by Wendy Heard
She has a degree in organic chemistry from MIT. No one ever pays attention to that. They notice her blond ponytail and her perky demeanor, but they always forget how smart she is.
It’s okay. That’s the best way to hide: in plain sight.
51
JAZZ
THE COURTHOUSE LOOMS above me, its sharp corners correctional against the too-clear, too-bright blue sky. I don’t like it. I feel like I’m going to walk into this building and never walk out. They’ll wrench him out of my arms just like they always have.
“Jazz.” Joaquin nudges me. “You stopped walking.” To his point, a family almost collides with us, and they funnel their way around us impatiently.
I look at my feet. They’re encased in new, unfamiliar ankle boots. I miss my Docs. “Do you think I’m too dressed up?” I ask.
“No. You look like an actual grown adult.” His face is suddenly serious. “I want us to win. I want to go home tonight and be done with this.”
“I know, little man. Me too.”
He looks scared. I pull him into a hug that he doesn’t resist. I bury my face in his slim shoulder and wind my arms around his back. “You are safe, and you are mine,” I whisper.
He makes dramatic choking noises until I release him. I smooth the front of my long-sleeved button-down shirt. “I look so gay,” I say, just as Joaquin says, “You look so gay.”
“Shut up, Marco Polo.” He hates this polo shirt more than anything. I lace my arm through his and pull him toward the stairs.
“Marco Polo,” he mutters. “Dumbest joke ever.”
“Oh okay, I didn’t realize you were the king of comedy.” I pull the door open and usher him inside.
My lawyer, Sarah, is waiting for us. She greets us with a broad smile and hugs me first. She’s a statuesque woman at least eight inches taller than me. She looks me up and down, clutching my shoulders. “Look at you, so sharp.”
Joaquin opens his mouth to mock me, btut then she turns her hug on him and his face gets lost in her bosom. I press my lips together to keep from laughing. When she releases him, he combs his bangs out like a cat straightening its fur.
She says, “We’re in Room 202. How are you holding up?”
“We’re a little nervous,” Joaquin replies.
“I get it. But does it make you feel better knowing your mom’s done literally everything a human can do to make sure this goes your way?”
He nods, but he looks unconvinced.
We get in line for the metal detectors, emptying our pockets and putting our bags on the conveyor belt. I get scanned by the security guard’s little metal detector wand, as does Sarah—although of course she’s much more cheerful about it than I am—and she leads us to the courtroom. On the way, she keeps us distracted with a string of chatter about the weather, her dogs and her little girl, who is apparently quite a spitfire, and before I know it, I’m entering Room 202. She guides us to a table on the left facing the podium where the judge will sit. I slump into a wooden chair and place my hands on the slick wooden table in front of me.
The walls of the courtroom are wood. So are the witness stands, the judge’s podium, the low walls separating the seating areas, the chairs...
Joaquin sinks into the chair next to me. We watch Sarah unload a bunch of files and papers from her briefcase onto the table.
I say, “Whoever decorated this place loves wood.”
“That’s what she said.”
I blink at him. “What?”
“Get it? Wood?” He elbows me and smiles, and in this moment, I know I’m forgiven.
The door opens, and Sarah’s eyes fly to the back of the courtroom. She stands up, back stick-straight, face converting into a mask of fierce professionalism.
Carol is here.
She follows her lawyer in, and suddenly I notice there are other people in the courtroom with us. Random people are sitting in the seats—waiting their turn, maybe, since we’re the first case of the day. Uniformed officers are at the door, or maybe they’re bailiffs. Carol’s lawyer is a pinched-looking gray-haired man I’m assuming she got from her church.
Carol and her lawyer take the table to our right, and only when she’s seated, with her lawyer digging papers out of his briefcase, does she look over at me.
Her eyes are ice.
I want to look down. I want to avert my eyes both from the pitiful hollowness of her eyes and her skeletal, radioactive fury.
