Woman in Blue Read online

  Today’s hearing was to decide whether Kerrie Ann should be allowed overnight visits with her daughter. The final decision on custody was still pending, but this was a crucial step. If the judge deemed her sufficiently reformed and she didn’t blow it, she’d be halfway home. Still, in a life that was more about ifs than whens, Kerrie Ann knew better than to count on anything.

  “Well, since you ask …” Lindsay stepped back to eye her more critically. “I’d lose the bracelets—all that jingling will be a distraction in the courtroom. The necklace, too. It’s a little too …”

  “Bling?” Kerrie Ann supplied.

  Lindsay put it another way: “Do you have anything that isn’t quite so … um, shiny?”

  Kerrie Ann fingered the heart-shaped pendant given to her by Jeremiah. She liked that it was shiny, with her initials spelled out in zircons. Besides, it had sentimental value. “I don’t see what’s wrong with it,” she said, straightening her back and jutting out her chin.

  Lindsay remained firm. “You can borrow my pearls,” she said.

  “And look like somebody’s grandma? No, thanks.” But Lindsay just stood there giving her the Look, as if to say, This is no joking matter. Ordinarily it would have prompted another smart remark, but Kerrie Ann put a lid on it this time. Too much was at stake. “You got anything that’s more my style?” she asked in a meeker tone.

  Lindsay fished around her in her jewelry box before offering a teardrop pendant, gold set with an opal, on a delicate gold chain. “This will look good with what you have on,” she said as she fastened it around Kerrie Ann’s neck.

  “Not half bad,” Kerrie Ann grudgingly conceded as she checked her reflection in the mirror. “Thanks.”

  “No problem. It’s only fair, since you helped me out the other night. Never mind that I nearly went lame in those shoes,” Lindsay groused good-naturedly. “Honestly, I don’t know how you get around in those things. I had to take them off as soon as I got there.”

  Kerrie Ann reached for her makeup kit. “Was that the only thing you took off?” She slanted her sister a coy look as she applied blush to her cheeks. All she’d gotten out of Lindsay so far was that she’d had a “nice time,” which didn’t explain the dreamy-eyed look she’d been wearing all week or the way she went all girlish and secretive whenever Randall phoned.

  “None of your beeswax,” Lindsay retorted, but her reddening cheeks only confirmed Kerrie Ann’s suspicions.

  She would have let it go, but she sensed something was troubling Lindsay. “If you’re feeling guilty, don’t,” she advised. “You’re not the type who cheats on your boyfriend because you want to try out a new flavor. I’m sure it happened for a reason.”

  “And what would that be?” Lindsay eyed her dubiously.

  “Look, all I know is that you were out with a hot guy and came home looking like you got royally—” She broke off at the warning look her sister shot her. “Anyway, I’ve never seen you look that way with Grant.”

  Lindsay threw up her hands. “You and Miss Honi. I swear, sometimes I think you two are in cahoots!”

  Kerrie Ann clicked the compact case shut and swiveled around to face her. “I can have my own opinion, can’t I? Besides, I’ve got nothing against Grant.”

  “But?” Lindsay, hands on hips, waited to hear the rest.

  “Clearly you’re not getting enough.”

  The color in Lindsay’s cheeks deepened. “Does everything have to be about sex?”

  “I don’t mean just sex. But that’s a part of it, too. I mean, without it, what’s the point? You might as well be hanging out with your girlfriends.”

  Lindsay surrendered with a sigh and sank down on the bed. “It’s complicated.”

  Was it, or was she just making it that way? Kerrie Ann wondered. “So did you and Grant have a fight or something?”

  “No, nothing like that.” Lindsay sighed again. “You know how you can be going along and everything’s just fine, then you meet someone and … and suddenly it’s not fine? That’s what happened with Randall. Grant doesn’t know, of course, and that only makes it worse.”

  “So, you gonna break up with him?”

  “Who, Grant?”

  “No, Mahatma Gandhi.”

  Lindsay shrugged, turning her palms up in a helpless gesture. “It’s too soon to say. There’s a lot I still don’t know about Randall—he’s a bit of a mystery in some ways. And with Grant … well, at least I know what I’m getting. It may not be perfect, but it’s enough. Or it was. Should I give all that up just because a meteor came crashing through my roof?”

