Mr. Powell breezes to the table. He seems out of breath and a little excited.
“The defense would like to call a witness.”
“Have we approved the witness?” Todd’s lawyer, Shea Markham counters.
“You have. He’s on the list.”
“Proceed.” Judge Wilson waves her hand as if to say let’s get on with it.
“Thank you,” Mr. Powell says. “The defense would like to call Mr. Samuel Kermit Lawson, also known as Skeet Lawson, as a witness.”
I clutch the table convinced I didn’t hear what I thought I heard. Skeet is here?
My eyes blink back tears as I watch him walk to the stand, dressed in a suit.
A suit!
Murmurs erupt in the courtroom as in disbelief. Skeet is a living legend, respected by the whole industry. He’s been a mentor to so many.
Like Levi.
Could it be?
I turn slightly, not wanting it to appear as if I’m looking for anyone else to arrive. The big, wooden double doors at the rear of the courtroom remain still. No other entrant at this time.
The small wiggle of hope at possibly seeing Levi disappears as the seconds tick by.
I watch as Skeet’s sworn in. Samuel Kermit to be exact. He never told me his name was Samuel. Like my Sam.
Skeet walks to the witness chair and sits. Really sits. He’s not perched like usual. No, he settles into the chair like he’s ready to be there for a while.
I lift my gaze toward him. His eyes are calm. Smiling almost. Like he’s glad to be here.
I’m glad he’s here. Thrilled, to be exact.
My lawyer starts his questioning. It seemed foreign to my ears to hear someone so respected say nice things about me. Skeet sings my praises. Not literally, of course.
After sitting next to me, Mr. Powell pats the top of my hand. I look over, and he mouths the words, “This is good. Great.”
Todd’s lawyer stands.
“Mr. Lawson, how long have you known Summer Sinclair?”
“I think I’ve already answered this question. But I’ll do so again since you might be hard of hearin’. I’ve known Summer almost one year.”
Snickers are heard, and I can’t help but smile. Ms. Markham doesn’t seem to be amused. “Mr. Lawson. You’ve admitted to knowing Summer Sinclair slightly less than a year. How then can you counter years of patterned behavior?”
Skeet folds his hands together. “With all respect to you, I don’t know why you’re tryin’ to hang onto the past. I thought I was brought here to talk about Summer Sinclair and her future. She’s a bright young woman with a fine life ahead of her.”
The clicking sounds of Ms. Markham’s heels stop as she plants herself in front of Skeet. “Ms. Sinclair has a past full of making bad decisions. Decisions that aren’t beneficial to her son. That’s what we’re deciding here today, Mr. Lawson. What’s best for Ms. Sinclair’s son.”
Skeet straightens his tie before looking at Ms. Markham. “What’s best for her son is to be with his mother. I’ve seen a lot of things in my lifetime. A lot of love, a lot of hate. A lot of in between, too. And if wisdom comes with age, then you need to listen to me, ’cause I’m an old man. There’s a certain kind of look when a mother is with her child. Something special in the eye. It’s not gonna happen when a mother doesn’t care, or has more important things on her mind.
“Summer is a woman who loves her son. She’s spent the last months digging hard to find her future. To make a life for her son. She’s a woman who loves the Lord. She’s on the right track in her life now. She knows what’s important. So if you think you’re earnin’ your money today by tryin’ to keep that little one from his momma, you need to start thinkin’ in a different direction.”
The courtroom is silent.
Stunned is probably more like it.
“Thank you, Mr. Lawson,” Ms. Markham says. She then makes her way to her chair.
Skeet looks at the judge, who nods.
“You can step down now, Mr. Lawson.”
“Mighty fine. Thank you.”
Skeet steps down from the witness stand. He slowly walks across the room. As he walks by me, he smiles, then winks.
He’s gone before I can respond. I blink back tears.
Mr. Powell pats my hand again.
I’m not sure what his message is this time because he doesn’t mouth any words. If I had to guess, I would say he’s letting me know he did a good thing by getting Skeet here.