But I don’t.
How did I let Carol control me for so long?
Sarah says I could have kept him. If I had reported the things Carol did to me right when they began, I could have asked to be moved to a different foster home together with Joaquin until I turned eighteen, and then we’d have been free to live our lives. This whole time, he could have been with me. I’ve lost ten years with him. That’s my fault. No one can carry the burden of that guilt for me.
Carol’s lawyer leans in to show her a piece of paper. Beside me, Joaquin is a kid-shaped statue, his hands clasped in his lap.
The judge enters, her black robe billowy around her. She looks tired. We learn that her name is Judge Luu. I’m relieved the judge is a woman.
I put my hand over Joaquin’s in his lap. I lean toward him and whisper in his ear, “It’s really going to be okay.”
He laces his fingers through mine, which he hasn’t done for years. I don’t listen to what the judge says, some sort of introduction that she seems to have memorized. It’s not until Sarah stands up that my focus swings in and Joaquin squeezes my hand so hard it hurts.
Sarah begins to explain why we’re here, and Carol’s lawyer joins in with section numbers and penal codes, and they begin negotiating the plan for the proceedings. I feel Joaquin lean in toward me, and I tilt my head so I can hear the words he whispers in my ear. “I’m scared.”
I swallow my own fear and turn my expression into a smile. “Almost over,” I murmur. “This won’t take that long.”
The judge asks each side to explain what they want. It’s actually pretty simple. It seems like the judge is there to find a middle ground. However, our situation is not an easy one to mediate. I’m requesting full custody with no visitation for Carol. Carol is requesting full custody with no visitation for me. Between us is an ocean of paperwork.
Sarah presents information on the civil suit I’m filing against Carol for assault, and then the info on the criminal case that’s under way against her for assault on me and criminal negligence of Joaquin. Carol’s lawyer argues that she has a right to withhold medical treatment for religious reasons, and Sarah gets riled up talking about cases where children died and their parents were charged with murder. Carol’s lawyer argues that those parents weren’t convicted. Sarah argues that I saved Joaquin from certain death, and then they have to talk about the Blackbird case and debate what evidence should be allowed into these proceedings. Sarah wants to present everything the prosecutor has entered into evidence in the assault case against Carol, and I’m overwhelmed by the rapid-fire back-and-forth, my own fear of losing Joaquin buzzing in my head like a swarm of bees.
Judge Luu asks about the child abuse charges against Carol, and Carol’s attorney immediately protests. His client is out on bail, and those criminal charges can’t be entered into this custody hearing until the evidence has been officially entered and the material reviewed by the DA. Sarah argues back furiously—“How can you suggest that we not present this court evidence of criminal neglect and endangerment when your client is seeking to retain custody of a minor child she has been keeping locked in a bedroom and denying his lifesaving medication?”
The judge holds her hands up, and both lawyers shut their mouths.
“What is the first thing you would like to enter into evidence?” she asks Sarah. “I’ve familiarized myself with the pending charges against Ms. Coleman, so you may need to present les
s than you’ve anticipated.”
“I’d like to start with photographs of Joaquin’s bedroom,” Sarah says calmly.
The judge looks at Carol’s lawyer. “Would that be a problem?”
“It’s not relevant to this case. Unless you want to see photographs of the tiny studio apartment Ms. Benavides plans on keeping him in so you can get an accurate comparison.”
The judge looks at Sarah. “Does that sound fair? Photographs of both living situations?”
“Not only fair, Your Honor, but I have brought photographs taken at that apartment just this morning.” So that’s why Sarah asked me to text her photos of my place this morning.
Sarah brings her phone and a stack of photographs to the judge’s podium, and the judge flips through them. “This is his room at Ms. Coleman’s house?”
“Yes, Your Honor. Please note the window.”
The judge’s eyebrows shoot up. She flips the photograph around and shows it to Carol. “You want to try and explain why you would board up a child’s window?”