  “Depends on the size of the meteor,” quipped Kerrie Ann. Lindsay cast her another sharp look, and Kerrie Ann added more seriously, “Isn’t that kind of what happened with us? I sort of landed on you like a meteor.”

  “That’s different—you’re family.”

  “Yeah, but you didn’t know me. And let’s be honest, I wasn’t exactly what you were expecting. But you took a chance on me, anyway. That says something, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes—that I wasn’t going to turn my back on my own sister. This isn’t the same.”

  Kerrie Ann felt warmed by her sister’s words. Did that mean Lindsay was starting to accept her? “Maybe not exactly, but my point is that most of the time, you’re better off just going with your gut. Yeah, I know, it can sometimes get you in trouble when you go off half cocked”—the way she had a habit of doing—“but you can also mess up by overthinking stuff.”

  “Well, there’s no use dwelling on it. I don’t have to decide today.” Lindsay straightened her shoulders and stood up. “You do look nice,” she said, giving Kerrie Ann a final once-over. “I’m glad you decided on that dress.” It wasn’t what Lindsay had picked out for her when they’d gone clothes shopping earlier in the week, a pantsuit that had made her look like a nun in secular clothing. Instead Kerrie Ann had struck a middle ground in choosing a polka-dot wraparound dress that complimented her figure without flaunting it.

  “You mean that?” Kerrie Ann asked.

  Lindsay smiled in a way that softened the angles of her face. “Yes, I do.” She reached up to finger a lock of Kerrie Ann’s hair. “I also think you look better as a blond than with pink hair.”

  Yesterday, with Miss Honi’s help, Kerrie Ann had done a home color job on her hair, doing away with the last of the pink streaks. Not that she didn’t still have a pink streak or two in her, but she’d seen the wisdom in not flaunting her inner wild child before the judge. It wasn’t as big a deal as quitting smoking, which she still struggled with, though the nicotine patches helped, but it made her wonder if there wasn’t a small part of her that was like her sister after all.

  Kerrie Ann took one last look in the mirror, smoothing the front of her dress and applying a sprite of hairspray. It’ll have to do because this is as good as it’s gonna get. Aloud, she said, “I guess we should get going. It’s a long drive, and I don’t want to be late.”

  She wasn’t due in court until three that afternoon, but San Luis Obispo was nearly four hours away by car, and she wanted to leave enough time in case of backed-up traffic or a flat tire. People like Lindsay could afford to show up late for a court date—it was no reflection on their character—but Kerrie Ann had lost that luxury when she’d lost her child.

  Lindsay might have reasoned that it wasn’t going to take six hours even if they had a flat tire along the way, but she only said, “Off we go, then. Why don’t you round up Miss Honi while I go get the car? I’ll meet you out front.”

  In the twelve-step program, Kerrie Ann had learned that you weren’t supposed to pray for anything specific. Prayer, according to the Big Book, wasn’t a Christmas-wish-list type of thing. You were supposed to just pray you’d make it through another day and leave the rest to your higher power. Not that she even knew who or what her higher power was. Growing up, shuttled from one foster home to the next, she’d been exposed to a grab bag of religions—Catholic, Presbyterian, Baptist, Pentecostal, Jewish�
��until about the age of thirteen, when it all became lumped together in her mind as one giant conspiracy with the single purpose of making her conform. It wasn’t until she’d joined the program that she began to see faith in a different light. The words of one of the old-timers, a scruffy ex-con called Big Ed, often rang in her head: “It don’t have to be Jesus. It can be anything you want—God, Mohammed, Buddha, or even freakin’ L. Ron Hubbard. Hell, that doorknob over there.” The bottom line, Big Ed had gone on to say, was that it was yourself you were praying to, the part of you that had gotten you this far and was keeping you on track. And who was to say that wasn’t connected to God somehow?