And I would have to agree.
We all rise as the judge enters the courtroom. Her decision is made.
I’m a little shaky as I take my seat. Skeet’s remarks and those of a few family members were the only thing I had going for me. The judge’s expression never changed, so I couldn’t tell what had affected her and what had not.
“Ms. Sinclair, Mr. Torrent, please rise.”
Barely settled into my chair, I shoot up, gripping the table with my finger tips for support.
“This was a difficult case for me to decide. I have no doubt in my mind that Ms. Sinclair loves her son. However, I do have other doubts. I have behavioral patterns that run the course of years with only a recent stint away from the spotlight and troubles that have seemed to follow Ms. Sinclair. On the other hand, I have Mr. Torrent, who has had a stable background and has seemed to make the care of his son his top priority since his birth.”
My knees are now shaking badly. My fingertips are red, their grip pushing into the table. I know this isn’t going my way. I can feel it.
“Therefore, it’s my decision and opinion that the custody of Samuel Todd Sinclair be given to his natural father, Todd Torrent. Ms. Sinclair will have scheduled unsupervised visitations which are outlined in the papers. I thank everyone for their time and courtesy during these proceedings. This court is adjourned.”
Instantly I feel hands on my back, around my shoulders. Murmurs of “I’m sorry” surround me. I turn to look past my lawyer, past my family. I don’t see Skeet anywhere.
I want to thank him for coming here. For doing what he could.
I feel like he’s my only true friend.
I’m standing in front of the microwave waiting on popcorn to finish popping.
This is about all I think my stomach can handle for dinner. The courtroom proceedings earlier today had taken any true appetite I may have had.
I still feel a little numb.
Just as I pour the popcorn into a bowl the intercom buzzes. I prepare myself for Reggie’s raspy, deep voice. And yes, he looks like his voice. Intimidating. That’s why I hired him for the guard house. If anyone can keep people out, it’s Reggie.
“Ms. Sinclair. There’s a gentleman requesting entrance. His name is Skeet Lawson.”
My heart jumps. Skeet! I had tried to call him a couple of times after the hearing, but his phone kept going to voicemail.
I walk over to the intercom. “Yes. Let him in. Thanks, Reggie.”
As much as I want to be excited, the overwhelming events of this afternoon have drained me. As I step onto the wide veranda, with its arched columns, I see a town car coming up the concrete drive.
A uniformed man exits the car before opening the back door for Skeet. I scoot down the steps. Skeet’s arms open wide, and I embrace him.
Tears stream down my face. “Thank you,” I manage to whisper.
The hug ends. He points his finger at me. “Now don’t you go making a fuss. No used in gettin’ all worked up. Not over me, anyways.”
I wipe the tears off of my face with the back of my hand. “Thank you for everything you did today.”
His expression looks sad. “Didn’ do much good, I’m afraid.”
“It did my heart good. You were the only bright spot.”
The driver waves his hand at Skeet. “Mr. Lawson. Here’s my card. Call when you’re ready to leave.” The driver hands Skeet a business card.
“Will do, young man.”
The ‘young’ man, who’s probably in his
forties, winks at me and holds out another business card. I ignore him and grab Skeet’s forearm as we walk to the house.
“I can’t tell you what it means to me to have you here.”
“I’m glad to be here. This is some kind of fancy place you have.” He stops walking.
“It’s my monstrosity.”
“You can’t see the whole place in one look. Mighty big. Too big for the likes of me.”
He starts moving. We walk inside.
“Can I get you anything?” I ask. “Are you hungry? Thirsty?”
“Whoa. Slow down there, young’un. My brain thinks on a slower level than you up and comers. I wouldn’t mind havin’ me a cold drink.”
A cold drink I can do. “Right this way.”
Taking Skeet past the living and dining rooms we enter the kitchen. The popcorn still sits on the island. “What would you like?”
“Plain old water would be nice.”