Carol’s attorney says, “Ms. Coleman is a single woman living alone. She was afraid of the constant intrusion of Ms. Benavides, who regularly broke into the house and stole from them.”
Sarah says, “Your Honor, if you flip to the next photograph, you’ll note that Joaquin’s window is fitted with bars on the outside. The purpose of boarding up the window was to keep Ms. Benavides from slipping him his insulin through the bars, which was something she commonly did when Ms. Coleman would not permit him to take the medication. There was no theft.”
“I see.” Judge Luu puts the photographs down. She flips through the pictures on Sarah’s phone and looks at me. “How long have you been living in this apartment, Ms. Benavides?”
Everyone is suddenly looking at me. I clear my throat. “Five years,” I say.
“I see you like Miley Cyrus.”
I feel my cheeks heat up. “That’s Joaquin, actually. He’s...a fan.”
The judge looks at both of us with a tiny twinkle in her eyes. “I thought as much.” She puts the phone down. “I’d like to ask some questions now. Jasmine,” she says, turning her eyes on me. “I’ve seen your medical records. You’ve visited the urgent care and ER a dozen times in the last twelve years. That’s one injury a year. I see burns, a broken collarbone, a broken wrist, broken ribs. I see blood evidence and Ms. Coleman’s fingerprints on the bat used to assault you. Why are you just now pressing these charges?”
I feel Sarah’s hand on my back. I try to think clearly. “I thought if Carol went to jail, they’d take Joaquin to some other foster home and split us up. She didn’t physically assault him like she did me, so I thought I could make everything okay for him if I could just get him his meds. We worked around her.”
“And did you try to sneak Joaquin his medication through the bars in his window? Did you break into the house?”
“Yes. I always tried to sneak him his meds if Carol wouldn’t let him take them. I’d do it any way I could. Through his school, through the window, anything. He almost died once, when he was younger, and I...” I hold my hands up. It’s too much. I miss Sofia. If she were here, she would have helped me prepare for this. This seems like exactly the kind of thing she’d be good at. But she’s gone, and I have to be the person Joaquin has to rely on. I take a breath and lift my chin so I can look Judge Luu in the eyes. “I should have gone to the police much sooner. I had a few lawyers tell me I didn’t have a lot of options for custody, but I could have still called the police when she assaulted me. I shouldn’t have let it go this long. To be honest, I was afraid I would not be taken seriously, and I was afraid of Joaquin getting taken to some foster home that would be even worse. I’ve been in ones that were a lot worse. At least if I took the beatings, it got that energy off of him and onto me. And it let him focus on school and be a normal kid. That’s all I wanted for him. All I want for him.”
She’s been listening to me intently. She turns to Joaquin. “Would you prefer to answer questions in private? I’d be happy to speak with you in my chambers.”
Joaquin shakes his head. “I’d rather just answer them here.”
She shuffles through the photos and holds one up. It’s a picture of his bedroom door. “I want you to tell me about this.”
It’s a sliding lock that locks his bedroom from the outside. I hadn’t noticed it when I went to the house.
I spin toward Carol. “You locked him in there?”
Sarah grabs my arm and holds me in my seat. My head is red with fury. I should have murdered Carol while I had a chance. I want to tear her limb from limb.
“I’m sorry, Your Honor,” Sarah says.
“Are you okay?” the judge asks Joaquin.
He nods. “Yeah, she locked me in there sometimes. I’m sorry, Jazz. I thought you knew.”
“I didn’t know. I’m so sorry.”
Judge Luu says, “Joaquin, you’ve given this info to the police?”
“They asked me about it when they interviewed me, yeah.”
“Well, good. And happy birthday, by the way. You turned fourteen last week, didn’t you?” She smiles at him warmly.
He nods. He looks too nervous to smile back at her. I shove my own feelings aside and put my hand over his on the table. It’s all right, I want to tell him.
