What does regret feel like? That’s what I’m asking myself right now because I’m sure as shit scared of what’s about to happen. The breakfast I didn’t eat is threatening to come up as Judge Harvey enters the courtroom. The bailiff tells us what to do: Stand, sit, turn your head and cough as I squeeze the life out of your nuts. Okay, maybe not that dramatic, but that’s how I feel right now.
“Mr. Oakes, the floor is yours.”
He stands, scooting the chair back with his legs as he does, buttoning his jacket and stepping out from behind the table. “Your Honor, Mr. Ballard was picked up early Sunday morning for an outstanding warrant for trespassing and vandalism, issued by yourself on November the thirtieth, two-thousand-ten. Sheriff Foster apprehended the suspect as the vehicle he was traveling in crossed the county border. Mr. Ballard resisted arrest, although only temporary.”
“Mr. Ballard, how do you plead?”
I stand and face the man of the house Whiskey teepeed. “Not guilty.”
He scoffs. “Mr. Ballard, are you sure that’s the plea you want to enter?”
This time Saul stands and clears his throat. “Your Honor, with all due respect, my client’s plea is what it is and should not be questioned.”
Judge Harvey points his gavel at Saul; his eyes are menacing, and I feel my life starting to slip away. “Mr. Oakes, what’s the State’s request?”
“Remand, Your Honor. Mr. Ballard has proven that he’s a flight risk.”
“I agree,” Harvey says, sighing as if he’s sad for me when this is nothing but a joke.
“Your Honor, my client was not aware of the outstanding warrant. He has been a pillar of the community where he lives, volunteering his time at the local high school, teaching music. Keeping him locked up over a misdemeanor is unethical, and there isn’t a previous case tried in the United States that will support a decision of this nature.”
“I will decide how things go in my county, Mr. Russo.”
“Judge, can you please tell me when the incident occurred?” Russo asks. He looks pissed.
Harvey looks at Fletcher, who is flipping pages back and forth in his book. “Mr. Oakes?”
“Um… the incident occurred in July of the same year.”
“Your Honor, according to my records, Mr. Ballard was in Nashville, Tennessee when this warrant was issued, and therefore had no knowledge of its existence. I’d also like to add that if the incident he’s being charged with took place in July, charges should’ve been brought forth immediately. This is a small town and from what I understand, your house was and continues to be an easy target, and to this date, you have not brought charges against any of the other unruly teenagers.” Saul pauses and stares down the judge. “I request my client be released, without bond, and that the charges be dropped.”
“Mr. Oakes?”
“The States position has not changed.”
“And neither has mine. We’ll move this to trial. However, Mr. Ballard you are free, but you cannot leave the county. You will surrender your passport with the clerk on your way out.” He slams down his gavel while Saul’s yelling at him, citing different laws. His words are falling on deaf ears as Harvey disappears behind the door.
“Small town bullshit,” Saul says to Fletcher who is doing his best to ignore him.
I turn to Elle, who has been sitting behind me. She doesn’t look happy. In fact, she’s downright pissed.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her, but she doesn’t respond.
6
Jaime
Evelyn sits down in front of me, and hands me her brush. “I’d like a ponytail with a braid.” She smiles a toothless smile at me through the mirror. Last week she lost her first tooth and has told the entire town about the tooth fairy coming to see her, but only after she cleaned her room. I may have gone on about how even fairies need to land in clean spaces, so they don’t step on baby dolls or Legos. While Legos can be fun, in the middle of the night when your child is crying and you need to get to them, stepping on one unleashes a string of curse words no one should ever hear.
“What kind?” I ask her. “Do you want me to braid your ponytail or do you want me to French braid your hair half way?”
She places her finger on her temple, tapping her face. This is her thinking face. I wish I could say she learned it from me, but I copy her now. “I think two braids that start here,” she points to the spot on her scalp, “and two ponies here.” She finishes by touching the back of her neck.
“You got it, princess.” Evelyn is my one constant, my reason for turning my life around. When I found out I was pregnant with her, my life was circling the drain. The moment I peed on that stupid little stick, I was torn. I wanted the little bean growing inside of me, but I also couldn’t take care of myself.
“Mommy, where did you learn to braid?”
“Mommies know everything,” I tell her. Someday, when she’s older, I’ll introduce her to the world of YouTube. I swear I could kiss every single YouTuber and their DIY videos out there. They have saved me a million times over, especially when she comes home with notes from her teacher that it’s wacky hair week and the designs should be as crazy as the child want