Chapter 10 - The Eve Of The Second Hearing
The house on Elm Street was quiet enough to hear the electric hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen downstairs. I sat on the edge of the twin bed, my knees pulled up under the quilt, staring out the double-hung window at the amber glow of the streetlamp on the corner. Car tires hissed softly against the wet asphalt outside—it had rained briefly around nine o'clock—and then the night settled back into its heavy, waiting stillness. Tomorrow was the docket. Tomorrow the judge would decide if Leo could leave the county temporary facility and come back to live under the same roof, or if the system would keep us separated across town lines.
A soft tap sounded on the bedroom door before it swung inward an inch. Martha stepped into the dim light, her footsteps muted by the braided rug. She wore her thick cable-knit cardigan over her shoulders, her gray hair pinned back in its usual loose knot. In her hands, she carried a small ceramic mug that sent up a faint, fragrant wisp of steam.
"You're still awake, honey," Martha said softly, her voice barely above a whisper so as not to fracture the quiet. She walked over and set the mug down on the wooden nightstand beside my bed. "I brought you some chamomile. It helps settle the stomach."
"I'm not tired, Martha," I said, keeping my gaze fixed on the windowpane where my own reflection stared back at me, faint and ghost-like against the dark street.
Martha sat down in the wooden rocking chair by the corner of the room, folding her hands in her lap. She didn't try to force a smile or offer empty reassurances about how everything always worked out for the best. She had lived in this county long enough to know that the courts didn't run on wishes.
"It's normal to feel like your chest is banded tight tonight," Martha said, her tone steady and grounding. "The waiting is always the hardest part of any trial. But you've done everything you could do. You stood up there, and you spoke your truth. The judge heard you loud and clear."
"What if he thinks I'm too young to look after him?" I asked, finally turning my head to look at her. The fluorescent courtroom lights from the day before still felt burned into the back of my eyelids, and the memory of Leo watching me from the wooden gallery benches made my throat tighten. "What if Sarah's brief isn't enough?"
"Sarah is thorough," Martha replied, leaning back slightly in the rocker. "She's filed every required document with the clerk's office, and she knows the guardian ad litem's report supports our placement. Just drink a little of that tea, sweetheart. Let it warm you up."
I wrapped my hands around the warm ceramic mug, feeling the heat seep into my cold fingers. I took a small sip; it tasted of honey and dried flowers.
When the mug was half empty, I slipped out from under the quilt and walked over to the wooden chair standing by the small desk in the corner. Draped neatly over the back of the chair was my light pink short-sleeved dress. Beside it on the seat sat my white shoes, polished clean of the scuffs they'd picked up on the courthouse steps. I reached out, my thumb brushing lightly over the fabric of the collar, making sure there were no wrinkles, no stray threads, nothing out of place. Everything had to be pristine. If the court was going to look at me again, I wanted to present a picture of stability, of a life held carefully together, even if my hands were shaking inside my pockets.
As I stood there looking at the outfit, the landline phone on the hallway table rang once, twice, before cutting off as Martha picked it up downstairs. I heard the muffled murmur of her voice, short and professional, before heavy footsteps climbed the stairs.
Martha appeared in the doorway again, holding her cordless handset out toward me. "It's Sarah. She wants to run through the morning timeline with you before you turn in."
I took the phone from Martha's hand, pressing the cool plastic against my ear.
"Sarah?" I said.
"Hey there," Sarah's voice came through crisp and clear, though I could hear the faint rustle of papers in the background, as if she were still sitting at her desk late into the evening. "Sorry to call so late, but I wanted to make sure we're completely synchronized for tomorrow morning. I'm picking you and Martha up at eight sharp. That gives us thirty minutes to get through security before Judge Miller calls the morning docket at nine."
"I understand," I said, my fingers tightening around the phone. "I've got my dress and shoes laid out. I'm ready."
"Good," Sarah said, and I could hear the slight softening in her tone, the protective edge that always surfaced when she spoke to us. "Don't let the nerves keep you up all night. Get some real rest. I'll see you on the porch at eight o'clock."
"Thank you, Sarah. Goodnight."
"Goodnight, kiddo."
The line clicked dead. I handed the handset back to Martha, who gave my shoulder a gentle, reassuring squeeze before turning off the bedside lamp and slipping quietly out of the room, closing the door most of the way.
May you like
I climbed back into the twin bed, pulling the quilt up to my chin. The room went dark, save for the pale orange streetlamp light cutting across the ceiling. I closed my eyes, listening to the distant hum of traffic on the highway, letting the quiet settle over me as I waited for the morning to come.
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