“Did you have a party?” she asks.
“Jazz took me and two of my friends to Universal Studios.”
“That sounds like fun.”
He nods again.
“Well, I’m not sure if you know this, but at fourteen, you get to be a bigger participant in these proceedings. You get to have more of a say over what you’d like to see happen. So why don’t you tell me what your ideal scenario would be? Forget what your adoptive or biological mother would like. And again, if you feel more comfortable talking to me in private, that will be fine.”
“I just want to be normal.”
“And what does normal look like for you?”
“I want to go to school.” He shoots Carol a furious look. “I don’t want to get homeschooled by someone who didn’t even graduate high school herself. I already picked out the high school I want to go to, this STEM magnet downtown.”
“That sounds very reasonable.”
“And I want to have a normal life. I want to have friends. I want to go out on the weekends, do normal things. I don’t want to be locked up like an animal.” He takes a deep breath. “And obviously I want my insulin. I don’t want any more drama about it. Jesus isn’t going to heal me. It’s ridiculous. This whole thing is... It’s not normal.”
“I agree. So we have two choices for you. We can place you in a foster home close to school, and we can make sure you’re taken care of medically by your new foster parents. That’s one option.”
I feel like I’ve been slapped. Stabbed. Set on fire. This is everything I was afraid of.
“Another option is to live with your biological mother. I’m not sure how experienced she is at taking care of your diabetes—”
“She’s the only one who’s taken care of it. She’s done all the doctor’s appointments, filled all my prescriptions. She’s the one who got me into the lottery for the STEM school. She does everything.”
“So that’s your second choice. Keep in mind that your biological mother does work a full-time job, and she does have a small apartment. It won’t always be a comfortable situation.”
Carol’s lawyer pipes up. “Your Honor, I’d like you to at least consider a joint custody arrangement with my client—”
“Your client has forfeited her right to joint custody or visitation by locking this child in an empty room, denying him his insulin and beating his biological mother into a bloody pulp for the last twelve years,” Judge Luu snaps.
Joaquin says, “The second choice. Please. The second one. I want to live with Jazz.�
�
“All right. That’s what we’ll do, then.” To me, she says, “You need to remember that this could have happened sooner if you’d learned to advocate for yourself as insistently as you’ve advocated for your son. I’m going to mandate weekly trauma counseling for both of you—separately—as a stipulation to this custody arrangement.” I feel like it hurts her to look at me, like she understands the whole thing way too well. She goes on, “He’s clearly an exceptional young man. Despite his taste in music.” She twinkles her eyes at him, and I feel the breath whoosh out of me in a huge gush of relief. Somehow, I register that Sarah has her hand on my back again, but the only thing I care about is the overwhelming peace that makes me feel like I could float away. I can’t remember a moment of my life where I wasn’t worried about Joaquin. Is this what the rest of the people in this world feel like? Is this what it feels like to just...be?
52
CAROL
THE SUN IS setting when Carol pulls her car into her driveway. Her body is vibrating with anger.
Jasmine finally did it. This has been her plan this whole time, to steal Joaquin. No one sees how manipulative, how conniving Jasmine really is, poisoning Joaquin against her over all those years until this was the only possible outcome.
Carol lets herself out of the car, slams the door and crunches through dead grass to the front door. A pretty gift basket is set in front of the metal screen, a baby blue ribbon looped through the cellophane wrapping. Carol pulls the card out of the ribbon and opens it.
It’s a pink card with the words Jesus is always with you written in calligraphy next to a white dove.
She opens it. In elegant cursive, a message reads, We’re all with you in the Spirit. Stay strong. Where two or more agree, there also is He. It’s signed, Your brothers and sisters in Christ.
Tears well up in Carol’s eyes. Without her church family, she doesn’t know how she would have survived the years of spiritual assault from Jasmine. It’s been a supernatural battle between good and evil, and evil has won for now. She can feel the Enemy rejoicing.
