“It’s time, guys.” We followed him, leaving Micah behind.
“Is Micah not coming?” Isaac asked.
“He’s the proverbial card up my sleeve,” Peter said.
* * *
I’d once had to testify against the abusive husband of a patient I was treating because after he became abusive toward me, the police had the evidence they needed to put the guy behind bars and give the poor woman her life back.
I’d gone into the courtroom with all the confidence of a twenty-year-old young man, and as I saw the victim’s character being torn to shreds, I understood why so many refused to come forward.
This was a different courtroom, but in some ways, the emotions it evoked were all the same. In the back of my mind, I felt like I was the one about to go on trial, even though it wasn’t a trial at all.
Peter guided us through the wooden door that separated us from people in the audience and told us to take a seat at the desk facing the judge’s bench. I held Lucy’s hand and told her to keep focused on me and ignore everyone else.
Moments later, I felt a hand on my back and turned to see Isaac sitting behind me on the other side of the partition. We exchanged a smile and then I noticed that Fernando and Diogo were sitting next to him.
Isaac leaned over. “Let’s show them what a true family really is.”
The door to the courtroom opened again, and my parents walked in with their lawyer behind them. They walked straight to their desk without sparing a look for Lucy who was doing her best to keep her head down. A shiver ran through her, like she could feel my dad’s presence in the room.
They didn’t want her; they wanted to get back at me. What for was anyone’s guess.
Everyone stood up when the judge came in. Judge Benson was an imposing African-American woman with short hair and a face that said she was all business.
She looked at the paperwork in front of her before speaking to my parents’ lawyer.
“Mr. Lewis, why are we here?”
“Well, Your Honor, as the paperwork states, my client—”
“Mr. Lewis, I can read. I know what the paperwork says. I want you to tell me in your own words.”
The lawyer looked at my parents and went through his notes.
“Mr. Summers,” she said to Peter, “it looks like Mr. Lewis needs a few moments. Why don’t we start with you?”
“Very well, Your Honor. I am representing my client, Max James, who wishes to apply for temporary custody of his sister, Lucia Lopez. We have good reason to believe Lucia has been emotionally and physically abused at the hands of her father, Salvatore Moretti.”
“Mr. Summers, according to my notes, Mr. James didn’t know he had a sister until recently. Is that correct?”
“It is, Your Honor.”
“Would you care to explain why that is?”
“Your Honor, if I may, I believe Mr. James would do a much better job of explaining how he came to meet his sister.”
“Fair enough, Mr. James, if you’d like to carry on,” the judge said.
My hands were shaking, and I squeezed the pen I was holding so hard I thought it would snap. I explained that Lucy had tracked me down and appeared at my doorstep after she’d run away from home.
“Mr. James, it’s commendable of you to take in a runaway teenager, after allthere are many places you could send them for help. My notes state you volunteer at such a place. Why not take her to the youth shelter?”
I froze. She was right. How many kids were out there in the same situation and would say anything to get themselves a warm place and some food.
I looked at Lucy, who was staring at me with so much trust it made my heart swell.
“You are right, Your Honor. In any other circumstances, it would have been quite a dangerous thing to do, inviting a strange person into my home. I would like to share something that happened when I was fourteen—”
