Page 108 of Drawing Home
Carter shook his head as if they’d been over this a dozen times already—which they probably had. He took off his glasses and looked at Emma.
“That’s not going to cut it, Andrew. My client is not willing to leave his minor child unsupervised for twelve hours a day—a lack of parental control that resulted in an accident that left her with a broken leg. In addition to that is the fact that your client has ignored the advice of the child’s psychiatrist to medicate in order to treat her obsessive-compulsive disorder, which leaves the child suffering unnecessarily. Your client has showed a reckless disregard for the child’s safety and well-being.”
Emma turned to Andrew. Reckless disregard? Was he serious?
Someone knocked on the door and before anyone could respond, an officer of the court poked his head in.
“Can I speak to counsel?”
Andrew and Mark’s attorney conferred in the doorway. Emma glanced at Mark. His expression was wounded, as ifshewere the one doing this tohim. How unbelievable that she had once loved this man. He had held her hand while she gave birth, and now he was trying to destroy her life. Because that is what it would do if she lost Penny. How had she gotten into this position? How had things gone so terribly off course?
The house.
She should have known the day Henry Wyatt’s lawyer showed up that it was too good to be true. She was Cinderella and the clock was striking midnight.
The lawyers returned to the table and packed up their paperwork.
“The judge is calling us in,” Andrew said to her.
She followed him back into the hallway, Mark and his lawyer a few feet behind them. Again, the long walk, the clacking of her heels. Andrew stopped in front of an elevator. Mark took the stairs.
“What does this mean?” she whispered to Andrew.
“The judge will want to make sure both parties understand what happens if we can’t come to an agreement today. He’s going to really stress how beneficial it would be—not just for you, but for the child—to get this settled.”
“Can we?”
“Your ex isn’t budging. So unless you want to give in—and obviously you don’t—I’m afraid not.”
Courtroom B was on the second floor. Outside the door, a list of cases being litigated that day. She spottedMapson v. Mapson.
Inside, the room was smaller than she’d expected but otherwise exactly like the courtrooms she’d seen on television. Lots of wood paneling; long benches for seating. A wooden divide up front with a low swinging door and, beyond that, the elevated bench area for the judge. The only people in the room were a court officer and a stenographer.
Emma followed Andrew down the center aisle and sat next to him in the second row. Across the aisle, Mark took his place next to his attorney.
Andrew checked his phone. The gesture shocked her. How could he think of anything except what was about to happen in that room? She rubbed her hands together. They were like ice.
The court officer announced the Honorable Gerald K. Walker, and a man with brown hair threaded with silver and a ruddy complexion took to the bench. Judge Walker spoke to the court officer and then called Andrew and Mark’s attorney to the front. They seemed to talk for a long time, though it was probably less than five minutes. Annoying phone habit aside, she felt better when Andrew was beside her and was relieved when he finally slid back into his seat.
“Ms. Mapson, Mr. Mapson. Your attorneys have advised me you are not reaching a settlement today. I encourage you to go back to conference and give it one last try. Otherwise, we will set a date for trial. We will have to establish home visits and I will assign a court psychologist to interview the minor child. The trial date will be roughly six months from now—”
Something captured the judge’s attention. He narrowed his eyes, glaring at the back of the room.
“Ma’am, this is a closed hearing.”
Everyone turned, and Emma gasped. Bea made her way down the aisle, dressed in a red, black, and white Chanel suit with ropes and ropes of pearls. She was a peacock in a roomful of pigeons. She marched forward like it was a royal court and she was queen.
“Your Honor, I do apologize. But I need to speak.”
“You can wait outside and speak to counsel.” He glanced at his desk, jotted something down, and then dismissed everyone. Bea turned on her heel and walked out of the room, followed by Mark and his lawyer.
“Who was that?” Andrew said to her.
“Bea Winstead. She was a longtime friend of the man who left my daughter the house. She’s the one who has been staying there.”
“What’s this all about?”
Emma shook her head. “I havenoidea.”