  So Kerrie Ann prayed. She tried to keep it general, but whenever she sat with her hands clasped in prayer, an image of her little girl rose in her mind. She knew she couldn’t rely on her higher power alone. She had to somehow prove to the judge that she deserved a second chance. Because now, with the Bartholds complicating matters, the stakes were higher than ever. Even wearing the right clothes and saying all the right things, she couldn’t begin to match what they had to offer with their fancy educations and highbrow careers, their nice home, their good standing in the community. And they were black. She knew that judges leaned in favor of placing children with adoptive parents from the same ethnic background. The same rule might apply here.

  And what did she have to offer? Only her ninety-day and six-month chips. She had no career, no savings to speak of, no home of her own, and at the moment no means of transportation. In short, she was in no position to provide for her child.

  Except for one thing …

  “Whatever anyone says, don’t forget you’re her mom,” Ollie had reminded her the other day when they’d been walking on the beach. “And kids belong with their moms.”

  She warmed at the thought of Ollie. These past weeks he’d been doing his best to distract her from her looming court date: baking her special treats, even though she jokingly complained that he was making her fat, and thinking up fun activities. One day he’d taken her to the Boardwalk in Santa Cruz, where they’d ridden the roller coaster, screaming their heads off like a couple of maniacs. Another time he’d taken her to Big Basin State Park to see the giant redwoods. The night before last he’d treated her to dinner at a funky tavern owned by a self-professed film junkie, where they showed old black-and-white movies. That night it had been a ’40s flick starring Bette Davis as a heartless vixen who got hers in the end by perishing in a fiery car wreck. The other patrons had cheered, but Kerrie Ann had taken no pleasure in seeing Bette’s character go up in flames, however much she might have deserved it. She knew what a slippery slope life could be, how one wrong act could lead to another. She was in no position to judge.

  Yesterday after work Ollie had driven her to Mori Point, just north of Blue Moon Bay, where they’d walked the unmarked trail that wound past a freshwater wetland and along craggy ocean bluffs. “You know the scene in Harold and Maude where Harold’s Jag goes off a cliff? They filmed it right here,” Ollie informed her as they stood on one of the bluffs, gazing down at the steep drop-off below, where surf foamed amid the jagged rocks.

  “I don’t think I’ve seen that one,” said Kerrie Ann.

  Ollie looked at her in disbelief. “Dude. That’s tragic.”

  “What, the movie itself or the fact that I haven’t seen it?”

  “Both.” He shook his head. “It should he required viewing.”

  “Well, since I missed it, why don’t you tell me the plot?”

  “It’s about this guy, Harold, who everyone thinks is nuts. Like, he gets his kicks going to the funerals of people he didn’t even know. Anyway, at one of those funerals he meets this kooky old lady named Maude. He’s just a kid, but they fall in love, and then she dies.” Kerrie Ann gave a snort of disgust and Ollie said, “No—it isn’t creepy. They’re kindred spirits, see? That’s what’s so cool about it. The point is, all that other stuff, like what society expects, is totally bogus when two people are meant for each other.”

  “Yeah, but think what would’ve happened if they’d gotten married instead,” Kerrie Ann reasoned. “He would’ve had to go around introducing her as his wife, and then people would’ve thought he was even more nuts than they already did.”

  “So?”

  “So you can only afford to do that when you have nothing to lose.”

  Ollie turned toward her, his eyes searching her face. “Are we still talking about Harold and Maude here?”

  She realized the time had come to tell him. She said with regret, “I like you, Ollie. Not just as a friend. And, who knows, maybe in another time or another place …” She made a vague gesture. “But right now I’m not in a position where I can afford to piss people off. Such as my sister.” She put up her hand, cutting off his protest. “I need her, more than I need you. That’s the plain fact of it. So I think we should cool it for now.”

  Ollie eyed her mournfully. But, always sensitive to her needs, he merely said, “I guess I don’t have a choice, do I?” He added that it was only until she got things sorted out, though, not for good.

  For some reason, Kerrie Ann felt comforted by that thought.

  Her reverie was broken by Miss Honi piping, “I don’t know about you girls, but my stomach is telling me it’s lunchtime. What do you say we pull over for a bite to eat?”

