Chapter 25
twenty-five
JORDAN
The hearing starts in ten minutes, and my tie is choking me.
Reaching up, I give it a tug while I walk up and down the courthouse steps. It’s a relatively small building as far as courthouses go, an attractive white with a red-tiled roof. A round planter with flowers between the steps and the front doors. Some pleasant grassy areas where court employees eat their lunch on this blustery, beautiful day.
But all of that means nothing.
Because inside, the fate of my family will be determined.
And my wife—the woman who said she’d always have my back, no matter what—isn’t here yet.
“She’ll be here.” Mom sits on the edge of the stone planter. She drove down with me and Ryder, who is currently in the care of my older sister Claire. Dad couldn’t be bothered to show up, but at least my sister—who I’m not even as close to as I’d like to be—took the day off work from her fancy banker job in San Francisco to help look after my son during the hearing. They’re sequestered away in a room next to the courtroom where Judge Eli Terpstra will preside over our hearing. “Traffic’s really bad, what with that construction on the highway. It’s a good thing we left extra early, or we’d have been slowed down too.”
“Maybe.” I check my watch again before running my hands down the sides of my face, smooth from my morning visit to the Golden Highlight for a haircut and shave. “I already don’t know how I’m possibly going to win this hearing, but it’s going to look especially bad if my wife doesn’t even show.”
“Oh, Jordan.” Mom looks extra tired, and I feel terrible that she’s here in the middle of a flare-up. But when I saw her condition and mentioned she should stay home with Dad, she lifted her chin and said nothing was keeping her from being here to support me today. And I’ll admit, I was so grateful I didn’t have the energy to try to stop her. “Your attorney still doesn’t have much confidence?”
We didn’t have a chance to talk in the car since Ryder was right there and I’ve tried to keep him in the dark about why we’re here today. He just knows he’s hanging with Auntie Claire and might have to talk to a judge in a really cool courtroom like the one in Bee Movie .
“Sam wants me to let him do all the talking, for me not to testify.”
“That’s silly. How are you supposed to show the judge you’re a stand-up guy, that you don’t have anything to hide?”
“But I lied, Mom.”
“What lie did you tell? You’ve loved that girl forever.”
“But she didn’t love me.” And I’m still not sure she really does—not if it was so easy for her to leave last night.
I guess that’s not fair. She did look wrecked. And yet, when I watched the taillights of her car driving down the road, the gut punch felt the same either way.
“The judge will think I lied or tricked Marilee. Either way, it’s not a good look.” I sit beside Mom. “And Sam just doesn’t want to give Constance and Larry’s lawyer a chance to pounce on me. She’s pretty tough, I guess.”
She pats my knee. “You’re tough too, you know. And while I don’t think you should discount all of your attorney’s advice, in the end, it’s your life, your son, Jordan. If you feel like you need to speak, do it.”
Her inner strength and confidence flow toward me, holding me up. “Even if it rocks the boat?”
“Especially then. Take a risk for love, son, and speak from your heart. If the judge has any sense, he will see the love you have for your son and know exactly where he belongs, whether Marilee shows up or not.” She stands. “Though for the record, I still think she will.”
Exhaling, I rise too. “I hope so.”
Then, together, we walk into the courthouse and toward Courtroom 2, where Sam meets us down the hall. He’s wearing a brown suit with a briefcase tucked under one arm and reassures me that everything’s in order. Larry and Constance stand on the other side of the doors with a middle-aged woman in a striking blue pantsuit, her brown bob cut at a sharp angle. Constance glances my way, purses her lips, and turns away. At least Larry, for his part, gives me a small wave before frowning and scratching the back of his bald head that shines under the harsh fluorescent lighting of the courthouse.
My chest tightens at the sight of our friends—Landon, Lucy, Blake, Chloe, Freddy, even April and the twins—huddled in a quiet group, all dressed nicely in skirts or slacks. Sam said he might call Landon, Lucy, and Blake to the stand as character witnesses depending on how the trial is going, but I didn’t expect the rest of them to be here.
I guess I should have, but I didn’t.
There are a few glaring absences, though. My dad, no surprise. And?—
“Where’s Mare?” Lucy’s hand finds my elbow, her voice wrapped in concern.
Shoving my hands into my pockets, I shrug. “We didn’t drive together.”
“What? Why? And why is she back sleeping at our house?” she hisses, glancing over her shoulder toward Constance and Larry, who don’t appear to be paying us any mind. “She wouldn’t talk to me about it last night, and she was gone before I got up, but something has to be very wrong for her not to be here.”
