DCF was ordered to maintain their weekly visits to the house. Eventually, with those reports showing no change in status quo, they became twice monthly. By January 2013, with no new incidents reported or charges filed, and the children appearing at doctor appointments in good health, Roberta felt she had no reason to deny them from their mother. Both Layla and Dominic were returned to their mother in full custody. At the hearing, Edith Warren wept. When Roberta asked if there were any changes or any evidence to support her concerns for the children’s well-being with their mother and Austin Hicks in their apartment, Edith Warren said simply, “I know him, Your Honor. You don’t know what he’s capable of.”
Roberta Blythe loved the law. While there were cracks in the system, and loopholes where areas became gray, she believed that was where a judge’s role came into play. It was her job to examine those cracks and fill them. To provide safety nets when needed. To support, to protect, and ultimately, to keep families together. And so she did. She ex
tended the DCF visits and reiterated her concerns and hopes for the Bruzi-Hicks family arrangement. Beyond that, with no new evidence to present to the court, she could not under the law remove Layla Bruzi or Dominic Hicks from the custody of their mother and award guardianship to Edith Warren.
Before she stood to deliver her verdict, she felt the ominous weight of Edith Warren’s stare. “I feel it in my bones,” Edith had warned.
As Judge Roberta Blythe made her ruling that Jenny Bruzi should maintain full custody of both her children on April 13, 2013, she believed in her bones that she had done her due diligence.
Three weeks later, on May 2, Roberta received a phone call in the early morning. The night before, Austin Hicks had taken his son, Dominic, from his crib, poured a gallon of gasoline around the bed he shared with Jenny, and lit the apartment on fire. Paramedics and rescue volunteers responded to a 911 call shortly after two a.m. Jenny Hicks was pulled to safety from a second-story window, suffering from smoke inhalation but pronounced alert and conscious on the scene. Minutes later, five-year-old Layla Bruzi was also pulled from a window. She was unconscious. She had suffered third-degree burns on 40 percent of her body.
Just fifty-two miles away, in Hartford County, Austin Hicks was pulled over by Connecticut state troopers on Interstate 84. He was arrested for attempted murder.
Thirty-Two Julia
The week with Wendell had gone fairly well. There were issues, of course. The house was no White Pines. It was dated and kind of dark, and the relics that Wendell called antiques were kind of ugly. The TV was ancient. The Wi-Fi was terrible. She missed her bedroom and all her belongings, despite the nice things Roberta and Ginny had done to make them feel welcome. Wendell didn’t know what to make them for meals, but then again, neither had Candace. “Are you sure you don’t want to come for a sleepover?” Chloe had asked. But Julia knew she couldn’t. “I have to show the judge I can handle this,” she explained. “Wendell is the only one who has agreed to take us in for now. I’ve got to make it work.”
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