I grab a plastic glass, fill it with ice, then water. “Let’s go outside and sit. It’s not too hot if we sit in the shade.”
Skeet opens the door while I retrieve my popcorn. The patio is covered. The pool shimmers sparkly blue and silver. We settle at the patio table. Well, I settle in. Just like in Georgia and not like the courtroom, Skeet perches on the edge of the chair. I slide his glass in front of him.
“Real nice place you have.”
“Thank you.”
“Seems right relaxin’.”
“That’s because my mother isn’t here.”
We laugh.
“How is your brother doing?” I dig into my popcorn.
Skeet’s eyes lose their sparkle momentarily. “He passed away. Just could never fully recover. It’s a blessing, if you ask me. He’s now with the good Lord instead of suffering here.”
“I’m sorry. I know you were close to him.”
He smiles, his tanned, wrinkly face full of laugh lines. “I’ll see him again. Sooner than later.”
I put my hand on his arm. “Don’t say those things. I have so much to learn from you.”
“You better be a quick learner, then.”
The popcorn tastes salty and buttery. This is the first sense of feeling I’ve had since the verdict earlier today. Maybe the numbness is starting to wear off. Maybe the hurt of being told you aren’t fit to take care of your son goes away eventually.
I didn’t want to be around my mother or my sister. Honestly, I’m not sure if half of their testimony didn’t help render the verdict. Todd’s lawyer had made a mess out of Valentine and her book. She had been reduced to tears and mumblings by the time Ms. Markham was through.
But Skeet is different.
Skeet digs around his suit pocket. He brings out what looks like a CD case and lays it on the table in front of me. “I brought you something.”
I stare at the CD. “What is it?”
“Why don’t you look and see?”
After sliding the case in front of me I pry it open. A shiny CD sits in the case with the words Summer’s Song scrawled across it. “I don’t understand.”
“It’s a demo. A demo of Levi’s new CD.”
I don’t want to cry anymore today. But it looks like I’m going to lose that battle as tears slide down my cheeks.
“Now, come on, here. Don’t cry.”
Forcing myself to turn the tear-faucet off isn’t easy, but I do. Then I wipe my cheeks with the back of my hand. “I miss him so much.”
“You’re too pretty to spend too much time cryin’, so why don’t you call him and tell him?”
“Because I can’t. I can’t take him back to that life he doesn’t want to lead.”
He smiles. “I believe my girl has learned something.”
“It hurts.”
He picks at a non-existent speck on the table. “Levi’s been working hard on this CD. It’s the best one he’s made so far.”
Another stream of tears threatens, but I do keep these at bay. “I’m glad for him. He was struggling with it.”
“He told me he was greatly inspired.”
I focus my gaze at the pool. I’m sure my face is flushing again. I’m such a mess today. I have to change the subject. “I sold out.”
“What?”
I turn to look at him. “I sold out. I made their CD. Their songs, their beats.”
“Now you’re through with them, right?”
At least one good thing has happened. “Yes. I am through. No more Feline recordings.”
“Good. Now you can go on and do the things you want to do. Sing the songs you want to sing.”
The man doesn’t judge. He doesn’t think badly of me. What would Levi think?
He’ll know soon enough. When my CD is released. One click on the Internet and he’ll be able to hear any song he wants.
Skeet pulls his cell phone and the driver’s card out of his pocket. “I need to be headin’ on now. Got me a little more business to take care of, then it’s back home.”
He speaks to the driver, then looks at me. “He’ll be ’round in a couple of minutes.”
“Come on, I’ll walk you out.”
We walk in silence to the front door.
“You keep in touch, now you hear?” he says.
“I will. And thank you again. It really means a lot that you came to my hearing. You’ll never know.”
“I know what I know. You’ve got a bright future ahead of you, young’un.”
“I hope so.”
We walk down the steps to the waiting car. We hug. I don’t want to let go, but I do.
The car drives away, leaving me standing alone. The warm California sun shines; the sky is blue.
