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“The attachment is real, Mr. Jackson.”
“A starving dog will always bond with the hand that feeds him.”
“Your analogy is disgustingly offensive.” I bristle.
“Let’s look at the obvious. When Detective Torres found the boy, he had run away from his drug-addicted mother who couldn’t care for him then, any more than she could when she took him from the security of his grandparents’ home in Kentucky. He was malnourished and homeless. It’s understandable that he would develop a phantom attachment to the people who took him in. But change the hand—”
“Dwayde’s feelings aren’t fickle nor are they transferable. Mr. Franklin already insinuated that he couldwinDwayde as if he were some derby prize. I can tell you that these callous references don’t speak well for your clients. Nor does attempting to push and bully their way back into Dwayde’s life.”
“My clients kept their distance for over two weeks to give him time and space. I’d hardly call that bullying.”
“It is when they waited to use the lab results as another intimidation tactic.”
“The timing is purely coincidental. My clients are anxious to see their grandson again. Alone.”
“That, Mr. Jackson, is not going to happen.”
“Based on what grounds?”
“Based on the expressed wishes of Dwayde’s legal guardians. Detective and Ms. Torres had generously agreed to allow your clients to visit with Dwayde as long as I was present. They were under no obligation to do so.”
“I didn’t realize you were also representing the Torreses.”
“Make no mistake, I represent Dwayde only, and his best interests.”
“Rebuilding a relationship with his grandparents goes to the very heart of the boy’s best interests. My clients will be in town next weekend. They’ve suggested lunch on Saturday after attending his practice, then Sunday brunch and tickets to see an NBA game. All very public and geared toward the boy’s interests. Surely you don’t take issue with that.”
“I very much have an issue with this transparent maneuver to get Dwayde alone. If your clients are serious about getting to know him, they could start with dropping the pursuit of custody.”
“Nice try, Ms. Chase. But that, as you say, is anon-starter. It floors me that a reasonable request to spend a little time alone with their grandson would be denied by foster parents overstepping their role as temporary caregivers. I’d wager any judge would grant this request by virtue of my clients’ stellar reputations, their past relationship with the boy, and the legal document that assigned them custody.”
“On the contrary, Mr. Jackson. I’d wager any judge would throw that baseless document out of court and recognize that your tactics are to pressure a scared twelve-year-old into a visit with strangers who are also trying to take him away from the only family he’s known.”
“You’re good, Ms. Chase.” His tone is smug and condescending. “I’ll give you that. But beneath your charming bravado, you know you’ll lose. My advice: let’s not waste cycles on this and put the boy through a needless court appearance when the outcome is inevitable. A couple of meals and a basketball game. Who’s going to deny the boy that?”
“Consider it denied and this conversation over.”
“Then to quote a famous line,I’ll see you in court. Have yourself a nice day.”
He disconnects and I slam the phone down, getting no satisfaction from the act.
This news is going to crush my family. And I worry what the added guilt will do to Mick.
The mood inside the kitchenis taut with stress. Isabelle would already have been at home after letting her kindergarten class out at 2:00 p.m., but Victor had left the precinct early on personal time, and Mick, I suppose, must have heard the news from Victor and come rushing over.
I wasn’t expecting to find him here. Hadn’t prepared myself to see him again so soon. When I noticed his car parked in the driveway, it wrecked complete havoc on my vulnerable defenses. But that was nothing compared to coming face-to-face with him.
At first, I stood there as if in a daze. My attempt at composure was eclipsed by distress. Unsure of how to respond, I’d waited for some sort of cue. The ring still on his finger gave me a modicum of hope. As did his eyes that moved over me with a gentle touch conveying his love. Or maybe pity. Either way, it was brief—a flash of a moment beforehe donned an impenetrable mask and stepped behind an invisible wall where I could see him, but couldn’t reach him.
Now seated at the kitchen table, I tug at the lapels of my suit jacket while he paces the ceramic floor behind me in intermittent bursts. Isabelle makes coffee, not that it will calm her nerves, but it gives her something to do. Even Rufus, lying under the table at Victor’s feet, senses the tension filling the room and lets out a whine.
“What the fuck is wrong with these people?” My foster brother’s temper is rare, but when it brews, it boils and bubbles over. “They had no desire to meet with us from the beginning to discuss Dwayde. Instead they sicced their lawyer on us with letters and threats. But for Dwayde’s sake, we made excuses for their insensitive behavior and heavy-handed methods. We encouraged him to see them. We tried to give them the benefit of the doubt. But that visit was hell on him.
“We’re through, Dee.” His hand slices the air for emphasis. “I’m sick of their games. Sick of their threats. Using some bullshit custody document to pull this crap. We are not going to force another visit on Dwayde, unsupervised or otherwise. Let them take us to court. I welcome the fight.”
“Then we’ll fight.” I look at Victor, empathizing with his anger and frustration, and work to steady my own rocky emotions. “But let’s be clear on what that will entail.”
“Calista already warned it won’t be easy,” he says, resisting any objection. “That doesn’t mean we cave to their demands because it’s hard.”
