BOMAW 1-3 (46 page)

"Please, Shawn, there's no need for this. Just tell me, for goodness sake," she asked, trying to keep her tone under control when she felt anything but.

"You'll find out so-o-on enough," her mother sang out and then sighed, actually enjoying it all, things like this made life interesting...anything tumultuous to stave off boredom was okay by her.

"I certainly hope you don't have some crazy idea of taking my daughter from me. When I leave, she leaves with me. When you left California, you made your choice! You just up and left and told no one anything! If you think you're going to blame her running away on me, you've got another think coming. Angela! Get over here, now! Right now!" Deidre demanded angrily.

"Daddy?" Angela called up to him, growing afraid.

"She's staying right where she is!" he responded.

"I'm her mother! I have custody of her! Not
you!
Angela, get over here,
now!
"

The elevator doors opened. Shawn reached down and picked Angela up into his arms, took Sylvia by the arm, and strode from the elevator. Sylvia saw white lights before her eyes and her mouth filled with saliva. She spotted the ladies washroom not five steps away and launched herself for it, praying that she made it in time. As soon as she hit the door, vomit spewed from her mouth faster than she could catch it. She rushed into the bathroom with her hand catching the vile tasting acidic fluid, dashed into a stall and tossed up all of her late breakfast. Her body convulsed and clenched, tightening and squeezing her stomach as she gagged and shook, coughing it up and choking on it.

"Sylvia!" Shawn shouted, shocked, and rushed in behind her, caught off guard by her suddenly being sick.

"Shawn! It's the ladies room!" Deidre shrieked.

"I don't give a damn!" he blasted back at her, sitting Angela on the floor. By the time he turned to Sylvia, she'd shut the stall door to keep him out as she continued throwing up, unable to stop.

"Can you give us a few more minutes? My fiancée is in the ladies room, very ill," Shawn tried to explain to the clerk of courts who'd come looking for them.

"I'm sorry, the judge is waiting. I'll have an officer come out and wait for her to escort her in, but you all need to go in now to the judge's chambers," the clerk explained to them as Shawn leaned against the wall outside of the ladies room with Angela there and her arms wrapped around his waist. Deidre and her mother stood across the narrow hall watching, waiting and very uncomfortable with the circumstances as Shawn completely ignored them out of concern for Sylvia.

"Can I open the door and let her know?" he asked.

"Is anyone else in there?" she asked.

"No."

"Sure, go ahead."

Shawn turned, pushing the door open and called in, "Sylvia, the clerk has come for us, we'll be in the judge's chambers, sweetheart."

He received no answer, it was silent inside. "Sylvia!"

With a weak voice she answered, "I heard you…okay."

Shawn stood a moment with the door open, he wanted to be with her right then, not going into that courtroom. But his daughter needed him, he looked down at her, she was looking up at him, scared to death. He paused another moment, and didn't care who heard. "Sylvia…I love you."

Sitting on the toilet feeling as if she could not possibly stand, Sylvia leaned her head against the toilet stall. "I love you...too," she returned with a smile.

Deidre wanted the floor to open up and swallow her whole.

Georgiana rolled her eyes to the ceiling.

The clerk made a face of sympathy. "Aaah, she'll be okay. I'll come out and check up on her, promise."

*

Deidre sat spinning in disbelief. She could not believe what was happening. What she was hearing. Too stunned to do anything other than to gape as Shawn explained in detail, exactly what took place immediately after getting the phone call from Deidre informing him that their daughter had run away, all the way until Angela's claim, his arrest and the evening officer giving temporary custody to Sylvia until that day when they came before the judge. The judge sat at his long table across from them. Angela sat in the center with her mother and grandmother to her left, her father and an empty seat for Sylvia to her right.

"I see," the judge said upon Shawn finishing the telling. The judge made notes as the court stenographer recorded every word.

Deidre turned and looked down at her daughter, then up at Shawn's profile, trying to make sense of it all.

"And you, madam, are the child's mother?" He finally looked up and asked Deidre.

"Yes, I am," she returned, breathless from the accounting of it.

"Introduce yourself, please," he commanded, reading over the paperwork from the previous night and all that was recorded surrounding the arrest, the questioning in the police station, statements from Shawn and his daughter.

"Deidre Charlotte Wherrington-McPherson."

"Are you and Mr. McPherson divorced?"

"Yes, we are."

"Thank you, now...how about you tell me what is going on where the child dwells with you that at the age of nine years old, she feels compelled to run away from home, hop a plane to be here with her father?"

"I hardly feel that what was going on in my parent's home is the issue here. What is paramount is that she has made such a declaration against her father.
That
is what needs to be dealt with."

"Ms. Wherrington…I can assure you, I am perfectly capable of conducting this interview without any assistance. I ask the questions, you answer them. Now, what possibly compelled this child to take the chance she did, to be away from there?"

Just then the door opened and Sylvia came in, walking carefully to take her seat next to Shawn; the officer was at the door and closed it to stand before it. The judge looked at Sylvia. "Are you okay now, Ms.?…"

"Payne, Sylvia Payne," she answered, sitting down with Shawn searching her face, his eyes conveying the question of,
Are you alright?
She wasn't, but she gave him a slight smile and answered the judge as well. "Yes, I'm fine, Your Honor."

He turned back to Deidre. "You were about to answer my question," he reminded her of where they left off when Georgiana spoke up. "I don't think this has anything to do with her; she should wait outside." She meant Sylvia. Shawn's back teeth were under threat of shattering from clamping his jaw so tightly.

