Once in a Blue Moon (23 page)

“Yeah, but think what would’ve happened if they’d gotten married instead,” Kerrie Ann reasoned. “He would’ve had to go around introducing her as his wife, and then people would’ve thought he was even more nuts than they already did.”

“So?”

“So you can only afford to do that when you have nothing to lose.”

Ollie turned toward her, his eyes searching her face. “Are we still talking about Harold and Maude here?”

She realized the time had come to tell him. She said with regret, “I like you, Ollie. Not just as a friend. And, who knows, maybe in another time or another place . . .” She made a vague gesture. “But right now I’m not in a position where I can afford to piss people off. Such as my sister.” She put up her hand, cutting off his protest. “I need her, more than I need you. That’s the plain fact of it. So I think we should cool it for now.”

Ollie eyed her mournfully. But, always sensitive to her needs, he merely said, “I guess I don’t have a choice, do I?” He added that it was only until she got things sorted out, though, not for good.

For some reason, Kerrie Ann felt comforted by that thought.

Her reverie was broken by Miss Honi piping, “I don’t know about you girls, but my stomach is telling me it’s lunchtime. What do you say we pull over for a bite to eat?”

Kerrie Ann glanced at her watch and saw that it was almost one—they’d been on the road for over three hours. In a short while she’d be due in court. Any appetite she might have worked up fled at the thought. So much was riding on this. If the judge didn’t see her as trustworthy even for something as relatively minor as overnight visits, what chance would she have when it came time to decide who was best equipped to care for Bella?

They stopped for lunch in Pismo Beach and arrived in San Luis Obispo with time to spare. Kerrie Ann’s lawyer, looking more prosperous than usual in a new navy suit and tie, had arrived ahead of them, and she met with him briefly outside the courtroom while Lindsay and Miss Honi went inside to find seats. Minutes later she stepped through the double doors into her own private version of hell.

Court was in session and the courtroom packed with the usual motley assortment of people waiting for their cases to be called—lawyers and their clients accompanied by friends and family members, some of whom would be acting as witnesses. But in place of the familiar robed figure of Judge Nickel sat a different judge: a slender, middle-aged black man with close-cropped salt-and-pepper hair. Her heart sank.

I’m screwed
, she thought.

The only thing in her favor was that her lawyer was black as well. She shot Abel a panicked look as they slid in next to Lindsay and Miss Honi in the back row. He leaned in to murmur, “Judge Nickel had a stroke—it just happened, so it was too late to request a postponement. But don’t worry. I’m told this guy’s fair. He won’t go hard on you just because . . .”

“I’m white?” she hissed back.

Abel gave a somber nod as if to say,
Among other things
.

The grave look he wore caused her to grow even more panicky. Was the incident with the Bartholds going to bite her in the ass? There hadn’t been any repercussions—yet—but she didn’t doubt that it had been significant enough for the caseworker to report it.

Before she could question him about it, the next case was called to the bench: a divorcing couple battling over custody of their two young kids. The wife, a mousy-looking brunette, wore a martyred air while her attorney did all the talking. “Your Honor, my client is a stay-at-home mom who’s devoted her life to her children,” began the gray-haired, grandmotherly lawyer. After extolling her client’s virtues at length, she added, in reference to the kids, “It would be traumatic for them to be uprooted from the only home they’ve known and sent to live with a father who’s so busy working, he scarcely has time for them.”

Looking at the husband, Kerrie Ann didn’t doubt every word said about him was true. He was a slick-haired, unpleasant-looking man with an even more unpleasant-looking lawyer. But appearances could be deceiving, she soon learned. “If my client, Mr. Henderson, is too busy working to spend as much time as he’d like with his kids, there’s good reason for it,” countered the husband’s attorney in a voice thick with disdain. “He’s been holding down two jobs to pay off the gambling debts incurred by his wife.” He jabbed a finger at the mousy wife, who shrank down in her seat. “
This
woman thought nothing of stealing food out of her children’s mouths so she could troll the Internet placing bets while their hardworking father fought to keep the family afloat. She calls herself ‘devoted’? I ask you, Your Honor, where does her devotion lie—with her children . . . or the online blackjack she was so enamored of?”

