I’m hyper aware of things like the squeak of Ashlee’s chair and the faint smell of wet dog. I’m not sure where the wet dog smell is coming from, but after a discreet sniff of myself, I’m about eighty percent sure it’s not me.
Though some details are strikingly clear, I also feel like I’m suspended underwater. Everything around me is slow and muted. Nothing can quite touch me down here. Even the harsh lights in the courtroom seem be filtered through a soft, watery blue.
Which, I KNOW, makes it sound like I’ve opened the bag and let all my marbles roll away. I’m sure it’s a defense mechanism of some kind. I’ll take all the defense mechanisms. As far as mechanisms go, they’re pretty good.
“What does it mean if Rachel doesn’t show?” I whisper to Ashlee. “Is it an automatic forfeit?”
“Unfortunately, this won’t work like a football game. But she should be here. I’m not sure what the judge will say if she doesn’t show, but it’s good for you. I wish I could tell you something for sure. I just don’t know,” Ashlee says.
We’ve discussed so many scenarios in the last few weeks, and Ashlee went over them briefly again when we sat down today. More than likely, any changes will be implemented slowly, and a final decision might come after more time has passed. There could be court-ordered visitations or evaluations. If Rachel is awarded custody, there will probably be a transition period.
Yeah, yeah, yeah. Got it. A stranger who doesn’t know me or Jo or Rachel will make a decision that will change all of our lives. Sounds like justice to me.
Rachel still isn’t here when the judge arrives. This shouldn’t surprise me, given my sister’s lifetime track record, and yet, color me surprised. She went through the trouble of retaining a lawyer, having someone pose as a pizza delivery guy to serve me with papers, and now she doesn’t show up?
I can’t stop watching her lawyer. Above the collar of his expensive suit, his neck is bright red. Anger? Sunburn? Body paint?
When the judge, a shrew-faced man with a patchy beard, asks Rachel’s lawyer where his client is, he stands. The room seems to hold its breath.
No—it actually DOES hold its breath, audibly. I feel like I’m not just holding the air in my lungs, but my soul itself. I hear what sounds like the start of a giggle behind me—Pat’s nervous tic. Then some shuffling that I imagine is Tank or James slapping a hand over his mouth.
“Your honor,” Rachel’s lawyer says, his neck somehow growing even redder. “My client could not be present today.” He pauses. “She has asked me to dismiss the request for custody.”
Ashlee grabs my hand, and I feel Pat’s fingertips brush my shoulder. I don’t lean into him, but neither do I pull away. I’m not sure I can move. Rachel is dismissing her case?
Rachel’s lawyer shuffles his papers, opening and closing the same folder several times. I want to grab him by the lapels of his suit and shake more information out of him.
He glances our way, just once, then looks back to the judge. “Mrs. Davis has made the decision to terminate her parental rights.”
Terminate her parental rights? Rachel?
Of all the possibilities we talked through, this was not one. I didn’t even allow myself to hope for it.
Relief rushes over me and rushes through me as I sink down in my chair, head in my hands. It’s over. The courtroom erupts into cheering and crying, and I swear I hear a cowbell in there somewhere.
The judge has more to say when he finally quiets the room, but I don’t hear a word. Hopefully Ashlee can fill me in later. A few minutes later, we are dismissed. It’s over. It’s OVER.
Ashlee hugs me, and Val and Winnie practically knock me down with a group hug, but all I need in the chaos is Jo.
I head for the courtroom doors because JO IS OUT THERE SOMEWHERE but I’m being overwhelmed with hugs and congratulations, all the while dimly aware of Pat’s presence somewhere nearby but just out of reach. I need his arm, his touch, but first I have to get to Jo. I suspect he’s got the same idea I do.