I cough to clear the knot in my throat. “I love you, too, man.”
“Brothers?” he asks, sticking out his hand, and I remember when we’d sealed our brotherly bond with a spit handshake at the age of six.
I grasp it firmly and slap his shoulder. “Bros before bras.”
“What?” He laughs.
“Repeating something your son told me earlier.”
“Where did he hear that?”
“I’d guess from another twelve-year-old. But I can relate to the sentiment. You’re a constant, Victor. You’ve always been in my life, and nothing can ever change that. But if I have anything to say about it, Dee’s going to be in my life, too. I don’t want my feelings for her to keep coming between us.”
He nods. “I can’t promise to welcome her with open arms, but I’ll deal with it.”
“Thanks.”
“So tell me, bro,” he says as we exit the dining room, “exactly how are you going to accomplish this future you want with Dee?”
My fingers rake through my hair, and I take a deep breath. “Hell if I know.”
WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON AT FOUR O’CLOCK sharp, the judge who will decide Dwayde’s fate sweeps into chambers, and I, along with the two opposing attorneys, spring to my feet. Rose Whittamore, revered for operating her court with military precision, waves us down and takes a seat behind her stately redwood desk.
“Good afternoon, counselors.”
“Good afternoon, Your Honor,” we chorus like schoolchildren.
Even absent the robe, wearing a dove-gray suit, she’s no less formidable. Mouth set in a grim line, salt-and-pepper hair pulled back from her severe face, she directs laser-blue eyes at Thomas Jackson and Calista Sanchez. “Have both parties attempted to reach a mutual solution that wouldn’t involve the court’s time or putting the boy through a trial?”
“No, Your Honor,” Calista answers. “There is no possible mutual solution. The parties reside in different states, almost four hundred miles apart. Shared custody is not an option, and any agreed-upon visitation would amount to holidays and summers—insufficient for my clients.”
“And for mine,” Jackson chimes in.
Frowning, Judge Whittamore laces her slender fingers together. “Very well, then. In the absence of a mother or father, a child’s biological relatives are generally considered to be the best people to care for that child. Though biological preference isn’t strictly considered under Illinois law, it does carry weight with most judges, including me. It will take a preponderance of evidence to convince me otherwise.”
I can feel Jackson’s arrogant smile beside me.
“Ms. Sanchez, are you prepared to present such evidence?”
On my right, the Torres’s attorney wets her unpainted lips and pushes strands of her frosted brown hair behind one ear. “Yes, Your Honor, I am.”
“Today’s purpose is to summarize your legal positions. Ms. Sanchez, we’ll start with you.”
“Thank you, Your Honor.” She straightens in her seat. “After enduring years of physical abuse and emotional neglect at the hands of his drug-addicted mother, Dwayde Franklin ran away at the age of nine. For ten months, he fended for himself on the streets of Chicago. Detective Torres found him, filthy and on the verge of starvation, tagging an old, empty warehouse, where he was seeking shelter.Tagging, Your Honor, is an urban term used for graffiti.”
“I’m aware of that, Ms. Sanchez,” the judge remarks.
“Of course, Your Honor.” Calista licks her lips again and continues. “The Torreses refused to see Dwayde go into the system. As ideal candidates, they were awarded temporary custody. Fast forward three years. The once-battered, once-neglected little boy is a consistent B student with well-cemented friendships and strong ties to the community. Dwayde has no recollection of Charles or Joan Franklin. The Torreses are the only family he has ever known. There is no father listed on his birth certificate, and Joyce Franklin, Dwayde’s mother, of unknown whereabouts, has not attempted to locate her son in all this time. By virtue of Ms. Franklin’s abandonment, she has relinquished her parental rights.
“There is every reason to believe that if not for Charles and Joan Franklin’s misguided petition, adoption would have been granted to my clients. I will show that the Torreses are dedicated, attentive parents and that Dwayde’s welfare continues to be best served by remaining with them.”
Jackson blusters, “Those are not the complete facts, Your Honor.”
“One side rarely is, Mr. Jackson,” she says indulgently. “Go ahead.”
With his perfectly coiffed silver pompadour, monogrammed cuffs, and designer suit, Jackson wears his role of family lawyer to the rich and powerful with ease. “Your Honor, the Franklins are extremely grateful to Detective and Mrs. Torres for all they have done. But foster parenthood by its very nature is temporary. I will show evidence that Joyce Franklin had intended for my clients to have permanent custody of their grandson. Papers to that effect were drawn up and signed by her.”
I watch the pop of Calista’s eyes, mirroring my internal shock. “I know nothing about any papers, Your Honor,” she states and begins rummaging through her files as if she might have missed something.
