A Family for Tyler. Angel Smits
slip it on. Before she could ask, Rita explained. “Dianne sent it over first thing this morning.”
She’d always loved her judicial robe, and today it felt like the shield she often envisioned it to be. A shield that could protect her from all the hurt and pain that entered her courtroom each day. A shield that kept her emotions hidden from the people sitting in the seats below her bench.
The ritual complete, Emily met her reflection in the door’s glass. Gears in her mind shifted, and she left behind Emily Ivers and became E. J. Ivers, magistrate.
* * *
WYATT DRESSED EACH morning in jeans, a button-down shirt and his hat. Black Stetson in the winter. White straw in the summer. He was a traditional cowboy.
Over the past two weeks, he’d struggled to understand his nephew’s enchantment with T-shirts. Seldom-white T-shirts with words, pictures and at times, sayings that could be taken more than one way. Every day, Tyler pulled the T-shirt down over his worn jeans and slipped on battered tennis shoes that he never tied.
In the kitchen, filling his morning’s first cup, Wyatt leaned against the counter. He had to admit he looked forward to each day’s billboard or insult.
Today, Tyler didn’t disappoint. He came barreling into the kitchen at breakneck speed. Across his thin chest was a tabby cat, ears perked, fangs exposed and claws extended. Wyatt took a deep swallow of his coffee as he read the bold orange words: Stressed out! He smiled. It wasn’t typical for most eight-year-olds. But then, Tyler wasn’t a typical eight-year-old.
Tyler wasn’t exactly stressed, but he was definitely in training to lead a type-A-personality life. The pockets of his jeans bulged and Wyatt wondered what he’d stuffed inside.
“That what you’re wearing to court?” Wyatt asked softly, trying to sound as if it didn’t matter to him. He’d learned that pushing Tyler was like pushing DJ at that age. A waste.
“S’all I got.” Tyler didn’t look at Wyatt. He busied himself dragging a box of cereal out of the cupboard and grabbing the milk carton from the fridge.
“We could stop at the store and pick up a button-down shirt for you. We have time.”
Tyler stilled. “I ain’t got no money.”
“You know, your dad does. We’ll use his.” Wyatt had learned early on that Tyler didn’t like taking money from him. He’d sworn he “wasn’t no charity case.” That backbone would serve Tyler well, later. Wyatt had circumvented the boy by telling him it was DJ’s job to support him. Tyler liked that idea. Wyatt used it all the time now.
“Well, I s’pose I should look businessy.”
The kid seriously needed grammar lessons, but Wyatt knew that was the least of their problems at this point. “Then it’s settled. Hurry and finish breakfast so we can get going.”
“I can wear my jeans, right?” Tyler looked up, panicked, from his cereal.
“Yeah, those are fine.” Wyatt wondered what was important about those particular jeans.
Another thing he’d learned was that Tyler’s emotions weren’t hidden, they just didn’t always make adult sense. Settling in the kitchen chair, Wyatt finished his coffee as Tyler worked out the games on the back of the cereal box.
Again, Wyatt cursed DJ as he reminded himself that DJ didn’t even know he had a son.
Taking care of Tyler until DJ came home was all Wyatt could do right now, and this afternoon’s court date would get that ball rolling. As he looked down at the boy, Wyatt realized it wasn’t enough. But it was all he had.
Tyler was silent the entire trip into town but by the time they reached the courthouse, the new white shirt already had a dirt smudge on one elbow. Wyatt could only shake his head and smile.
Despite the quiet trip, the whole process of getting into the courthouse fascinated Tyler. His eyes grew wide with wonder as they went through security. The guards smiled at his questions, and Wyatt felt an innate sense of pride for his new nephew.
Now both of them stared at the double doors leading into the courtroom. “Well, here we are.” Wyatt spoke with as much reassurance as he could.
“Yep,” Tyler whispered.
“Come on. Let’s get this over with.” The sound of Wyatt’s boots and the scuff of Tyler’s tennis shoes seemed loud as they pushed open the doors and walked across the marble floor.
The courtroom didn’t look at all like the intimidating rooms he’d seen on TV. This room was smaller with only two tables, a desk that sat up on a dais and a high chair, which he presumed was a witness chair. A brass tag on the desk read, E. J. Ivers, magistrate.
“That desk is big.” Tyler’s eyes were still wide with wonder.
“Sure is.” Just then, the young attorney Wyatt had met with a few days ago arrived. She smiled distractedly and guided them to the table on the left.
Soon a woman came in and sat down at a small side desk and a man in a uniform opened a door at the back of the room. The judge entered and the entire mood of the room became formal.
Wyatt saw Tyler swallow, and he resisted the urge himself. He put his hand on Tyler’s shoulder and squeezed.
* * *
“YOUR HONOR.” THE attorney finally spoke. Emily forced herself to concentrate on the young woman’s words instead of on the faces of the man and boy seated at the big table. They weren’t the ghosts in her mind, she reminded herself.
“We’re asking that Mr. Hawkins be given temporary custody of Tyler Easton until his father, David James Hawkins, returns from overseas.”
“Temporary?” Emily looked over at the boy, Tyler. “What about the mother?” The sadness that filled the child’s eyes was quickly blinked away.
“She’s abandoned him.” The attorney lifted a thin sheet of paper. “I’ve labeled her letter Exhibit A.”
“Could you bring that to me?”
The woman’s heels were a sharp staccato on the tile floor as she approached the bench.
Emily read the letter and frowned. “Is this correct?” She faced the man sitting beside the boy. “Your brother doesn’t even know he has a son?” Mr. Hawkins looked surprised at being addressed.
“Uh, yes. We’re trying to reach him. He’s special forces, so it’s tough. He hasn’t been informed yet, as far as I know.”
“What makes you believe he’s going to be willing to take on a child, when and if, he returns?”
“My brother will accept his responsibilities.” The man’s voice was hard, telling Emily that even if his brother didn’t want Tyler, this man would do everything in his power to make him accept the boy.
She leaned back in her chair, the swivel giving her a better view of the man. Her stomach did a strange little flip-flop and she struggled to ignore it. “Who’s the caseworker?”
“Elizabeth Morgan is assigned to this case. Unfortunately, she just went out on maternity leave,” the attorney said.
Messy, Emily reminded herself. Juvenile cases were always messy. She knew the answer to her next question, but needed it in the record. “Can’t we get another caseworker on it?”
“The county is already overloaded. With the recent budget cuts, all caseworkers are carrying double loads.”
Emily sighed. They didn’t need a caseworker today, but she would prefer one. If she’d just gone on leave, there should be a preliminary report here somewhere. Damn. She wished she’d had time to review the whole file thoroughly.
“I’m not comfortable with the state of this case,” she said directly to the attorney. “What did the caseworker recommend?”
“There