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Carter
The Family Courthouse in Atlantic City is not an ugly building by any stretch of the imagination, but I swear to God, if I never saw this place again, it wouldn’t be too soon.
I park my car and walk into the lobby, my nephew Noah at my side. My best friend and employer, Dominic Crawford, is already here. He’s saying something to my lawyer, Megan Noura, his hands gesticulating animatedly as he talks. Megan’s listening to him while also keeping a wary eye on the large cup of coffee in Dominic’s hand.
Megan has nothing to worry about on that account—the cup’s probably empty. Dominic doesn’t sip his coffee—he inhales it.
I look around. Noah’s deadbeat father, Ed Wagner, is nowhere to be seen. Typical. Not that I want to run into Ed in the lobby, not after our confrontation four days ago outside Noah’s kindergarten class. I’m not proud of my behavior in that encounter. I lost my temper and yelled. I almost threw a punch. I said things that I shouldn’t have said in front of my nephew. Ed is an irresponsible douchewipe of a human being, but Noah adores his father.
I don’t have to be a mind-reader to guess what Dominic’s talking about to Megan; it’s not anything he hasn’t already said directly to me. You’re going around the bend. You’re not rational about Ed. This pissing match between the two of you is not good for Noah, and you know it. You’re the adult; you have to do what’s best for the child.
You know what’s best for Noah? Having nothing to do with his no-good father. Ed has never been a meaningful part of my nephew’s life. And now he’s back, he’s supposedly clean, and he wants custody? Fuck that shit.
Dominic catches sight of us. A smile breaks out on his face when he sees Noah. “Hey buddy,” he greets the boy. “What’s up?”
“Hey, Uncle Dominic. Hello, Ms. Noura.”
Noah’s been more subdued since the kindergarten incident. Did he mention it to his psychologist, Dr. Elena Kang? He probably did, and I don’t blame him. The real question is whether the judge is going to find out about our screaming match.
Megan kneels to chat with Noah, and Dominic turns to me. “What’s wrong with him?” he asks in a low voice. “Is he nervous about today?”
I haven’t told Dominic about my confrontation with Ed. I haven’t told my lawyer either, which is worse. “I don’t know,” I murmur. “I didn’t expect you to be here.”
“You didn’t?” My best friend sounds surprised. “It’s an important custody hearing. Why wouldn’t I be here?”
I don’t know why I said it. Once upon a time, I would have taken for granted that Dominic would be here, but the last six months have been exhausting and stressful for both of us. Dominic’s fending off a crooked real estate developer who wants to buy his casino, and I’ve spent most of my time in a panic at the prospect of losing custody of Noah. I can’t remember the last time life was normal.
Yes, you can. It was the night you met Ella.
Ella. Gorgeous, curvy, beautiful Ella, with her wavy dark hair and wickedly glinting dark eyes. We’d met her at a bar in Hell’s Kitchen. She’d been watching a soccer game, drinking a caipirinha, and chatting to the bartender in fluent Portuguese, but interestingly, she’d been rooting for the English team, not the Portuguese one. “Shouldn’t you be cheering for Porto?” I’d quipped, taking a seat next to her.
She’d laughed. “You know something about football,” she’d said, turning to look at the two of us with unabashed curiosity. “Even in New York, that’s something of a rarity.” She spoke English with a British accent. “I grew up in London, my father played for Arsenal in his youth, and he’s from Rio, not Porto. I will be disowned if I cheer for a Portuguese team. What’s your story?”
“We’re tourists,” I’d replied. “In town for a wedding.”
“Tourists from where?”
“Atlantic City,” Dominic had replied. “Nowhere very exciting.”
She’d tilted her head. “You don’t think casinos are exciting?”
Dominic owned the Grand River, and I ran its security, but we were in Manhattan for the weekend to blow off steam, and so we’d deflected her question. We’d ordered drinks, bought her one, and we’d flirted with her all evening instead.
And we’d ended up in Dominic’s hotel room.
So yeah, I do remember the last time life was normal. That night.
Megan’s saying something to me. I banish the beautiful Ella from my mind and focus on my lawyer. “Don’t speak unless the judge asks you a direct question,” she warns. “No outbursts, Carter. Do not lose your cool.”
“I’ll behave,” I promise. It’s not a lie. Then again, if the judge has found out about my screaming match with Ed, it might be too late.
The judge hearingour case is Susannah Bass. Judge Bass grew up in poverty with an alcoholic single mother. Her father was never in the picture. She went to Harvard Law on a full scholarship and graduated in the top ten percent of her class.
She could have worked anywhere after that, but she wanted to work in family court. She’s been in Atlantic City for almost twenty years. When I first found out she’d been assigned our case, I’d been thrilled. “Her mother was an addict, she’ll realize how damaging that can be to a child, won’t she?” I’d asked Megan Noura.
My lawyer hadn’t been as excited. “Maybe,” she’d said. “Judge Bass believes, correctly, that poor people are disadvantaged by the legal process. She doesn’t like people who throw money at their problems.” She’d looked from me to Dominic. “This isn’t going to be a slam dunk.”
“Ed spent six months in prison. He has a record. He doesn’t have a job.”
