Page 18 of Damian & Jun, Episodes 9-12
They checked in at the front desk. An administrator asked them to wait in a small area of uncomfortable chairs. There were two other people already waiting. Damian opted to stand. Émeric took a look at the chairs and elected to stand as well. While well built, none of the chairs looked like they would be comfortable for men of their size.
Damian’s phone went off. He checked the screen. One message from Welwick.
He’d known. He’d believed Armada when she’d sat across that small white table bottle-feeding Habibi and told him.
Reading it in black and white hit different.
He held out his phone to Émeric.
Émeric read the text, grimaced, and nodded. “Have Betti and Rue been given physicals?”
Damian shook his head. The fact they even had to think of that was chilling. There were too many things the kids needed. He didn’t have the hours in the day to even start. As it was, he was using Cedric to pick them up.
They were shown into a plain room and given instructions not to make physical contact with Dalia. She wore a standard-issue uniform. The years had aged her. Her hair was pulled back in an elastic band. There was a cut under her left eye. Her hands were folded in front of her on the table, showing all her knuckles were bruised.
She stared at Damian first, then at Émeric. “This my lawyer?”
“No. Émeric is family.” Damian pulled out one of the chairs opposite her at the simple metal table. Émeric took the other. Muscle memory took over. Damian unbuttoned his suit jacket as he sat.
Dalia’s eyes tightened. “Ain’t no family I recognize. Where’s my lawyer?”
Damian folded his hands in front of him on the table, the same as if he were in a business meeting. “I’ve been told you’ve been assigned a public defender.”
Dalia’s face twisted into a sneer. “For once in your sorry life, be there for your family. Get a lawyer. If you won’t do it for me, do it for your nieces and nephews.”
“You said you wanted to see me. You didn’t ask me to bring a lawyer. I came.”
Dalia glowered, glancing toward Émeric. “I told you to come. Didn’t say I wanted to see your man toy. I hope you’re not bringing this shit around the kids. I didn’t give my permission for them to see this shit.”
“Émeric is family.”
She sniffed. “I’m your family. This”—she waggled her fingers at Émeric—“this is entertainment. Your dad is your family. Armada and Howser and the rest of the kids are your family. I thought you were smart. Don’t be leaving your own sister to no public defender.”
Sister.
Damian drew in a breath and looked down. But there was no reason to suppress the question inside. He looked back up, straight into her eyes. “Are you my sister?”
The muscles around her eyes flexed. “What kind of bullshit question is that? Got same father, don’t we?”
“But the same mother?”
“Damian Kramer!”
“Sathers.” A spark of anger shot through him. His hands stayed where they were, but his voice changed. “Damian Sathers.”
“Born a Kramer, always a Kramer.”
“No. My name is Sathers.” Damian met Dalia’s glower. “Thaddeus Kramer threw me out. Disowned me, if you don’t remember.”
“He didn’t throw you out; you left us.”
“He accused me of murder.”
Dalia snorted. “You got uppity. He had to get through to you somehow. He wasn’t going to go through with it.”
A dark memory of Thaddeus Kramer staring through the bars of a cell in this very station ran through Damian:
“Let him rot in hell for all I care,” Thaddeus had said before walking away. “In the old times, this would be over.”
