22
Gavin and I reunited after the chance meeting at the drive-in. I brought him muffins and cupcakes almost every day, sliding myself back into his heart through his stomach. I’m sure he gained a few pounds, but there was also a permanent smile on his lips. Our friendship should have never faltered. It was something special. I knew it, and so did he.
“And she was always wearing those silly tall heels she could barely walk in. I wanted to tell the poor girl to get herself a pair of sneakers,” he was saying, talking about his ex girlfriend.
I laughed. “Maybe she just wanted you to think she was sexy.”
Gavin smiled. “Sexy is not what you wear, Abigail. Sexy is what’s up here,” he tapped his head with his index finger. “Sexy is the way you smile, your voice, your laugh, the whole package. You can’t buy sexy.”
“Oh goodie, because all I have is sneakers.”
An impish smile traced his lips. “What about those boots?” he asked. He didn’t need to elaborate. We both knew what he was talking about.
“Those were my mom’s,” I explained. “I guess they’re mine now. They’re a little too big, but maybe I’ll grow into them.”
“You probably will.”
I smiled playfully. “And the panties were Izzie’s,” I confessed. “I stole them.”
His jaw dropped. “You didn’t.”
“I did,” I admitted, “but then I washed them, and snuck them back into her drawer. She probably never noticed they were gone.”
“Such a good girl.”
I didn’t quite understand why, but his words aroused me. I wanted to hear them, stretched out under him, his mouth on my breasts. I still had those fantasies, but I scolded myself every time they popped up.
Bad girl.
* * *
I pressdown the folds of my skirt, relieved to be sitting down. My heels pinch my toes something fierce when I walk. I don’t know how Mischa, Gretchen and Claudia walk in these things all the time. I’ve been in this courtroom before; the walls are high, the air is stiff, and everyone sits a little too upright. The attorneys are showmen, dressed in their finest.
I’m nervous as I always am. What would my dad think of me right now if he could see me? In my Donna Karan skirt suit and Nine West heels? The little park girl didn’t do too badly for herself. But he won’t ever see me like this. He passed away five years ago. Cardiac arrest. Daniel and I went to my hometown of course. Nick and Jake and I barely said two words to each other. It might have been the two most uncomfortable days of my life. Daniel couldn’t wait to get out of there, and I couldn’t blame him.
Jake had fared better than Nick. He worked as a mechanic and had a longtime girlfriend at the time, a sweet girl. I think her name was Heidi. But Nick was unemployed, and seemed intoxicated. He’d knocked up a girl with a boy he never saw. His son’s name was Jonathan and he was three. He’d be… I’m doing the math in my head when I’m called to the stand. He’d be eight years old today.
I’m shaking with nerves. I’m always nervous when I’m called up, despite the fact that all I’m doing is communicating my findings. The people in the courtroom are not judging me. They are judging the defendant. I’m always concerned about coming off as a cold bitch because my job is simply to state the facts, nothing more.
I’m facing George Young, the silver fox, and I can only imagine how awkward this would be if I’d accepted his offer of going to lunch. I’m sure there’s a rule about attorneys not dating their testifying witnesses. But I’m sure he doesn’t care.
We go through the usual motions, identifying myself and communicating the role I play in this case. Abigail Cooper. Social Worker for Warden Social Services, BCWS. Etcetera… the same old song.
“On February 8th of this year, you visited the home of Madison Perez on a court sanctioned visit. What were your concerns as listed in your report, dated March 6th?”
This can all be found in the report, but the court needs to hear it from me. It’s all just a little more effective that way.
I clear my throat. “I found a few troublesome issues. The child in question, Madison, did not seem to have a routine of any kind, no set bedtime, none enforced by her parents anyway, no regular meals.”
“In fact, what did your findings indicate about meals?” George asks, already knowing the answer.
“Uh… it was discovered that Madison often makes her own meals. In fact, she cooks for her parents when they’re incapable of cooking themselves.”
“By incapable of cooking… what do you mean? Can you elaborate, Miss Cooper?”
“When they’re too tired or… intoxicated.” My heart sinks. I feel like a real bitch. I don’t dare look at Madison’s mother. I feel like I’m betraying her, but all I’m really doing is telling the truth. I hate to tear a child from her own mother, but I only have the best interest of Madison at heart. I keep my eyes on Madison’s aunt. She’s sporting a fancy suit and heels, perfectly styled hair, and seems content with the proceedings.
I testify for the next twenty minutes or so, my heart pounding all the while. My gaze avoids Colette’s and sticks to Colleen’s. Every now and then, George shoots me a reassuring smile, silently communicating that I’m doing a good job.