“That’s a question for her, I guess. If she shows up.” I have the sudden urge to rip this tie from my neck and toss it away, because breathing has once again become a chore.
“Jordan! Of course she’s going to show up. She loves you and Ryder.”
Does she, though? The question burrows deep in my subconscious. I hate doubting her. And the thing is, I’m not mad. Just sad. And oh so tired.
Exhausted, in fact. But that will mean nothing to the judge, and Ryder needs me to be strong. And despite the crowd here today, nobody else can fight this battle for me.
Lucy frowns, Blake at her back, and she looks like she’s going to say more, but then the bailiff calls us in. We shuffle through the thick beige double doors. The room’s smaller than courtrooms I’ve seen in movies, with only a few rows of chairs set up on either side of the short aisle. A waist-height paneled wall divides the gallery from the two basic wooden tables equipped with three chairs and a pair of microphones each. The courtroom echoes with the sound of everyone getting settled. A court reporter and clerk take their seats at a desk that stands between our tables and the elevated judge’s bench, to the right of which is the witness stand.
“All rise,” the bailiff announces.
I draw in a sharp breath. It’s here.
We all stand, and the back door opens. A man in a black robe and graying hair walks through and takes a seat as the bailiff continues. “This court with the Honorable Judge Eli Terpstra presiding is now in session. Please be seated and come to order.”
Here we go.
My palms sweat as the Comers’ attorney—a Sheila Devoney—launches into the reason we are all here: sweet Ryder. She’s very dramatic as she paints a picture of what a great mom Georgia was (a picture I agree with) and how she was taken too soon. How the Comers had concerns over my parenting, but when they raised them with their daughter, she said she wasn’t worried because she was in his life to balance things out. (Not sure how true that was, because Georgia never expressed concerns to me.)
I have to sit there while Sheila disparages my character, parading witnesses in front of the judge, whose expression is solemn. He’s clearly invested, nodding along. Then Ms. Devoney calls a waitress from the hotel restaurant to the stand and enters the social media video into evidence. The moment I punch Donny is displayed on the television for all to see, and I catch a hint of disapproval cross Judge Terpstra’s face.
Great.
Sam cross-examines the woman, but she wasn’t close enough to overhear our conversation, only enough to know I was angry and upset and Donny seemed to be laughing and “not causing any problems.”
When he sits down, I lean toward him and whisper, “If I don’t say something, the judge is going to think I’m violent for no reason.” How else is he supposed to know that the man I hit was my wife’s abusive ex, saying very derogatory things? Sure, maybe violence was not the best course of action, but I definitely didn’t hit an innocent man out of nowhere.
“If you get on the stand, you’ll open yourself up to a lot more criticism than that, because you’ll be obligated to tell the truth about your marriage.” Sam’s eyebrows give a knowing jaunt. “Don’t worry. We’ll have a chance to tell our side through our witnesses.”
But that’s the thing. I won’t have a chance to tell my side. Not if I sit here and stay silent.
My eyebrows narrow as I listen to Constance’s friend on the stand talking about the bowling alley incident, then Constance as she tells about her discovery of our marriage contract. She does seem genuinely distraught over the whole thing, but I can’t tell if it’s just a ploy to get sympathy, or if she really, truly believes that I’m the scum of the earth.
Who knows. Maybe I am.
But I love my son, and I’m not done fighting for him.
Sheila pats Constance on the shoulder as Constance returns to her seat. “We rest our case, Your Honor.”
He nods, then turns to Sam. “Are you ready to call your first witness, Counselor?”
“Actually—”
“Yes.” Pushing back my chair, I stand.
Murmurs from the audience create a kind of white noise behind me. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but the noise feels frenzied.
And yet, everything in me has stilled. I am calm. I know what I need to do.
Take a risk for love, son…
“What are you doing?” Sam hisses at me.
“I’m sorry, Sam. I have to do this.”
“Even if it costs you everything?”
I glance back at my mom, and she pats her chest—right over her heart—as she nods.
“I’ll always wonder if I should have testified.”
“Counselor, is there a problem?” the judge asks.
“No problem, Your Honor.” Sam looks at me and rubs the corner of his eyes, sighing. “We call Jordan Carmichael to the stand.”
I make my way to the witness stand, shaking out my hands before the bailiff brings a Bible over and swears me in. When I’m done saying the words, the door to the courtroom opens.
And sunshine plows right in.
Marilee steps through the door, her hair windswept and her skirt crooked. She’s got something—maybe a paper?—clutched in her hand and looks right at me, wide-eyed, mouthing “Sorry” before stepping aside.
Revealing my father behind her.