The judge looked over the top of his glasses at her. "Who are you, madam?"

"I am the child's grandmother. Georgiana Victoria Wherrington, and I find this entire procedure totally unorthodox."

"Be that as it may, in your estimation, madam, I am the judge here, and I'm telling you now as I told your daughter, I ask the questions, then I get my answers. I haven't asked you
anything
. Make another sound and you will be waiting outside, do I make myself clear?"

Georgiana sat back in a huff, biting her tongue so as not to say anything to keep from being removed from the room. The judge looked from Georgiana back to Deidre with the raise of his brow, he waited for her to respond to his question, not about to ask it again.

"I haven't a clue. My daughter is very spoiled. She's been indulged a great deal, and has become accustomed to having her way. This matter with her running off, is no doubt a stunt she's pulling to
once again,
have her way."

"And what is it that she wanted to have her way with
this
time?" he asked pointedly.

Deidre sat struggling with the answer, her pause had the judge shifting expressions. "Well? Are you having a hard time understanding the question?"

"No, your honor, I am not."

"Very well then," he invited her to answer.

"She was upset because I changed my mind about relocating here."

"'Here' as in, Wisconsin from California?"

"Yes."

"You say you changed your mind? That gives me reason to believe that you somehow built up an expectation of coming here; so why the change of heart?"

"Excuse me, I am not on trial here. I don't have to answer that! She's a child, I'm an adult. She cannot always have her way and that is something she must learn. I've flown here to collect my daughter, at which point, I will be leaving."

"Right now, she's classified as a runaway in custody of the court. Until I release her back to you, you won't be taking her anywhere. Our records are overflowing with missing children, our streets are filled with them alive...and dead…do you understand that? There are children right now, tucked away somewhere out there...dead...we just haven't found them yet. Yes, shiver...look horrified, you should be. A nine year old runaway is a serous matter. There's a problem…and before she ends up on the streets..." He let his sentence trail off, looking at each of the adults, and then her. "...I'll do my part to see that she is where she needs to be in order to keep this act from repeating itself. So you'll have to forgive me if I seem callous to whatever inconvenience you may be suffering," he finished, looking from Angela to Deidre. Deidre remained silent looking down and away.

The judge turned to Angela.

"Young lady…what is your name?"

Angela looked up at her father, who nodded to her. She turned to the judge, sitting up straight and swallowing from fear. "Angela Rae McPherson," she answered timidly.

"Has your mother spoken the truth about you?" he asked firmly. Angela's eyes grew big, unsure of how to answer, she then shrugged her shoulders.

"What does that mean? Sorry, I don't speak shrug. I need to hear it from you, why you've put your parents through what you have."

"I want to-to live with my dad," she squeaked out.

The judge made a face, looked down at the paper work, then back at her. He leaned an elbow on the table, grasping his chin and looked at her. "If that is true, why would you say what you said about him? Hm? Look me in the eye, young lady…that's an ugly,
ugly
thing you accused him of…any man guilty of such a thing is vile. Certainly not suitable to be father of a little girl."

"But he didn't do it. I told a lie. I was mad at him, and...and..."

"Mad at him why?"

"Because he wouldn't listen to me. He wouldn't try," she said softly.

"He wouldn't try what?"

"To go back to my mommy again. She said she still loved him and—"

"Angela!" Deidre stopped her.

"Ms. Wherrington, one more outburst from you and you will wait outside. You and your mother. You had an opportunity and you didn't take it. Now this is my last warning," he firmly commanded. Turning back to Angela. "Go on...finish."

Shawn had Sylvia's hand underneath the table, his thumb stroking over her knuckles maintaining contact with her, even if it could only be with his touch hidden from view.

"She said that she still loved my daddy, and that we would move where he was. Maybe then, he would see she's changed and would take her back. Plus, I would get to be with him instead of there at my granddad and grandmom's house. I don't like it there…they don't like me."

"Who doesn't like you?"

"They don't…my grandmom and granddad. I have to stay in my room most of the time, I have to be quiet and not make too much noise. I can't have friends over, and they won't let me go to my friends' houses. They said I don't need friends because they will only want to be with me because we have money. Granddad says they may ask for money or steal from them, so they can't come over and I can't go there."

"I see."

"Oh, this is ridiculous! I've heard enough of this nonsense! I'm going to call our lawyer!" Georgiana stood and stormed from the room, knowing her outburst would get her tossed out.

After her departure, the judge sat jotting down notes, thinking a moment. "Ms. Wherrington, how old are you?" Deidre swallowed, feeling uncomfortable. "I'm thirty-four."

"Thirty-four years old? Did you know about the circumstances your daughter just described?"

"Your Honor, my daughter is very well cared for. She has everything a young girl could need. The best of everything! Her room is filled with every kind of toy imaginable. Every kind of computer game. Her closet filled with more clothes than she will ever wear before she's grown out of them. There are many, many children, far more worse off than she. There is no excuse for her behavior; she is ungrateful and disloyal!"

"Emmm," the judge murmured and nodded, then asked, "How much time do you devote to your daughter each week, Ms. Wherrington? Let's narrow it down, each day?"

"I have to work, Your Honor. By the time I get home from work, and she's home from school, it leaves little time for us. I assure you, however, I try to make it up on the weekends," Deidre argued in her own defence.

"But you work lots of weekends," Angela pointed out.

"Why is that, Ms. Wherrington?"

"My job sometimes requires my attendance; it's not all the time."