Jimmy

by Robert Whitlow

  “You’re not going to open this box no matter what it is,” Mama interrupted. “You don’t want any gifts from Mrs. Horton.”

  Recognition flashed across Max’s face. “Is it from Jimmy’s birth mother?” he blurted out.

  “Yes,” Mama replied curtly. “And this is no time to start accepting gifts from her. I’ll call UPS and have it sent back.”

  Jimmy, fascinated by the possibility of a BB gun, eyed the brown box.

  “Could we find out what it is? It has my name on it.”

  “No!” Mama answered with such force that Jimmy stepped back. “This is not a true gift. It’s something she’s doing to help her case in court.”

  “Max told me about the hearing,” Jimmy said.

  Mama stared hard at Max.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Mitchell,” Max said, looking at his shoes. “I didn’t realize that you hadn’t told Jimmy about it and opened my big mouth when we got to the courthouse. Then Mr. Long came up and explained some stuff to us. He didn’t seem worried.”

  “He didn’t?” Mama asked.

  “Uh, he seemed confident.”

  “I hope he’s not overconfident,” Mama replied. “You boys go into the backyard and play with Buster. He’s been barking since you left on your bike ride.”

  Jimmy eyed the box. “It might be a BB gun.”

  Mama gave him a fierce look. Jimmy fled from the kitchen with Max close behind him.

  JIMMY AND MAX TOSSED A FOOT BALL BACK AND FORTH WITH Buster playing the role of defensive player. Max could throw a perfect spiral that landed softly in Jimmy’s arms. Jimmy’s passes were much less predictable; however, Max enjoyed diving for the ball and pretending that he was stretching for the goal line. Buster would jump on Max’s head or back to tackle him.

  Daddy got home and started a fire in the grill. At Jimmy’s request, hamburgers and hot dogs were the birthday menu. Jimmy wanted to ask Daddy about the package from his birth mama but wasn’t sure how to bring it up. Max went inside to go to the bathroom. When he returned, he came up close to Jimmy.

  “Your parents are talking about the gift from your birth mother,” he said.

  “What are they saying?”

  “Oh, they’re talking about why she sent it and deciding when to send it back. It’s not complicated, but parents have to make a big deal out of stuff. They’ll talk for hours about something that should be over in thirty seconds.”

  “Wasn’t it nice of her to send me a birthday present?” Jimmy asked.

  “I thought you didn’t want to see her or spend the night at her house. Now you’re saying she’s nice. What’s going on with you?”

  “People don’t send birthday presents unless they like you.”

  “But she’s never sent you a Christmas or birthday gift before.”

  Jimmy paused. “Maybe she did.”

  “No way,” Max scoffed. “Your mama is right. Your birth mother just wants to make herself look good in front of the judge at the hearing. If your parents return the gift, she can’t claim that she’s done anything nice for you. My mom says it’s not right for a parent to abandon a child and then come back years later and try to get involved.”

  Jimmy shook his head. “I wish I was smarter.”

  “You’re plenty smart about the things that matter,” Max answered. “Go out for another pass. I’ll throw it close to the tree beside the garden.”

  GRANDPA AND GRANDMA ARRIVED AS DADDY TOOK THE hamburgers and hot dogs off the grill. Jimmy stacked their two gifts carefully beside Max’s present. The package from his birth mama was nowhere in sight. They ate supper in the sunroom that was shaded by trees in the late afternoon and cooled by the house’s air-conditioning system. While they ate, Grandpa answered Max’s questions about pole climbing. The subject of the missing gift didn’t come up.

  Mama had baked a chocolate cake with white icing, Jimmy’s favorite cake. On top, she’d written, “Happy Birthday, Jimmy,” and beneath his name drawn a crude picture of a boy and a dog.

  “That’s me and Buster,” Jimmy said.

  “I’m glad you can tell,” Mama said. “I’m not as talented as Aunt Jill.”

  Walt’s family hadn’t been invited to the party this year.

  After devouring a healthy slab of cake, he opened his presents—a soccer ball from Max, a shirt from Grandma, a tackle box from Grandpa, a retractable leash from Buster, a backpack with his initials on it from Mama, and a new University of Georgia cap from Daddy.