  Kerrie Ann glanced at her watch and saw that it was almost one—they’d been on the road for over three hours. In a short while she’d be due in court. Any appetite she might have worked up fled at the thought. So much was riding on this. If the judge didn’t see her as trustworthy even for something as relatively minor as overnight visits, what chance would she have when it came time to decide who was best equipped to care for Bella?

  They stopped for lunch in Pismo Beach and arrived in San Luis Obispo with time to spare. Kerrie Ann’s lawyer, looking more prosperous than usual in a new navy suit and tie, had arrived ahead of them, and she met with him briefly outside the courtroom while Lindsay and Miss Honi went inside to find seats. Minutes later she stepped through the double doors into her own private version of hell.

  Court was in session and the courtroom packed with the usual motley assortment of people waiting for their cases to be called—lawyers and their clients accompanied by friends and family members, some of whom would be acting as witnesses. But in place of the familiar robed figure of Judge Nickel sat a different judge: a slender, middle-aged black man with close-cropped salt-and-pepper hair. Her heart sank.

  I’m screwed, she thought.

  The only thing in her favor was that her lawyer was black as well. She shot Abel a panicked look as they slid in next to Lindsay and Miss Honi in the back row. He leaned in to murmur, “Judge Nickel had a stroke—it just happened, so it was too late to request a postponement. But don’t worry. I’m told this guy’s fair. He won’t go hard on you just because …”

  “I’m white?” she hissed back.

  Abel gave a somber nod as if to say, Among other things.

  The grave look he wore caused her to grow even more panicky. Was the incident with the Bartholds going to bite her in the ass? There hadn’t been any repercussions—yet—but she didn’t doubt that it had been significant enough for the caseworker to report it.

  Before she could question him about it, the next case was called to the bench: a divorcing couple battling over custody of their two young kids. The wife, a mousy-looking brunette, wore a martyred air while her attorney did all the talking. “Your Honor, my client is a stay-at-home mom who’s devoted her life to her children,” began the gray-haired, grandmotherly lawyer. After extolling her client’s virtues at length, she added, in reference to the kids, “It would be traumatic for them to be uprooted from the only home they’ve known and sent to live with a father who’s so busy working, he scarcely has time for them.”

  Looking at the husband, Kerrie Ann didn’t doubt every word said about him was true. He was a slick-haired, unpleasant-looking man with an even more unpl
easant-looking lawyer. But appearances could be deceiving, she soon learned. “If my client, Mr. Henderson, is too busy working to spend as much time as he’d like with his kids, there’s good reason for it,” countered the husband’s attorney in a voice thick with disdain. “He’s been holding down two jobs to pay off the gambling debts incurred by his wife.” He jabbed a finger at the mousy wife, who shrank down in her seat. “This woman thought nothing of stealing food out of her children’s mouths so she could troll the Internet placing bets while their hardworking father fought to keep the family afloat. She calls herself ‘devoted’? I ask you, Your Honor, where does her devotion lie—with her children … or the online blackjack she was so enamored of?”

  The judge’s stern gaze fell on the red-faced wife. “I’d like to hear from Mrs. Henderson,” he said, motioning for her to rise. When she was standing, he asked in the rumbling voice of Moses calling Pharaoh to account, “And just what do you have to say to these allegations?”

  She stammered, “Your Honor, I … I admit I had a problem at one time.” A nervous glance over her shoulder at her husband. “But I’ve since joined Gamblers Anonymous, and I’ve been clean for over a year. Nothing is more important to me than my kids.”

  The judge appeared unmoved. “If that’s the case, wouldn’t the same have held true when you were gambling away their future?” he said, his eyes flashing with contempt.

  After hearing from witnesses on both sides, including the wife’s sister testifying on the husband’s behalf, he ordered that the couple see a court-appointed mediator before setting a date for the final hearing. In the meantime, temporary custody was awarded to the father.

  Watching the drama play out, Kerrie Ann felt her anxiety slip into full-blown panic. If the judge was that unsympathetic to someone who’d been hooked on blackjack, what would he say to a mother who’d regularly smoked crack in front of her five-year-old?

  She glanced over at her sister, and Lindsay gave her a smile of encouragement. Miss Honi, on Lindsay’s left, was in her mother-bear mode, sitting up straight as if poised to do battle, a fierce look in her eye.