It’s time.
Time for me to be fudge.
Real, honest to goodness, homemade fudge.
Chapter Twenty Two
“Summer, so good to see you again. Now we’re on my turf, though. Don’t you love the way they’ve redone the set? It’s much more to my liking.” Meghan Cascade is whispering so the audience can’t hear what we are saying.
I breeze along with Meghan Cascade amidst applause to the chairs that are set up on the stage. Warm colors of soft beige, light greens and creams make up the new décor. “It does look nice,” I whisper back.
“Nice? Ha! It rocks, and you know it. Puts the viewer in a relaxed state where they can enjoy my guests. You see, the guests, not the furnishings, provide the drama on the Meghan Cascade show.”
Not this guest.
But I don’t say anything. I’ll let her see for herself. I had set one condition before the interview. Meghan can’t bring up Valentine’s book. Meghan didn’t seem upset about it. Actually the book isn’t selling well, which probably has a lot to do with Meghan’s agreeability. I also brought my guitar which did unsettle her a little. I know she’s counting on the dance tune number I am supposed to perform, but I’ve already handled that with the producer.
We settle into the chairs. The stagehands will be over in a few minutes to get us all miked up.
“I see you’re still looking a little toned down. Is that on purpose?”
I know her purpose and my purpose are not the same. “It’s just who I am.”
“Really?”
She’s got an I’m-not-believing-you-for-a-minute look.
“Really,” I reply.
“I thought your whole court ordeal was over. You don’t need to butter anyone up.”
“I know.”
Two guys with black shirts and pants come over and hook all the microphones up.
“Five, four, three, two, we’re live!”
“Hello. Welcome to the Meghan Cascade show. I’d like to welcome my guest, Summer Sinclair!”
The audience claps, and I hear shouts of “I love you, Summer” above the applause.
“Hi, Meghan. It’s good to be here.”
We literally have to wait for a couple of minutes before the clapping stops.
“Wow. You’ve been out of the public eye for a little while now, and it see
ms your fans have missed you.”
We sit through another couple of minutes of applause. The audience apparently agrees with Meghan. And I do appreciate my fans. I really do. I just hope they can appreciate who I’ve become.
“Thank you,” I say, as the audience quiets.
“So, Summer. Your absence didn’t lose you any fans. They are still loyal and waiting for the day your new CD is released. Why don’t you tell us a little about it?”
“The new CD will be released soon. I don’t think we’ll disappoint anybody. It’s got a lot of great dance tunes on it. As well as a ballad or two.”
“What inspired this CD?”
Meghan, get ready to say hello to the new Summer. “My decision to be cardboard.”
Meghan’s smile doesn’t falter, but her eyes are flitting back and forth maybe trying to digest if she thinks I said what I said.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you.”
“My decision to be cardboard.” I enunciate each word and speak louder.
I suppose she has no course of action but to react. So she laughs. Really loud. “I guess you know I’m going to ask you to explain.”
While I have a new outlook on life, there’s no need to be disrespectful. “It’s a long story, but let’s just say it’s a great thing for the fans. They are really going to love this CD.”
The audience claps again.
This is the first time I’ve been in front of my fans since I had the breakdown last year. Their devotion and dedication brings tears to my eyes. It’s so crazy, this fan thing. They don’t need to look up to me. Or clap for me for that matter. I’m suddenly uncomfortable in an environment I couldn’t live without a year ago.
“I must say your answer caught me off guard.”
I turned the tables on her, is what she probably wants to say. This is how she gets the drama out of her guests. Today, the drama is on her.
“I thought,” she continues, “you were going to tell me Levi Preston had something to do with what inspired you.”
Meghan Cascade hasn’t lost her touch. I can feel my eyes grow wide and my face burn at the mention of his name.
And Meghan is a much better woman than I am. At least she had a comeback when I threw her. I, on other hand, am speechless. Totally speechless.
Summer's Song Page 21