  That night Mama fixed a soft mat on the floor for Max. After she left the room, Jimmy took out the pictures of Vera and showed them to Max.

  “Where did you get these?” Max asked.

  “Mama gave me these three, and I borrowed the other two from Walt.”

  Max studied the faces in the light. “You can tell from her face that she’s your birth mother.”

  “What do you think about her now?” Jimmy asked.

  Max looked up at Jimmy. “You want to meet her, don’t you?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  After they turned off the lights and lay down, Jimmy stared at the ceiling. It was made of hundreds of tiny, thin boards. A full moon cast a pale light into the room.

  “Max,” he whispered, “are you awake?”

  “Yes.”

  “What do you think about me climbing the pole?”

  “I think it’s awesome,” Max said.

  “What does that mean?”

  “That you’re a great pole climber.”

  Jimmy smiled into the darkness. Max always told him the truth.

  “Do you want to see how far I’ve climbed?” he asked.

  “Yes. Could we go over to your grandpa’s house sometime? I’d like to do it too.”

  “I’ll ask Mama.”

  They lay silent for a minute.

  “Do you think there was a BB gun in the box from my birth mama?” Jimmy asked.

  “Maybe, but you’ll never know.”

  “Where do you think they put the box?”

  “Underneath their bed. That’s where my parents put stuff they don’t want me and my sister to find.”

  “Do you think my mama’s still mad about it? She didn’t seem upset when we said our prayers.”

  “It’s hard to tell with parents,” Max replied. “Lots of times they hide what they’re really thinking.”

  Jimmy counted the tiny boards until he fell asleep.

  — Twenty-one —

  Jimmy was wearing his Sunday clothes. Only it wasn’t Sunday. He and Mama sat in Daddy’s office while Mr. Long and Daddy talked in the conference room to the other people who were going to testify at the hearing. On the credenza behind Daddy’s desk was a small piece of equipment about the size of a TV remote. Jimmy picked it up and showed it to Mama.

  “What is this?” he asked.

  Mama was sitting in a chair tapping her foot rapidly against the carpet. She’d spent more time getting dressed today than when they went to church on Easter.

  “It’s a tape recorder,” she answered briskly. “Daddy talks into it, then gives it to Delores so she can type letters for him.”

  “Can I talk into it?”

  “Uh, sure. I’ll make sure the tape is blank.”

  Mama checked the tape and showed him how to push down a red button on the side of the unit.

  “Now talk,” she said.

  “Where?”

  “Into the end of the recorder. It has a tiny microphone in it.”

  Jimmy held it up to his lips and smiled at Mama.

  “I have the prettiest, nicest mama in the whole world. I love her very much.”

  “Stop, Jimmy,” Mama said. “If you make me cry, it will ruin my makeup.”

  “I know you feel sad today, so I want to make you happy.”

  “I’ll be happy once this day is over and we’ve won the case.”

  She took the recorder from him.

  “Do you want to hear what you said?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

>   “Press the rewind button.”

  Mama positioned Jimmy’s finger on the correct button. He pushed down, and the tape quickly wound back to the beginning.

  “Now press the play button.”

  Mama moved Jimmy’s finger up.

  “Push here to play and here to stop.”

  Jimmy pushed down. There was silence for a couple of seconds, then a voice spoke.

  “I have the prettiest, nicest mama in the whole world. I love her very much.”

  Jimmy pushed the stop button.

  “Who is that?” he asked.

  “That’s you.”

  “It doesn’t sound like me.”

  “It sounds different because you hear yourself inside your head. To everyone else, your voice is like the sound on the tape. Push the play button again.”

  Jimmy pushed the button.

  “Stop, Jimmy. If you make me cry, it will ruin my makeup.”

  “That’s you!” Jimmy exclaimed.

  “Yes. And you’re a very sweet boy to say such a nice thing about me.”

  Jimmy returned the recorder to its place on the credenza. Max’s mother, Mrs. Cochran, came into the room.

  “Are you ready?” she asked Mama.

  “I hope so.”