Dressed in a suit that barely buttons, his thin wisps of hair combed over his otherwise bald head, he shuffles inside, toward my mother, whose hands are over her mouth.
Marilee scoots past Lucy and Blake, who squeezes her arm, to join my parents. She grips the low wall in front of her, where she’s set the piece of paper that was in her hand upon entry. Her earnest look is a balm. No matter what’s between us, she’s here—and she brought the one person I never thought would show up for me. If that’s not having my back, I don’t know what is.
And it gives me the extra bolstering I need.
Sam approaches the stand. “Jordan, please tell the court in your own words why you believe the Comers’ petition—and their classification of you as violent and a liar—to be false.”
Instead of looking at Marilee, I turn my attention to the judge, the one who will decide our fate. And I do what Mom suggested and speak from my heart. I explain the video. I know sharing the details of her ex with the court will be painful for Marilee, but I also know she won’t mind, not if it helps us keep Ryder.
“And what about the marriage, Jordan? Was it indeed fake, as Ms. Devoney so disparagingly put it?”
Now for this , I look at Marilee. But she’s not looking at me. Her gaze is on her shoes until I speak my next words.
“Not for me, it wasn’t.”
At that, her head snaps up, eyebrows knit together.
“Can you expand on that, please?” Sam asks. I’m sure on the inside, he’s annoyed with me—I’m definitely going off script here—but he’s maintaining a patient facade at least.
“I’ve always loved Marilee. Since the first moment I saw her, I knew I’d always love her.”
Her chin trembles, and her friends issue a low murmuring chorus of “Awww!”
I take a breath. “I love her when she’s covered in flour from head to toe. I love her when she’s crying over a romcom. I love her when she’s wearing that smile she gets when she’s creating something delicious and beautiful. I love her when she’s teasing me, and I love her when she’s indignant for her friends. But most of all”—I lean into the microphone, my voice strong and crisp and clear, leaving no doubt of the truth of what I’m saying—“I love her when she’s a mom to our son.”
My voice cracks at the last words, and I quickly swipe at a tear that finds its way down my cheek. “I love Ryder fiercely, but that woman right there… She loves him tenderly, the way a mother should. And if you truly want what’s best for him, you wouldn’t dream of taking him away from her.”
And I didn’t think Marilee had any more tears left, but I should have known better, because my sweet, sensitive best friend—my wife for who knows how much longer—is crying again.
“But she’s not his mother!”
This from Constance, who has shot to her feet.
The judge seems taken aback. “Madam, it is not your turn to speak.”
Constance shakes her head vehemently. “I’m just making a statement. He’s calling that woman Ryder’s mother, but his real mother—my daughter—wanted us to have custody of him. You saw the will.”
“Again, Madam, it is not your turn to speak. I realize that family court is a bit less formal than other proceedings, but we will still have decorum and order.” The judge turns to Sam. “Counselor, you may proceed.”
“No further questions.”
“Ms. Devoney, would you like to cross-examine the witness?”
Sheila glances at me, then at Constance, who has slumped down in her chair. She must decide that my testimony was either damning enough, or that asking me further questions will not be good for their case, because she mumbles, “No, Your Honor.”
The judge tells me I can step down.
I slide back into my chair and feel a strong hand on my shoulder. Surprised, I glance back to find my dad blinking at me. He gives my shoulder a squeeze and releases me, sitting back.
It’s brief. To anyone else, it would seem like nothing more than a passing affection.
But to me, it’s everything.
And it’s all because of Marilee.
* * *
The rest of the trial feels like a whirlwind as Sam calls Landon and Blake both to the stand, and both confirm my story. After brief cross-examinations, in which Sheila tries to catch them in lies—and make me look like an irresponsible liar—my attorney says we rest our case. He wanted to get Marilee on the stand, but I said no. She’s already done enough by being here, and I’m not going to put her through that.
Sam gives me a firm nod that tells me we’ve got a good shot at winning this thing.
At the other table, Constance and Sheila are whispering loudly. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but the tension snaps in the air like a whip.
I have no clue what Judge Terpstra is thinking. I can’t decipher the expression behind his glasses, and he merely sits there, head tilted as he appears to study us. Finally, he sits back in his seat. “I know this is most unusual, but I feel I need more information before I can make a decision. Young lady.” His eyes find Marilee—and she freezes. “Would you mind joining me at the bench, please?”
“Um. Yes. I mean, no, Your Honor.” Marilee stands, at first leaving the paper behind on the wall. Then, with a glance back at it, she hurries to snatch it up before approaching the judge.