The judge’s stern gaze fell on the red-faced wife. “I’d like to hear from Mrs. Henderson,” he said, motioning for her to rise. When she was standing, he asked in the rumbling voice of Moses calling Pharaoh to account, “And just what do you have to say to these allegations?”

She stammered, “Your Honor, I . . . I admit I had a problem at one time.” A nervous glance over her shoulder at her husband. “But I’ve since joined Gamblers Anonymous, and I’ve been clean for over a year. Nothing is more important to me than my kids.”

The judge appeared unmoved. “If that’s the case, wouldn’t the same have held true when you were gambling away their future?” he said, his eyes flashing with contempt.

After hearing from witnesses on both sides, including the wife’s sister testifying on the husband’s behalf, he ordered that the couple see a court-appointed mediator before setting a date for the final hearing. In the meantime, temporary custody was awarded to the father.

Watching the drama play out, Kerrie Ann felt her anxiety slip into full-blown panic. If the judge was that unsympathetic to someone who’d been hooked on blackjack, what would he say to a mother who’d regularly smoked crack in front of her five-year-old?

She glanced over at her sister, and Lindsay gave her a smile of encouragement. Miss Honi, on Lindsay’s left, was in her mother-bear mode, sitting up straight as if poised to do battle, a fierce look in her eye.

When Kerrie Ann’s case was called, Abel Touissant spoke briefly but compellingly. “Your Honor, my client has complied with every one of the court’s stipulations. As you can see, her drug tests have all come out clean. She goes to twelve-step meetings three times a week. She also lives with her sister, who owns her own home and business, where my client is currently employed.” He paused before going on, “I believe Ms. McAllister has proved herself trustworthy enough for unsupervised visits with her child. She’s a good mother, Your Honor. All she’s asking for is another chance, and I think she deserves that.”

The judge peered down at Kerrie Ann from the oak-paneled bench, his face expressionless. She shifted in her seat, darting a nervous glance at the Bartholds, who were seated in the front row. George Barthold, in a conservative suit and tie, looked like someone you’d trust not just to fill your cavities but with your life . . . and Carol Barthold like someone who, if you were running for office, you would want as your campaign manager.

Kerrie Ann felt the knot in her belly tighten.

When Abel was done speaking, the judge called upon the court-appointed attorney representing Bella, a skinny woman with pop eyes and frizzy brown hair. “Ms. Travers?”

Skinny Minnie set aside the papers she’d been shuffling through and stood up. “Your Honor, in my opinion there needs to be further evaluation of the mother’s, ah. . . suitability. . . before any changes are made to the current visitation,” she said in her high, nasal voice.

“What’s the basis for that recommendation, Ms. Travers?” he asked.

“The child’s caseworker has expressed some concerns.” She gestured toward Mrs. Silvestre, seated to her right. “Apparently there was an incident,” she added darkly.

“Mrs. Silvestre?” The judge cocked a brow at the caseworker.

Kerrie Ann watched with mounting dread as Mrs. Silvestre rose to address the bench. “Your Honor, I’d first like to say that Ms. McAllister has made significant strides over the past seven months. And from what I’ve observed, there’s a real bond between her and her daughter.” She cast Kerrie Ann a look that was not without compassion. “What concerns me is her difficulty in managing her anger. The incident in question happened during a recent visit. I only came in at the end, but I noticed that Ms. McAllister was quite agitated and I was told she . . .” Color seeped into her cheeks. “She made a racial slur.”

There was a collective gasp from the gallery, and Kerrie Ann surged to her feet. “That’s a lie!” she cried. The judge stared at her until she subsided into her seat. She realized too late that in shooting off her mouth, she’d only given credence to the accusation. Still, she quivered at the unfairness of it. Racial slur? She’d been accused of some terrible things but never that. Her own child was mixed-race. How the hell could she be racist?