  Mrs. Cochran smiled at Jimmy. “How about you? What are you going to say today when Mr. Long asks you questions?”

  Jimmy raised his right hand high in the air.

  “The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. We’ve been practicing every day this week. Mr. Long asks me questions, and then Daddy pretends he is the other lawyer and tries to trick me. Mr. Long says I’m doing great and don’t have to worry about saying the wrong thing.”

  Mama’s foot started tapping up and down again. “I wish I could be so confident.”

  “Are Lee’s parents going to be here?” Mrs. Cochran asked.

  “No, his father’s heart isn’t in the best shape.”

  Daddy stuck his head into the office. He’d put on his fanciest suit and neatly combed his hair.

  “We need to leave in five minutes.”

  “Are the other witnesses ready?” Mama asked.

  Daddy nodded. “Bruce and I have mock-tried this hearing over the past three months more than a million-dollar personal-injury case.”

  “There’s more than a million dollars at stake,” Mama responded.

  The group set out for the courthouse. It was a cloudless, sunny morning that promised a scorching afternoon. Daddy, Mr. Long, and Dr. Meyer, the psychologist from Atlanta, led the way. Mama, Mrs. Cochran, Dr. Paris, and Jimmy followed.

  “Did you bring any vanilla wafers with peanut butter on them?” Jimmy asked Dr. Paris as they waited for the crosswalk light to turn green.

  Dr. Paris patted her purse with a red-tipped finger. “There might be something in here to eat when we take a break.”

  They crossed the street and turned right toward the courthouse. Mama positioned Jimmy between herself and Max’s mom.

  “Sue, if she tries to come up and talk to Jimmy, put him behind us until Lee can intervene,” Mama said to Mrs. Cochran. “She doesn’t have any legal right to communicate with him. If she tries to touch him, I’m not sure what I’ll do.”

  “You’ll keep cool,” Mrs. Cochran responded. “This is a one-day challenge. Try to imagine how relieved you’ll be by this time tomorrow. Letting the pressure of the moment overwhelm you is the greatest danger you face. Lee and Bruce have assured us the law is on your side.”

  “I know. Lee has tried hard to reassure me. He even brought home some appellate court decisions for me to read, but no matter how a judge in Atlanta interprets the law, it doesn’t erase the fact that she’s trying to take away my baby.”

  They reached the courthouse steps. Mr. Long held the door open for everyone to enter.

  “We’re in courtroom two,” Daddy said. “It’s down this hall on the right.”

  The interior of the courthouse was as plain as the outside. The hallway, with its tile floors and its concrete-block walls painted a cream color, reminded Jimmy of the area near the science labs at the middle school. Small brown signs were glued to the wall beside each door. They passed the office for the clerk of probate court and approached the magistrate court area. Chairs lined the wall on both sides of the entrance. A dozen or so people in work clothes were sitting in the chairs or milling around the door. Everyone looked up as the well-dressed people came by. A man came out of a door and touched Daddy on the arm. Daddy shook his head and kept walking. Jimmy saw that the man had a snake tattoo coiling up his arm. When Jimmy passed by him, they locked eyes. The man didn’t smile.

  “Mama, the man with the tattoo is here.”

  “Who?”

  “From the other time I came to court.”

  Mama glanced around. The man stared down the hall after them.

  “That’s Jake Garner,” Mama said. “He was Daddy’s client in the case.”

  “Yes, I know. Why is he here?”

  “I have no idea. All I care about are the people involved in our case.”

  They reached the double doors for courtroom two and went inside.

  COURT ROOM TWO WAS THE SAME PLACE WHERE JIMMY offered testimony in the Jake Garner trial. Fifteen long wooden benches, split down the middle by a broad aisle, provided seating. The bar, stained the same color as the benches, stretched across the courtroom and separated the witnesses and any spectators from the parties and their lawyers. No one else was present. Daddy looked at his watch.

  “Everyone sit on this bench,” he said, motioning to the front bench on the left side of the room. “We can all be here for the preliminary discussions, but once we start the hearing, all the witnesses except for Jimmy and me will be sequestered.”