What does he want to ask her? I glance at Sam, but he just shrugs and redirects his attention to the front.
“Please state your name for the court.”
“Marilee Moffitt. I, um, haven’t had a chance to change it to Carmichael.”
Aw, Lee.
“That’s all right.” Waving her off, the judge leans forward and studies her. “I cannot force you to take the stand, but I do have some questions for you if you wouldn’t mind answering them.”
“Oh, um. Of course.” She’s standing at a slight angle below the judge, so I can see her profile. Her fingers crinkle the paper.
The judge seems to notice too. “Is that paper relevant to today’s proceedings? You seem particularly attached to it.” And that’s when I notice it—a shift in his demeanor. His voice is soft and pliable, almost fatherly.
I want to laugh. Without meaning to, Marilee’s cast her spell over him, the same way she does most everyone she meets.
“Yes, well.” Her eyes flit down to the paper, then over to Constance of all people. “Sorry, it’s just… Do you mind if I…” She indicates holding it out to Constance.
“Please let me see it first.”
“Of course.” She does, and one of his eyebrows quirks.
The judge points to the clerk. “Hand it to her, please. Clerk, please show this over the projector and enter it into evidence.”
Marilee glances back at me before shuffling toward the clerk, who fires up the projector and sticks the paper there. It appears on the screen—and I huff out a laugh.
Brilliant woman.
Because projected for the courtroom is a drawing Ryder presented me with this morning. It cut me to the core, but he said he’d made it with Miss Lucy over the weekend and wanted to display it for Marilee to see “when she gets home.”
I didn’t have the heart to tell him that might be never.
But my wife has clearly been home—and she’s brought with her the key to winning this battle if ever there was one.
“Please explain what we’re seeing, Ms. Moffitt.”
“It’s a drawing Ryder did. As you can see, it’s labeled ‘my family.’” Marilee walks to the screen and puts the full force of her attention on Constance—and then she speaks directly to her. “There’s him in the very middle, and Jordan, and me.” Under the stick figure with big glasses, it says Mommy . “And over here, to the side, you can see four people with canes. I think that’s supposed to be all of his grandparents.”
Mom and Dad chuckle behind me, as do all of our friends (and some of the women are definitely awww-ing again). Even Larry has to fight a grin. But Constance is still staring at the photo, squinting. “And what about there? What’s that in the upper right-hand corner?”
Marilee taps the part of the picture in question. “That is an angel with long red hair and a halo.” Her eyes shimmer. “And it says Mama.”
“What? Oh…” Constance’s voice breaks as she starts to cry.
Marilee hurries toward her—probably breaking all sorts of court rules, but the judge is allowing it—and drops into a squat beside Constance, grabbing her hands. “Constance, Ryder hasn’t forgotten Georgia, and we won’t let him forget her. I know you miss your daughter, but don’t rip this little boy from a home that’s good and right, where he feels safe and loved. There’s not a competition for his love. As you can see, he’s got enough to go around.”
Constance’s sobbing now, and she grips Marilee’s hands right back. “I’m s-s-sorry. I just…I miss my girl so much.”
“I know the pain of loss. I know.”
Gah, how I love this woman. Her ability to love even those who have wounded her astounds me daily.
The judge seems thoroughly captivated by the display in front of us but still asks for order in the courtroom—though honestly, it seems more of a formality for the records than a request. Marilee goes back to her seat, and the judge asks for Ryder to be brought in, just to confirm nobody coerced him into drawing the picture.
When he sees Constance crying, he runs to her and gives her a hug. “Don’t cry, Grammy. It’s okay.” Then from her lap, he sees the drawing on the screen and exclaims, “Hey! I drew that.”
The judge says, “Hi, Ryder. I’m Judge Terpstra.”
My kid wrinkles his nose and says, “You don’t look like the lady judge in Bee Movie .”
That gets everyone laughing. Even the judge, who says, “No, I don’t guess I do.” And when he asks Ryder if anyone made him draw the picture, Ryder holds up his fingers and wiggles them, shrugging and saying, “Just my hands. And my brain.”
Constance laughs, hugging Ryder to herself and catching my eye over her attorney’s head. With eyes full of unshed tears, she says something to Sheila, who hisses back at her.
Finally, the attorney stands. “Your Honor, in light of…well, everything we just heard, we’d like to withdraw our petition for custody.”
My heart stutters.
What?
The air buzzes as the judge declares this hearing officially over, as he sees no reason why the custody of Ryder Carmichael should change, so long as I agree to continue granting the Comers visitation rights.