“I’d like to hear more about this alleged incident, Mrs. Silvestre,” said the judge. His expression was grim.

“It happened just after the child’s foster parents arrived to pick her up.” The caseworker turned to indicate the Bartholds, who looked to be very much the injured parties. “Ms. McAllister ran into them in the parking lot as she was leaving. Apparently words were exchanged. It became quite heated, from what I’m told. When I spoke with Dr. Barthold about it afterward, he said that she told him—” She broke off, looking embarrassed, before repeating with obvious reluctance, “‘You can kiss my white ass.’”

All eyes in the courtroom were on Kerrie Ann as she sat shaking her head in disbelief, struggling to keep from digging her grave any deeper with another outburst.

“Is this an accurate account, sir?” The judge addressed Dr. Barthold.

George Barthold stood up. “Yes, Your Honor, it is,” he replied in a solemn tone.

The judge brought his attention back to Kerrie Ann. “What do you have to say for yourself, Ms. McAllister?” He eyed her as if she were something that had crawled out from the floorboards.

“I told him he could kiss my ass, yeah. But I never used the word ‘white’!” she blurted.

Beside her, she heard Abel give a muffled groan and knew she’d once again said the wrong thing. She turned her head to glare at George Barthold, hoping to shame him into coming clean. But she could tell from his stiff bearing and the deeply proud look he wore that he believed it to be the truth. It was the same look she’d seen on Jeremiah’s face whenever some redneck asshole had called him the n-word. Deep down, she knew she had only herself to blame.

It was over within a matter of minutes. The judge declared, “Motion denied. Visitation remains as is until further ruling.” Ignoring Kerrie Ann altogether, as if she were a subhuman species incapable of understanding, he advised her lawyer, “In the meantime, Mr. Touissant, I suggest your client take a course in anger management before we revisit this issue.”

Kerrie Ann waited until they were outside the courtroom to ask point-blank, “How bad is it?”

Abel eyed her wearily. “Let’s just say you didn’t do yourself any favors today.”

She was quick to set the record straight. “I’ll own that, but I’m no racist. Yeah, I mouthed off when I shouldn’t have, and I know that was dumb, but it had nothing to do with his being black.”

“I know that. But the people in there don’t know that.” He jabbed a finger toward the courtroom. “And the judge certainly doesn’t know that.” He shook his head. “Like I said, you didn’t do yourself any favors.”

He was fed up, and she didn’t blame him. She was suddenly filled with remorse. “Does this mean I won’t get custody? Because if that’s the case, I might as well shoot myself now and get it over with.” She felt miserable enough at the moment to do just that.

Abel’s expression softened. “It’s not as bad as all that. We lost the battle but not the war.”

“But the Bartholds. . .”

“As far as they’re concerned, it’s far from a slam dunk. The court usually rules in favor of the biological parent, especially when the petitioners are non–blood relatives. That being said,” he continued in a sterner tone, “I’ve seen cases where it’s gone the other way.”

His words struck dread in Kerrie Ann’s heart. “Just tell me what to do. I’ll do anything you say.”

“Anything?” Abel arched a brow.

“You name it.”

“Learn to rein in that mouth of yours.”

Lindsay and Miss Honi did their best to comfort her.

“That man was lying through his teeth,” Miss Honi staunchly proclaimed on the drive home. “The very idea! Why, there ain’t a prejudiced bone in your body.”

“It wasn’t a complete lie,” Kerrie Ann was forced to admit.

“Well, no sense crying over spilled milk. Best move on,” Lindsay said briskly. She glanced at Kerrie Ann in the rearview mirror. “What did your lawyer have to say?”

“That I should learn to keep my mouth shut.”

“Good advice.”

Ordinarily Kerrie Ann would have bristled, but she knew her lawyer was right. In fact, for the rest of the trip, she followed his advice, staring mutely out the window as she sat slumped in the backseat while Lindsay and Miss Honi conversed quietly up front.