  Jimmy sat next to Mama and scooted close to her like he did at church.

  “I won’t be able to be with you,” she said. “You’ll sit next to Daddy at the table with Mr. Long.”

  “Why can’t you stay?”

  “Because I’ve never adopted you.”

  “Why not?”

  “I wanted to, but we would have had to notify your birth mama and take her to court to terminate her parental rights. Now that she’s dragged us here, we’re going to ask the judge to do it.”

  When Mama was nervous or upset, she sometimes used words Jimmy didn’t understand. He wasn’t sure what she meant by “terminate her parental rights,” but it sounded like something a doctor might say. A door opened behind the place where the judge sat, and a deputy sheriff entered the courtroom.

  “Is everyone here, Mr. Mitchell?” he asked. “Judge Reisinger is in chambers with Judge Robinson and wants to get an early start.”

  “The petitioner hasn’t shown up,” Daddy answered. “The hearing isn’t set to begin for another five minutes.”

  “I’ll tell the judge.”

  “Why aren’t the other people here?” Jimmy whispered.

  “I don’t know,” Mama answered.

  “Maybe my birth mama is sick and couldn’t come.”

  “Don’t call her that. Her name is Mrs. Horton.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Jimmy decided it best not to talk any more to Mama. He looked around the courtroom. Daddy and Mr. Long were arranging papers on a table. A woman with a little black box in front of her sat in a chair near the witness stand. The back door opened, and everyone turned around.

  It was Jake Garner. He came forward and stood by Jimmy and Mama. Daddy left the table.

  “What are you doing here?” Daddy asked.

  “I have to be in court for a preliminary hearing on a misdemeanor assault charge in five minutes,” Garner said. “I got in a fight at a bar on the west side. I didn’t start the fight, but I finished it. I’d like to be able to tell the judge that you’ll represent me.”

  “I can’t talk about it now.”

  “I’ve called your office every day this week, and you didn’t return my calls.”

  “That ought
to tell you something,” Daddy said. “Look. I don’t have time to take your case. Check with someone else. You’ve got money to hire a lawyer. Dean Stanley would be a good choice.”

  “So that’s how it is,” Jake said angrily. “You get what you want out of me and then kick me into the street.”

  “Not now,” Daddy said firmly. “I don’t have time to help you.”

  The deputy returned.

  “Any word from the other side?” he asked.

  Daddy turned away from Jake.

  “No,” he said.

  The deputy closed the door.

  Daddy faced Jake. “I’m not doing any criminal defense work unless appointed by the judge. Call Stanley. His number is in the phone book.”

  Garner stared hard at Daddy for a second, then turned around and left the courtroom. Daddy returned to the table.

  “Why was he mad at Daddy?” Jimmy asked.

  “He’s gotten into trouble again, and Daddy doesn’t want to help him.”

  “Why not?”

  “Not now,” Mama whispered.

  A young, athletic-looking man with dark, curly hair entered the courtroom. Everyone in the courtroom stood up.

  “I’m Judge Reisinger,” the man said. “Please be seated. Will the lawyers approach the bench?”

  Daddy and Mr. Long went forward and shook the judge’s hand. Jimmy couldn’t hear what they were saying, but the judge pointed at the clock at the back of the courtroom. Jimmy turned around to look, and when he did the back doors opened and a well-dressed woman entered. Walking beside her with his hand on her back was a man. Behind the man and woman were two men dressed in suits. One of the men wearing a suit opened the waist-high gate in the bar.

  “Your Honor,” he announced. “I’m Bob Jasper, counsel for Mrs. Lonnie Horton, the petitioner in this case. Sorry we’re late. There was a wreck on I-20, and we sat in traffic for thirty minutes while it was cleaned up.”

  Jimmy turned sideways as his birth mother reached the end of the bench where he sat. She looked like the woman in the photographs, only older. Her hair was wavy, and she was taller than he thought. She was slender and wore red lipstick.

  Their eyes met, and Jimmy saw recognition flash across her face. She moved toward Jimmy along the open space in front of the bench behind him. Her lips turned up in a nice smile, and she raised her hand in a simple wave.