And then I’m leaping from my chair, hugging my son—who has no idea why we’re having a party in the courtroom—and shaking hands with Constance and Larry to show no hard feelings, and thanking my parents and sister and friends for coming. Everyone starts talking about grabbing dinner at a local restaurant together and Ryder asks my parents if we can go to the park and it’s a ruckus as the judge slips away and we celebrate this happy ending.
But I have an even happier end in mind.
Finally, I turn toward Marilee. She must sense my gaze because she glances over from her conversation with Chloe and Lucy and immediately walks toward me. We step slightly away from the group.
“We did it,” she says. Her soft smile is everything I want to wake up to every morning, everything I need day in and day out.
“ You did it.” And I want to reach for her, want to fight for this, for us. I don’t want her to feel pressured, but I also have to show her what she means to me. So I gently take her hands in mine.
And she doesn’t pull away. In fact, she steps closer.
“Jay.” There’s chaos swirling around us, but Marilee’s zeroed in on me. “I’m so sorry I left like that.”
“I understand why you did.”
“And I’m sorry I was late.”
“You had a good reason.” I glance over at my dad, who’s got his arm around Mom, Ryder tucked against his leg as they chat with my sister. His eyes look clearer than they have in a long time. “How did you get him to come?”
“Let’s just say I summoned every bit of bossy I had in me—and also plied him with close to a gallon of coffee.” A pause as her face softens. “But for real, I just reminded him that it was literally his job to show up for you today, and that if he loved you at all, he’d be here. Because love is showing up, right?”
“Right.” I give her hands a squeeze. “I’m honestly surprised that convinced him, though.”
“Jordan, he was horrified. He said, ‘Of course I love him. But he’s better off without me there.’”
I frown. “How could he actually think that?”
“You two have a lot of talking to do, but I think…” She bites her lip, smiling. “Maybe something I said shook loose his own demons. I’m not sure, but I think he’s open to the idea of doing better now. He’s here, anyway, and that’s the first step.”
“You’re amazing, you know that?” Because if anyone could change a hard-hearted man, it would be her—pure sunlight cracking its way through dried-out concrete.
“Not really. I just thought you could use all the support you could get,” she says. “Though if I’d known traffic would take forever…”
“I love that you did that for me.” I close the final bit of a gap between us. “Thank you. And that picture—wow. You saved the day with that. Guess you found it at the house?”
She nods. “Marla helped me to realize a few things this morning. Once I did, I raced to your house to see if I could still ride with you. You were gone, but I found that instead. It was a beautiful reminder from that little boy, that love surrounds us…if only we hold it close. If only we choose it. And I’ve made a choice.”
Her voice is shaking, and I can tell the words are hard for her.
Oh man. This could be bad.
I brace for the truth.
Her chest expands with a deep breath. “If I thought I wouldn’t be kicked out of this courtroom, I’d march over to the clerk, grab the so-called evidence of our contract—and rip it to shreds.”
“Wait…what?” Laughing, I cup her face gently between my hands. “What does that mean, exactly?”
“It means that I choose you. I choose Ryder. I choose us.” Her smile lights up all my dark places and doubts. “No more fear. I choose love. Because I love you, Jordan, and not just as a friend. As a woman loves a man who is everything to her. And you’re everything to me. You and Ryder—you’re my family.”
“Marilee Holly Moffitt, you are unreal.” Smiling, I shake my head. I can’t even believe this woman’s sweetness and goodness. The fact she’s picking me, a guy who has screwed up more times than I can count, who will inevitably screw up again. “I love you so much.”
Eyes shining, she taps her chin playfully. My little minx, always bringing a spark of fun to my life. “Since we’re in a court of law, it feels appropriate to ask you to present evidence of that love.”
“Hmm. All right.” I gather her into my arms and tug her right up against me. “Allow me to present Exhibit A.”
And I don’t care that everyone is probably watching us. I kiss that woman like it’s the first time, pouring every memory into it—the beautiful, the painful, the hilarious, the everyday, the special, the angry, the quiet, and the unforgettable.
I want to kiss her like that for the rest of our lives…if she’ll have me.
But I can be patient. I can savor and enjoy. I can date my wife, give her time to make sure this is the life she wants to choose. And once she’s sure, I’ll ask her to marry me again…
This time, for real.
Eventually, she pulls back, laughing. “Hmm, that’s certainly a start, but I think I’m going to need more convincing. What other evidence do you have?”
My hands flex against her waist. “This may take a while.”
“I’ll allow it.”
And I don’t wait for her to change her mind. I dive in for another kiss and another and another.
Because when something matters as much as this, I’m nothing if not persuasive.